The Perfect Ruin

by Shanora Williams

  “I’ll mess it up. I know I will.”

  “Just try,” she encouraged. “If not for you, then for me. I don’t get to be all flirty anymore. I have Corey now.” She pursed her lips, and I didn’t miss the slight eye roll she passed after saying that. “Just because you work for me doesn’t mean you shouldn’t get to have a little fun every once in a while.”

  She was right . . . but I was serious about not knowing how to flirt anymore. I was broken in that way. I’d taken care of people my whole life, so that when it came to men, I was just . . . awkward.

  “Okay,” I said. “But let me go to him.”

  “That’s my girl,” Lola chanted.

  I stood up and smoothed out the wrinkles in my banana-cream dress. I had no idea what the hell I was going to say to the guy at the bar, so I thought about how I’d start the conversation as I crossed the room. A man with dreadlocks was on stage, rapping to the melody of a saxophone about his struggles with an ex-girlfriend.

  I couldn’t think, and the words of the man on stage weren’t setting the tone for flirting, so when I met up with the guy at the bar, I just stared at him. His thick brows shot up to his forehead as he waited for me to speak. I fumbled with words.

  “I, um . . . my boss . . . told me I should come . . . speak to you.” Damn it. I was butchering this. Were you ever this bad with guys, Ivy?

  The man appeared amused by my remark. Up close he was handsome as hell. His hair was cut clean, lined up, and faded at the edges, and his skin was a shade or two darker than mine. He was tall, with a goatee, and he smelled like sandalwood and some other scent I couldn’t quite place. Leather, maybe? His clothes were simple. Navy-blue, V-neck t-shirt, jeans, and Jordan’s.

  “You’re out tonight with your boss?” he asked, stifling a laugh.

  “Well, yeah. I work at her house for her. But it’s not like that, you know? We’re also good friends.”

  The man chuckled. “Well, your boss must be pretty chill if she’s out with you tonight.” He looked across the club at Lola. I looked with him, and Lola was giving me a thumbs-up. I was so embarrassed by that thumb. I felt like a child who was nervous to play her first soccer game, Lola being the mom in the stands with the thumbs-up to encourage me.

  “Be honest.” I sighed. “You were looking at her, weren’t you?”

  “What would make you think that?” He put on a slight frown.

  “Well, she’s the prettiest woman in the room. Everyone stares at her when we go places.”

  “Well, if you believe that, you’re wrong.”

  “If I believe what? That everyone stares at her when we go out?”

  “That’s she’s the prettiest woman in the room.”

  I was confused.

  He went on. “She can’t possibly be the prettiest woman in the room if I’m looking right at the prettiest woman in the room.”

  Wait. He meant me. He was looking at me. My heart did cartwheels. I pressed my lips to fight a smile, but it was pretty much impossible. He’d gotten me with that line. He was flirting with me. Why couldn’t I be that smooth?

  The man stretched out his arm and offered me a hand. “I’m Dion,” he said.

  “Georgia,” I said back, taking his hand and shaking it.

  I had no idea that all my life I’d been looking for this man named Dion. Dion McNeil. We met at this club, and even after exchanging numbers and parting ways, I couldn’t get him off of my mind.

  He sent me text messages every single day. Every morning he’d send me a “Good morning, Beautiful” text, and I’d respond with “Good morning, Handsome.”

  Dion eventually became the love of my life. I did all my duties at the mansion in a timely fashion, just so I could go to meet him for dinners or for a drink at a bar. I became a much better flirt, but I think I was just becoming comfortable with him altogether.

  As time progressed, he would invite me to his apartment, where he’d cook dinner for me and let me watch him prepare it. He was a great cook, had even gone to culinary school for two years but never finished.

  I suppose it didn’t matter, though, because he was currently a sous chef in a really popular Miami restaurant called Louie’s. I’d learned that about him when we first hooked up, along with other facts. His favorite color was red. He’d lost his parents when he was two and grew up with an uncle named Brandon. He also used to be a hand model. He did have nice hands for a chef, I would admit.

  For a while, life was great with Dion and at the mansion with Lola. And then, around Christmas of 2006, nearly a year after I’d started working for Lola, Dion asked me to marry him.

  We didn’t do anything big. We went to the courthouse and sealed the deal with a kiss and two gold wedding bands. I was Mrs. McNeil, and I was so damn proud to have his last name.

  But it was after we got married when things started to change.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  Dion wanted me to move in with him. But he knew about my job. He knew I had to be at the mansion every day and night so the Maxwells’ ship could continue running smoothly.

  “Just quit. I make enough money to take care of both of us,” he’d said to me as we lay in his bed one night. We’d been married for a little over a month then. I was naked beneath his sheets and he was shirtless, his back pressed to the headboard. He was running the pads of his fingers up and down my bare arm.

  I ran my hand over his chest and sighed. “I know you can, but Lola needs me at the mansion. I’m also under a contract, Dion. Even if I wanted to quit, I can’t for another eight or so years.”

  “Eight?” he repeated, and I sensed irritation in his voice.

  “It’s a ten-year contract, babe. I told you that before.”

  I looked up and his mouth twitched. Then he moved my arm from his torso and climbed out of the bed. I pushed up on my elbow, watching as he tugged on his boxers. “Dion?” I groaned.

  “Don’t call my name like that, Georgia. So, you’re telling me I’m going to have to wait ten years to live with my wife?”

  “Why are you acting surprised by this, Dion? You knew when we first met that I had obligations to Lola and the mansion.”

  “You’re choosing her over me,” he muttered.

  “No, I’m not! Don’t say that!” I sat up fully. “This job pays me well. Look, maybe I can’t quit, but if I talk to Lola, maybe she’ll be okay with me leaving the mansion a little earlier from now on to spend time with you, and coming in a little later.”

  Dion turned around then, and his eyes softened. “And if she isn’t?”

  “She’ll have to let me, Dion. We’re married now. She’ll understand. She knows what married life is like.”

  He sighed and came back to the bed, and relief unfurled in my belly. He grabbed one of my hands and wrapped his around mine. “I just don’t want to live without you, G. I want to come home to my wife. I love you too much for you to be away from me all night.”

  I leaned forward and kissed him. “I know, I know. I’ll talk to her.”

  And I would . . . I just wasn’t sure when. When I’d applied for the job, it was never my intention to fall in love or get married, so I was fine signing a ten-year contract with Lola. I didn’t think I’d find a man who loved me as much as I loved him, but life is funny like that. It throws things at you that you don’t quite see coming. I’m sure you know all about that.

  I arrived at the Maxwell mansion at six the next morning and got straight to work. I handled everything that needed to be handled, and around nine that morning Lola came downstairs.

  She was dressed up, which meant she probably had to meet someone for work or had a breakfast date with a friend. I was standing at the counter, sipping some caramel tea as her silver heels clicked on the marble floors and she entered the kitchen with a bold smile.

  “Good morning, Lola,” I greeted her in a soft voice.

  “Morning, Georgia.” Her voice was harmonious.

  “Breakfast is ready for you by the pool.”

 
; “Oh, I meant to tell you to cancel that. I have to run.” She put on a mischievous smile. “I have something to tell you, but I didn’t want to say anything until it was confirmed with a test.”

  “A test?” I asked, confused.

  “Yes!” She walked closer to me. “I’m pregnant, G! I took a test last week!”

  “Oh my goodness! That’s amazing, Lola! I’m so happy for you!” And really, I was. I knew how hard she had been trying to get pregnant. She’d mentioned to me only weeks before that she and Corey were going to be trying to start a family.

  “Thank you! Dr. Gilbert squeezed me in today. I told her I couldn’t wait to be seen. Only problem is, her clinic is in St. Petersburg, so I have a little drive ahead of me, but it’s for the best gynecologist in Florida, so it’s fine. I haven’t told Corey yet, though. I want to make sure everything is okay first before I give him the news, so don’t mention it to him if you see him.”

  “Of course not. My lips are sealed.” I pretended to zip my lips.

  Lola smiled and turned, and when she left the kitchen, I huffed. I couldn’t ask her about not being in the mansion right now. She was pregnant, and the last thing I wanted to do was pull away in her time of need.

  Dion wasn’t too happy about it. I mean, of course he wasn’t. He didn’t give a damn that Lola was pregnant or starting a family. He just wanted me with him so we could discuss starting our own. For the time being we compromised. I’d leave the mansion at eight every night to be with him, and that was okay for a while.

  It became a little trickier now that Lola had fallen pregnant, though. She was moody and tired, always complaining about something I had no control over. But this was my job. I had to make it right.

  I worked tirelessly to make the house comfortable for her. Prior to being pregnant, Lola loved seeing fresh flowers in the kitchen, particularly lilies. Now, she swore she hated the smell of them. The chefs couldn’t cook certain foods because they made her want to vomit. She was also very sick every morning, and I could sense tension between her and Corey that wasn’t there before.

  Something told me Corey didn’t want Lola to be pregnant, that he wasn’t ready to start a family. The way he looked at her sometimes made it obvious, like he was horrified by the idea of it. He also started asking for his favorite scotch more than usual.

  I kept out of their business, though. The Maxwells argued often. Most times they argued after attending certain events or parties together. Lola would come home in a rage, slamming doors and accusing Corey of flirting with someone at a party, and he would turn right around and point out that she was flirting too.

  I was glad Dion and I didn’t have to worry about petty things like that. I realized being rich could bring too many problems to a marriage while living with the Maxwells. You weren’t ever really 100 percent happy, even with all that money.

  I always found it shocking the way people could buy into Lola and Corey’s happiness. I’d witnessed firsthand how much they yelled at each other, slammed doors, broke glasses, and even slapped each other around, but, as I said, it was none of my business.

  I was under a certain confidentiality too. Being her household manager meant keeping my mouth shut. But even if I hadn’t been, Lola was my boss and my friend and I wouldn’t have had any right telling anyone. I didn’t even tell Dion about Lola and Corey’s marital problems. I felt she trusted me to keep quiet and keep it private; that was my obligation.

  Crazy thing is, though, that Lola began to change with the pregnancy. She wasn’t as nice anymore, or caring of anyone else’s feelings but her own. I tried to chalk that up to her hormones, and how fatigued and sick she’d become, but after the night of April 13, 2007 . . . it was no longer about the pregnancy.

  No. It had become much, much deeper than that.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  I remember arriving at the mansion on April 13, and Lola wasn’t there. Neither was Dr. Maxwell. The house was oddly quiet, but I did my duties, made my calls, and cleaned whatever needed cleaning.

  Something was off about that day. Rain isn’t unusual in Florida, especially during spring, but it was really pouring down outside, the windows getting slapped with water and wind.

  Lola normally didn’t leave until nine in the morning or after if she had somewhere to be. She’d have a list on the fridge of what she wanted for lunch or dinner, along with instructions if she had guests coming over, but not that day.

  I was worried, but I didn’t want to be annoying by calling or checking in if she was busy. For all I knew, she’d traveled somewhere and forgotten to tell me . . . but she never forgot to tell me things like that. She loved to brag about her trips to different cities or countries.

  Day transitioned to night, and finally Lola came home. The rain had settled and become a light drizzle. I didn’t notice her arrival at first. I’d just finished eating a quick dinner when she trudged past the kitchen and I caught her thin silhouette. It was nearing ten at night. I was late to get to Dion and had sent him a text to let him know, but I didn’t want to leave until I knew what was going on, or if she’d have any requests.

  “Mrs. Maxwell?” I called, shooting off my stool and going after her. She was halfway up the stairs at that point. “Mrs. Maxwell?” I called again. “Is everything okay? I didn’t know what you wanted for dinner, so I told Tonia to make roasted veggies and a soup.”

  Lola stopped walking up the stairs but didn’t turn to look at me. Something was wrong. She seemed agitated. Was she about to fire me? Maybe she didn’t like that I was leaving early most nights anymore.

  Lola finally looked over her shoulder, but not right at me. Something was definitely wrong, though. Her face was pale, her lips dry, and her hair a bit disheveled. I noticed stains of blood on her blouse and gasped.

  “Oh my God, Lola. What happened?” I took a step up.

  “No, Georgia. Don’t.” She dropped her head, her hair curtaining around her face. I stopped moving. “Take the rest of the night off,” she ordered.

  “But, what about your dinner—”

  “For fuck’s sake, Georgia! Just take the fucking night off! Go to your stupid husband and stop bothering me!”

  Her tone had caught me completely off guard, but what caught me off guard the most was the way she stormed up the stairs and slammed a door behind her. I stepped down, utterly confused, but I wasn’t going to ignore her orders. It was clear she wanted to be alone, so I grabbed my things and left . . . but for the record, my husband wasn’t stupid. I didn’t know what her problem was, but that was just rude.

  As I was leaving, Corey was climbing out of his car. “Hey, Georgia,” he greeted me as I reached the SUV. “Taking off?”

  “Yes. Mrs. Maxwell told me I could go. I’m sorry if you wanted dinner,” I murmured.

  “Don’t apologize. It’s okay. I’m sure I’ll find something.” He seemed too chipper. Compared to Lola’s attitude, I could only assume he had no idea what was going on with her.

  “Have you talked to Mrs. Maxwell at all today?” I asked, glancing at the front door of the mansion and then focusing on him.

  “No, I haven’t. I called her after a surgery, but figured she was busy when she didn’t answer.”

  “Oh.” He was going to be in for a rude awakening. “Well, good night, Dr. Maxwell.”

  “Drive safe, Georgia.”

  I climbed behind the wheel of the SUV, watching Dr. Maxwell enter the house. When the door closed behind him, I couldn’t help feeling something was very, very wrong.

  I tossed and turned the whole night and got out of bed around four the following morning to get ready for work. I couldn’t get that bloodstain on Lola’s shirt out of my mind. Did someone hurt her? What the hell happened?

  Dion wasn’t pleased with me leaving so early, and he didn’t understand my stance. I hadn’t told him about the blood I saw on Lola’s shirt, or how she’d yelled at me. I didn’t want him to have any more reason to feel like I needed to break my contract and quit.


  I drove to Biscayne Bay and parked in the roundabout driveway around six that morning. Both Corey and Lola’s cars were there. It was strange for Corey to still be around. He normally was leaving or long gone by the time I arrived. He went to work early and came home late most nights. Cosmetic surgery wasn’t an easy job.

  I used my key to get inside the house. It was too quiet. I flipped on a few light switches in the kitchen and placed my keys on the hook by the fridge.

  I waited several hours for one of the Maxwells to show their faces, but it wasn’t until a little after one in the afternoon that Dr. Maxwell left the mansion without stopping in the kitchen and then, an hour later, Lola came downstairs.

  I was on the phone with the landscaper, scheduling a time for him to come, when I noticed her enter the kitchen and grab a bottle of water from the fridge.

  “Let me call you back,” I said hurriedly before hanging up. I rushed into the kitchen, where Lola was now pacing in front of the counter, chewing on her thumbnail.

  “Morning, Mrs. Maxwell. Are you feeling better today?”

  Lola whipped up her head, as if she’d just noticed me. Her face was clear of makeup, still pale, her eyes puffy. “Georgia—what are you doing here? I thought I told you to take the day off.”

  “You told me to take the rest of the night off last night. I didn’t realize you wanted me to take today off too.” Just as I said that the doorbell rang.

  She panicked then, looking from me to the way out of the kitchen. “Oh, fuck. I can’t do this!” she cried.

  “Do what?” I asked as the bottle of water slipped from her hands and dropped to the floor. She clutched the edge of the counter.

  “That’s a cop at the door, Georgia. He called me twenty minutes ago and said he needed to speak to me right away. Something horrible happened last night and now he’s here to talk to me.”