The Perfect Ruin

“No, chicken is okay. I’ll take it.” I didn’t need to starve myself like she did to feel good about my body. Unlike her, I didn’t mind eating.

After our swim, we took showers in her mansion—me in my new, favorite guest room and her in her bedroom—and then met for dinner on the deck on the second floor.

The sun was setting behind the horizon, the water in the bay sparkling like wet gems. A warm breeze blew by every once in a while, carrying the salty scent of the ocean with it. I cut into my baked chicken with grilled pineapple as I looked over the itinerary for the gala, all the while curious as to where Corey was.

Was he not coming home tonight? Did he have plans? I needed to see him.

As Lola went downstairs to answer a call from Olivia by the pool, I pulled out my phone and checked Instagram. I went to Corey’s profile and saw he had a new story up. A video played of him recording one of his buddies throwing a dart at a dartboard. From the looks of it, he was at a bar. That explained why he wasn’t around.

I picked up the bottle of wine and poured myself another glass. I refused to go home tonight without seeing him, and if I needed to pretend to be too drunk to drive again, I would.

Lola returned to the deck as I finished my last bite of chicken. “Someone was hungry,” she noted, smiling.

“I was. Swimming always leaves me starving.”

“So, the itinerary looks good? Not too overwhelming?” she asked, picking up her raspberry cocktail.

“No, I think it’s fine. There will be food, and unlimited drink cards, and gambling. No one should complain.”

“I agree.” Lola took a sip of her drink, quiet for a moment. “So, I should probably tell you now that some of the donors attending the gala can get very handsy. Especially the men.”

“Really?” I asked, amused.

“Yes. Last year Gary DeAngelo had one too many drinks and kept trying to kiss Olivia on the cheek during dinner. It wasn’t a fun night for her, but it did result in a two-hundred-thousand-dollar donation from him.”

“Really?” I choked on a laugh as Lola smiled. “Well, I’m sure I can handle it. I’ve dealt with my fair share of assholes.”

She was quiet again. “If any of them do seem a little infatuated with you, just try to get them to spend as much money as they can, if you know what I mean.” She winked.

“You mean act like a hooker for the night?” I asked, cocking a brow, smiling only a little.

“No, no.” She giggled, and I forced a laugh. “I just mean while you have them like putty in your hands, you may as well use that to the charity’s advantage.”

I tried to keep an even face, but she had no idea how ignorant and selfish she sounded. She was probably kidding, but I couldn’t ignore the swirl of urgency in her eyes.

Let these rich men take advantage of the simple, pretty girls so she could raise as much money as she could for her stupid charity? That’s what she was saying, and even if she wanted me to believe it was a joke, I knew she meant it.

I glanced at my wine. “I think I’m starting to get a little headache,” I murmured, rubbing my forehead with the tips of my fingers.

“You are? Did the swim wear you out?”

“Just a little.”

“Do you want to go inside? Lie down in one of the guest rooms?”

“Only if you don’t mind. I would drive home, but I’m worried this might shift into migraine territory. My mom used to get them really bad.” And she did. My mother had a condition where her migraines would sometimes morph into seizures if they ever got too bad.

“Your parents are no longer with you, right?” Lola inquired. “I never have gotten around to asking about your parents, have I? Do you remember them?”

I froze in my seat as Georgia appeared and began taking away some of the empty dishes. Damn it. I shouldn’t have mentioned my mom. My eyes swung up to Lola’s, whose were sympathetic but burning with curiosity. I couldn’t back myself out of this one. I’d brought it up, after all.

“They passed away when I was twelve,” I said. “So, yes, I remember them pretty well.” Twelve was what I’d told her purposely, Marriott. I didn’t need her putting my age together with her past.

“They passed away at the same time?” she asked, her head tilting.

“Yes. It was during a . . . really bad fire. I was at a friend’s house when it happened.”

“I’m so sorry to hear that, Ivy.” Lola reached across the table and rubbed my hand. I had the urge to snatch it away, but I remained perfectly still. “My parents weren’t the greatest,” she declared with a dry laugh. “My father was a drunk and my mother was . . . well, let’s just say she always had a new partner when I was growing up. Never a dull moment with that woman.”