After cutting a Gala apple and eating a buttery slice of toast with strawberry jam, I walked to the door of my studio apartment, preparing to leave but taking a look around first.
I hated this place. I didn’t have much, which was probably why it annoyed me so much. Just a love seat, a small, flat-screen TV that I never watched, and my lumpy queen-size mattress on the floor, against the wall. When I first moved in, it smelled like mothballs. Candles did the trick, but the mothball scent would still show up here and there. The only good things about it were the double patio doors. They gave me lots of natural light, which you always told me was healthy to have.
No matter. None of this was going to last long anyway.
I slammed the door behind me and locked it, trotting down the steps to get to my car. Julius was sitting on the stoop as I walked by, but we ignored each other. I was glad he didn’t talk to me. I wanted to be in the best mood possible when I arrived at Lola’s, and talking to Julius always aggravated me.
I didn’t need my GPS to find my way to Lola’s house this time. I’d visited every other day of the week since she’d sent me the address. Most times it was after work. I didn’t go up her driveway or do anything that would cause suspicion of course, but I did drive past her private driveway, just to see if I could capture anything, or maybe spot her or Corey walking around the neighborhood. I gathered the idea they weren’t joggers.
But with security at the main gates, I had to be cautious. Visiting every day would have caused one of the men to get curious.
I drove with a small smile pulling at the corners of my lips. When I arrived at her house, I pressed the buzzer on the gate and was invited right in.
There was a black SUV parked in the driveway as I pulled up, along with Lola’s Tesla and the same black Chrysler I’d seen last week. I also spotted Lola’s pearly white SUV parked close to the house, and I was itching to drag my key across the shiny paint. Not today.
Climbing out of the car, I walked up to the wide, brown door and gave the bell a ring. Georgia answered again with a subtle smile on her lips. Her eyes were not welcoming at all, though. It was clear she hated her job . . . or she hated me. Either way, I didn’t care. I wasn’t there for her.
Georgia escorted me to the deck, where there were cameras, laptops, photography umbrellas, and backdrops already set up. Several men were piecing equipment together.
I put down my bag just as Georgia walked up to me with a tray in hand and drinks on top of it. “Would you like a blood-orange sangria, Miss Elliot?” she asked.
“Sure.” I took one from the tray but didn’t miss the once-over she gave me as she stepped back.
“Mrs. Maxwell is still getting ready, but she should be down any minute now.”
“Okay. No problem.” I took a seat on one of the cushioned pool chairs beneath the turquoise umbrella, sipping my drink and watching the men work.
A woman with box braids that reached her lower back, wearing pink shorts and a gray crop top, walked outside, and I sat up a little higher in my chair, studying her as she made her way to the group of men who were piecing together another backdrop.
I knew who she was on sight. Xena Whitley, the photographer for today—and not just any photographer. Lola used Xena for almost every photo shoot she had. She was her personal photographer and had even done the headshots for Lola on her charity website. Xena was also a well-known Instagram photographer, and everyone in South Beach wanted to do shoots with her.
Xena turned to me and her brown eyes grew wide. “Oh, heyyyy!” She dragged out the word. “You must be Ivy!”
I smiled, putting down my wineglass on the table in front of me. “I am. And you must be Xena.”
“I’m your girl!” she sang, and I held back an eye roll. “Well, don’t just sit there! Give me a hug! We’ve gotta get acquainted because we’re doing this photo shoot together!”
I stood, begrudgingly of course, and wrapped my arms around her as she squeezed me tight.
“So, Lola told me you’re helping her as a volunteer for the charity. I swear, she’s so good, isn’t she? Her heart has to be made of gold. You know she’s the reason I can even do my job? If she hadn’t hired me when I first started doing shoots, no one would know who the hell I am right now. She took a chance on me and my life hasn’t been the same since—in a good way. I am so lucky to have that woman in my life.”