See, that was your problem. You obsessed and obsessed until you became bored with the ideas, the fantasies, and I didn’t know if I could use that to my advantage or for what needed to be done, but I decided to take that risk. Why? Because I saw something in you, Ivy. I saw potential. I saw fury, and I knew that fury would lead you to do things you never thought possible.
All those years you spent wondering who killed your parents, and why the person was never named in news outlets, why Detective Shaw refused to tell you. Well, you found out, and you can thank me for that.
* * *
Before I take this any further with you, let me go back to Lola.
I kept her secret in the depths of my heart, and you know what she did? She resented me for knowing the truth. I realized after a while that Lola wasn’t ever going to fire me. Firing me would have meant losing my confidentiality, and she didn’t want that.
I knew too much, and with what I had on Lola, I could have tarnished her entire career. But I didn’t. I still cared about her—cared for her like a sister—but it wasn’t until later that I realized she didn’t see me the same way I saw her.
Lola’s miscarriage and the fact that she killed your parents set something off inside her. I don’t know how to explain it, but she became bitter in a sense. I mean, don’t get me wrong, she was always the perfect friend for all her rich besties, and even that talkative bitch Keke, but when she was home alone, she was the complete opposite of perfect.
No, in fact she was a fucking bitch. She requested her favorite drink every day, a raspberry gin cocktail with lime. It was always that, or wine. Either way, she’d have three or four glasses of whatever drink was available. She drank heavily, hoping it would mask her guilt and shame.
Lola felt like she had some kind of power over me. My marriage was rocky, so I finally built up the courage to ask Lola if I could move out of the mansion and live with Dion. She flat out told me I couldn’t.
“I need you in this house more than ever now, Georgia. I’m sure your husband will understand,” she said while reading an article in a popular magazine about herself.
But Dion didn’t understand. He was fed up, and things became much worse at home when he lost his job weeks later. Fired and replaced. No longer the hot sous chef of Louie’s. He was struggling to find another job because he had no culinary degree. The head chef at Louie’s had given him the job as a spur-of-the-moment thing, as an opportunity, but apparently Dion was becoming stale and making too many mistakes in the kitchen. He blamed his mistakes on me not being there for him, his problems at home.
That meant I had to work. I really, really had to work, and I couldn’t fight Lola about moving out. I couldn’t quit my job when we needed the money more than ever. I had to make my marriage right again.
Dion hated knowing that I couldn’t quit. He hated my job because it was the reason I was never home. He hated that the only time I could come to him was after ten at night, when Lola and Corey no longer needed me or had evening plans.
And don’t get me started on the sex. We hardly had sex anymore because I was so tired after working. Lola’s demands were catching up to me, and I swear, they were going to drive me crazy.
Georgia, I thought I told you I wanted a vegan dish tonight?
Georgia, you’re really starting to be the worst household manager I know! Don’t you realize that?
Georgia, what the fuck is wrong with you?
Lola asked me those questions often, but the very last was the one she asked when I dropped a dish in front of her. The dish shattered on the floor and I was really set off. It was my last straw for the day.
What Lola didn’t know was that Dion wanted a divorce. It turned out he was cheating on me, and had been for going on five months. He’d found someone else—someone more available to him. Someone who could soothe him, and she made pretty great money too, so he could mooch off her.
“What is going on with you?” Lola asked when she hung up the phone. She stared down at me with her judgmental hazel eyes.
“I just . . . I think I need a small break today,” I whispered.
“Well, take a break, and then get your shit together, G. I can’t deal with this right now. You’re supposed to be taking care of my house and causing me less stress, not feeding into it.”