13
There was alcohol in the town car, much to Teagan’s delight. Tiny bottles in hand, the mood lightened, and they settled into small talk. Celebrities and current events and Betty Knottier’s weird obsession with neon colors. Teagan decidedly did not bring up Warren again, and that was just fine with Victoria.
She had planning to work out.
They took a handful of decent selfies despite Victoria protesting the angles and the act itself. Selfies made her feel simultaneously too old and incredibly immature. Teagan bragged about the hits on her latest video, and Victoria didn’t make any snide comments about her being a fake doctor.
A mile or so from the Gala, the conversation died out. They watched the passing landscape while a random playlist of nineties throwbacks danced between them. As a Britney song started, Teagan turned the volume down.
“So, at Livingston. You’re like a badass female version of Ray Donovan.”
“Kind of,” Victoria said. “I’m not the person you call when you’ve killed someone and don’t know what to do with the dead body. I’m the person you call when you’ve tried to kill someone and failed, and now that person is running around your property messing with your plan.”
“Ah. A hitman.”
She snorted. “That’s how Dad liked to think of himself, I’m sure. Really, my job isn’t that glamorous or exciting, but I love it.”
I love it, she thought, panic stretching across her chest. And he wants to take it.
She couldn’t let him.
“You okay?” Teagan asked, concern dotting her brow as much as the Botox would allow.
“I’m fine. Tired.”
The car slowed, then stopped. The driver peered into the rearview, two thick, gray eyebrows hovering above a pair of wire-rimmed glasses.
“Pardon, madams,” he said. “We’ll be arriving at the Kent Wood Mansion’s security checkpoint momentarily. You’ll need to have your IDs ready.”
“Aye, aye, sir,” Teagan said with a salute. She rooted in her clutch and whispered in Victoria’s ear, “Why’d he have to say madams? I’m calling the police.”
“Be nice,” Victoria said.
“When am I not?”
They reached the checkpoint and two men dressed in black suits approached. Brown-blond hair cut military style and gelled to perfection. Square jawlines. The taller guard had a cluster of freckles on his forehead, and the shorter guard had a dimpled scar on his nose.
Each had a tablet and an earpiece, and Victoria was sixty percent sure they were armed. The Connors were sticklers for security.
“Good evening. Names and IDs,” the taller guard said.
With a practiced grace, Teagan hiked her dress up half an inch and squeezed her arms together, highlighting her cleavage. Subtlety had never been her forte. “Dr. Teagan Livingston and Mrs. Victoria Tate,” Teagan said, emphasizing doctor and adding a layer of sultriness to her voice. “What’s your name, handsome? Anyone told you that you look just like Jensen Ackles?”
“Keep it in your pants, Teags,” Victoria whispered.
“What did I do?” she mouthed innocently.
The shorter guard smiled and scrolled through the list of names on the screen. “Dr. Livingston, solo. Mrs. Tate, I see you’re supposed to be accompanied by Mr. Warren Tate?”
“Yes, we’re arriving separately.”
“Understood, ma’am.” The taller guard returned her license and added a notation next to Warren’s name.
“Could I see your license, doctor?” the shorter guard asked.
“My pleasure.” Teagan slid two fingers into her bra—when the hell had she put her license in her bra? Victoria wondered—and withdrew the ID, passing it out the window with a wink.
He checked it over and smiled, all white teeth and cupid’s bow. “The Connors have asked that we review the rules before you enter. First, pictures are allowed but cannot be livestreamed or posted to any social media platform without joint approval from Barnaby and Margaret Connors. In the event that you do upload unapproved content, the Connors are within their right to pursue legal action.”
“No leaks. Got it,” Teagan said.
The guard checked his tablet, but he’d obviously run through this script many times. “It is an open bar, but a donation to the charity of the Connors’ choosing is recommended and highly encouraged. And, finally, please refrain from any and all illegal substances while on the premises.”
“Damn, there goes my night,” Teagan snarked. “Was planning on binging some edibles until I hallucinated a tiger.”
“Why a tiger?” Victoria asked.
“They are majestic,” the guard offered.
“I’d touch your tiger,” Teagan announced.
“Teagan!” Victoria smacked her knee.
“Do you have any questions?” he asked, suppressing a grin.
“No, I think we got it. And here.” Teagan slid a business card into the guard’s palm. “My personal number’s on the back. Use it.”
He smiled and slipped the card into his pocket. “Well, all right. You have a good night, doctor.” Then to Victoria, “Enjoy your evening, ma’am.”
The windows rolled up, and the car moved forward.
“Aghhh, he ma’am-ed you,” Teagan said with a cackle. “That’s worse than madam. You should make an appointment with me next week. Mini facelift, maybe an eyelift to tighten the musculature and skin around your eyes? Do wonders for those budding crow’s-feet and marionette lines. You’ll feel like a whole new person.”
“I like my face the way it is.”
“Resting and full of bitch?”
“Better than frozen and mass produced.”
Teagan cursed under her breath. “I don’t know what your issue is with cosmetic surgery. Everybody does it. You’re not better than me because you haven’t had any work done, and I really wish you’d stop with the condescending bullshit.”
Pot. Kettle. “I don’t have an issue; it’s just not my thing, and I wish you’d stop pushing your procedures at me. I don’t want a nip or a tuck or a facelift.”
She held her hands up in defense. “All right, Christ, you don’t have to scream at me.”
Maybe I do, she thought.
The Backstreet Boys cranked through the speakers, and, oh, how they wanted it that way when Victoria just wanted the night to be over so she could go home and murder her husband in peace.
“He was delicious, wasn’t he? God, I love when their faces are symmetrical.”
“Do you have an off switch?” Victoria asked.
“Nope.”
“That’d be too easy.”
“There’s no shame in taking what you want. I thought you of all people would get that.”
The car stopped and Victoria stared up at the Kent Wood Mansion, anticipation coursing through her veins. The driver opened Teagan’s door first. She burst out, gave him a high five, and twirled to the sidewalk.
“Hurry up, I’m freezing my tits off over here.”
“Wouldn’t want anything to happen to those,” Victoria said, emerging from the car. Handing the driver a twenty, she inhaled the crisp night air and linked elbows with her sister. The first downy flakes began to fall like frozen kisses, and Victoria counted each one like a silent prayer that everything would work out in her favor.