front door does little to disturb me, and I refuse to get up when it doesn’t stop. Give it up already, asshat. I’m not answering the phone. I’m not coming to the door. My patience wins out over the knocker’s impatience, and finally, it grows quiet again.
The front door creaks open, and quiet footsteps enter. If I gave two shits, I’d get out of this bed, but whoever’s coming for me can have me. They’ve been trying for too long. I no longer care. If Zane were here, it would be different, but he’s not. I’m alone.
“Elle?” A light voice comes as a whisper through the house.
Well, I’m not dying today.
“Elle?”
I can’t be bothered to move.
“Elle, are you already asleep? It’s only seven.”
I throw the covers back and stare at the darkened ceiling.
“You breaking into houses now, Olivia?” I groan.
“You have a key under the mat.”
Fuck. If Zane knew I kept a key under the mat for when I go on runs, he’d lose his shit.
If my stalker knew, I’d be dead.
“Give me that,” I say without reaching out a hand.
Olivia tosses it onto the bed.
“What are you doing here?” Maybe if I’m more direct, she’ll get to the point.
“Honestly? I don’t know.” She slumps onto the foot of the bed, her back to me. “Camden decided to go pull an all-nighter at work, and I just ended up … here.”
Convenient. For her.
“You know I could have you arrested,” I say grumpily.
“You know I could have you arrested,” she repeats—but with an edge.
“The jewelry is mine. I’m not sure I can steal something that belongs to me.”
“Then why is it in my basement?”
That’s a fantastic question. One I wish I didn’t have the answer to.
I sigh, deciding it’s time that she knows something. “Someone stole the collection from me when I was sixteen. How you got it, I can’t say. It’s not like I’ve been stalking you.”
She leans against the bed and peers in my direction.
“Haven’t you?” she asks sarcastically.
“I was stalking my inheritance, not you. You’re hardly interesting enough.”
“Your inheritance,” she repeats, processing. Her shoulders hunch. “I suppose you’re right: I’m not interesting. Camden seems to agree with you, anyway.”
Travis. Not Camden.
We used to agree on a lot, but I won’t be categorized with him any longer.
“He’s an ass,” I mumble.
I stretch my legs, expanding the length of my spine along the mattress, then flip the comforter back over my face. “There’s wine in the kitchen. You can open any bottle you want.”
The mattress shifts as she stands, and her footsteps crossing the floor fade as she leaves the room.
I groan as I sort through my situation. With Olivia, I’m sort of free from pretending.
I could make her leave, but I don’t hate her. Anyone who suggests we con a bunch of rich ladies has some inner demons who I’d like to know. Plus, we’re family.
The click of her heels returns along with a quiet thud on the nightstand next to me. She walks around the bed and plops down on Zane’s side.
I reach up and pull the covers down enough to peer out and spot a snifter next to me. Full of bourbon—not wine. Sliding up in bed, I bring my knees to my chest and then lift the glass to my lips, letting the warmth of the whiskey slip down my throat.
When I set it back down, I grab the remote and turn the television on. The screen flashes as I click through the channels, finally landing on a Saturday Night Live rerun.
“You know,” I say, turning my head in her direction, “You aren’t that bad.”
She lifts her own glass to her lips and takes a couple of gulps of her red wine.
“Also, thank you for not making me drink that crap.” I point to her glass.
She tilts her head, and in the television’s glow, she looks devious.
“You lie about liking wine? Here I was offering you something stronger … seems like you could use it right now.”
“I always need it. Please don’t tell Zane. He’d be crushed.”
She twists her finger and thumb, which are pressed together by her pursed lips, sealing the secret.
“Not like it matters,” I say, trying to bring light to my secret. “We all have a vice.”
“Ice cream,” Olivia says. “That’s mine. I love milkshakes. Ben & Jerry’s pints.”
“Of course, it is,” I grumble, but the corner of my lip twitches at her admission.
“At least your marriage is sound … aside from the wine thing,” Olivia mutters. “I’m pretty sure mine is crumbling, and Charlie’s at the core. Or Libby. Who the fuck knows.”
The man at the gym … he was so close, and I dismissed it. I grab my glass and bring it to my lips, letting it hover there for my own comfort. I’m unable to pay attention to what’s happening on the television. Yet, I manage to hear Tina Fey asking Betty White how many people live in her apartment. I unexpectedly laugh when Betty announces her name in a drawn-out “Blarfengar.”
“When does Zane get home?” Olivia asks.
“Tomorrow sometime. He’ll be glad to know that you were here.”
“Really?” She turns her head, searching my face for something.
“Really.” I chuckle. “He was worried about me and suggested I call you.”
“You could have, you know,” she says in a soothing tone.
I couldn’t have, but she can’t know that.
“Well, I’m glad he’s coming home,” Olivia says as the skit on TV ends. “Have you ever thought of getting a guard dog? In case your crimes catch up with you or someone other than me discovers your hidden key.”
“Nah.” I take another sip. “I’m going to adopt a homeless man like Betty White.”
Olivia slouches further into the headboard and giggles into her wine glass. For once, the anxiety she carries releases from her.
“Someone tried to break into our house the other day,” Olivia says.
The hand holding my glass begins to shake.
“Or someone did break in, but they didn’t take anything. Maybe. I don’t know. Camden thinks the wind tripped the alarm,” she rambles.
“Maybe you need a guard dog,” I suggest, forcing my words to come evenly.
Her cuddly dog didn’t guard shit.
“Camden has one.” Olivia rolls her eyes. “She didn’t bark. She was lying by the garage door, whimpering, when we got home. She doesn’t like the alarm. He’s convinced it wasn’t a break-in, because he thinks if it were, she would have attacked … barked. Something.”
Her knees start bouncing as a frown crosses her face. “But, he took her to a kennel for a few days just in case. God forbid his dog be home alone if a risk—the one he swears doesn’t exist—shows up again.” She takes a gulp from her glass and shakes her shoulders as if shedding something from her back. “When he dropped me off tonight, like a cheap date, I just couldn’t go in. So, I got in my car and showed up here.”
“He’s a fucking asshole, Olivia!”
“He had to work …”
Her gaze meets mine, and I know she doesn’t believe a word she says.
“Fucking Charlie,” I say, holding her gaze.
She shakes her head. “Fucking Charlie.”