Elle

Saturday, December 3rd

Olivia insisted that we meet at a nail salon. It doesn’t surprise me with the way she’s been picking at hers incessantly. I watch the technician who is filing off her cracked and chipped nails. The smell of acetone and acrylic dust burns my nostrils.

“Do you think we will make sixty?” Olivia asks in a hushed tone.

“How long have you been doing this?” I ask, my face twisting in disgust.

The technician in front of me gestures at my hands again, and I reluctantly place them on the towel. A simple manicure. It’s not my thing, but I’m here, so I might as well do this and look the part for our upcoming bullshit game.

“Since I was a teenager,” Olivia says, her cheeks turning red.

“You could save money if you didn’t.”

A file meets my thumbnail, and I cringe.

Olivia’s eyes widen. She shakes her head. “No, I couldn’t give it up. My nails …”

She won’t finish. She’d never admit she destroys them with all her nervous energy.

“We’ll hit sixty, depending on what business comes in this weekend and next,” I answer her question finally. “We split it, though.”

“You mean, sixty—”

“I said split.”

She nods slowly as she processes the change in our terms.

“Do you think we could get more?” she whispers.

The two women working on our nails are having their own conversation. They don’t care about what we’re discussing. Olivia is so fucking paranoid. We aren’t saying anything incriminating. She needs to lighten up. Her reaction to her fears will get us caught, not our discussion.

“Maybe, but I wouldn’t count on it.” I shrug.

“We could do more … after Christmas.”

“No. We couldn’t. We had a deal. I get you to thirty. You give me my jewelry and whatever else is with it,” I say, standing firm.

She better read between the lines here. I want my jewelry. All of it. But I desperately need that box. If Travis hasn’t already found the key.

He didn’t know about the key, though. Mom only told me. There’d have been no reason for him to inspect the box. I fucking hope he left it abandoned and forgotten with the rest of our inheritance in their basement.

Abandoned and forgotten. He didn’t even notice that Olivia was wearing other pieces from the collection. He’s either checked out of his marriage or inept at remembering his family. Or both.

“No, I know,” she sighs. “But I was still hoping we could …”

“Hmm,” I grunt.

I could give her the predetermined and definitive answer, but it’s better to keep her motivated. Hopeful.

On cue with my thoughts, my phone screen flashes to life on the table between us. My eyelid twitches in beat with the too-pleasant ringtone. I don’t have to look.

“You need to get that?” Olivia asks as the technician pauses.

“Nah,” I give a half smile. “It’s just a telemarketer.”

When my phone vibrates with a voicemail notification, my stomach does a somersault. I hate when the caller leaves a message. So far, they’ve been dead air and breathing, but I can’t not listen to it. There could be an indication of who the caller is, a hint that it may not be Sam. Except, nobody else is this persistent.

I dread telling Zane. I’m not ready to leave Leesburg. I’ll tell him … as soon as I get my things back.

Something pulls at my chest. An odd sensation. I’d do anything to protect my one true love. I’ve done so much already. I’ve made sure he doesn’t know the piece of me that would hurt him and take him from me. It’s the same piece that would make him vulnerable to the shitshow that’s my past, and my present.

I need my things. I need answers. I won’t get them if we leave.

I shake it off. That’s why the thought of moving bothers me so much.

“So, that woman’s house this morning.” I chuckle. “It’s like Christmas threw up in there.”

Olivia’s face brightens. “Wasn’t it amazing?”

“No.” I laugh harder. “It was horrible. It made my skin crawl.”

“Of course, it would,” she says, bumping my shoulder, then apologizing to the woman who’s working on her nails. “I love Christmas. It’s full of magic and hope. The decorations are the best. And the sugar cookies Mindy made for her guests … wow.”

She’s a full-blown fanatic.

“Zane loves Christmas,” I say, cringing at the thought.

I decorate for him, but I only get through a third of his decorations before calling it quits with the promise of a better attempt the following year. If he wasn’t gone so much, he’d do it. Some years, he does, and it’s gross.

“He has good taste,” she says wistfully. “Camden doesn’t like Christmas. At all. I don’t know why. It’s ridiculous.”

Gee, I wonder why. Perhaps because our parents died just before Christmas?

“Sorry, I mean, I know you don’t like Christmas either, but come on. You can’t hate it that much,” she says, flashing her teeth in a playful grin.

“I do,” I say.

The tech pats my hand, and I glance over to see if she wants me to put my fingers in a bowl of liquid.

“You just need someone to brighten your holidays; then you’ll change your mind.”

“Maybe you could—”

“Olivia,” a gruff voice calls from the door.

My skin erupts in goosebumps as Olivia yanks her hands from the technician and stands.

“Jared,” she says, her voice timid. “What are you—”

“You little sneak, running off like that the other day,” he growls. He moves toward her, and Olivia stumbles back, bumping into her chair.

I nod to my nail technician with a friendly smile and mouth thanks as I extract my hands from the clear liquid and dab them onto the towel in front of me.

Rising slowly, I touch Olivia’s arm.

“Who’s this?” I ask casually. He’s my new enemy, but I’d like to know his name. I won’t be forgetting it.

“Jared,” she says, her eyes darting between him and me as he takes another step forward. “Camden’s uncle.”

“Camden’s uncle?” I ask, tilting my head.

My muscles tighten, a fist forming behind my back. The tension feels good, reminding me that I’m not imagining this. This is not a dream. None of it.

Travis doesn’t have an uncle. Travis doesn’t have any family.

Not anymore.

Except Olivia.

He’s putting her in danger by lying to her about this motherfucker.

“The money, Olivia,” he orders, trying to step around me to get to her.

I slide between them again, pulling my shoulders back.

“I told you that I have it under control, Jared,” she says, staying behind me.

Good to know that she’d let her friend take a hit for her.

“Are you going to rob a bank or something?” He reaches around me, grasping at her wrist.

I grab his, twisting as I do.

“Now, why would she break the law for you?” I say with disdain. It’s been too long since I’ve had a good fight.

“Who are you, anyway?” He glares down at me, posturing.

His eyes didn’t flash with confusion, and he wouldn’t acknowledge me until I stepped in. He knows something about me.

“The woman who has control of your wrist,” I retort, giving it an extra twist with added friction.

He winces. It’s hard to cover up some sorts of pain, especially from those that catch us by surprise.

“Do you need the cops?” the technician asks, waving a phone from behind her station.

I glance toward them. They’ve shrunk behind their plexiglass protectors, eyes wide. I give the woman with the phone a quick nod.

“I think the cops would be a great option.” I smirk. “If Jared here doesn’t leave.”

He shakes his arm in defeat, willing me to let go. I comply, and he turns, moving toward the door.

He glances back as he pushes it open. “This isn’t over, Olivia,” he calls, pointing at her.

When he’s gone, I turn to face her. She’s collapsed back in her chair, her body shaking.

“I’m so sorry,” she’s pleading to the space around her, to me and to the two women who are also stunned by the intruder. “He’s harmless, I swear. He’s just upset. I’m so sorry.”

The two nail technicians glance at each other then back at Olivia.

“Maybe you should go,” one of them says apologetically.

“But you know me. This has never—”

“Sorry, Olivia,” she says, shaking her head.

Her eyes are red when she stands, tears beginning their descent down her cheeks.

She scurries to the door but doesn’t dare push it open alone. Instead, she peers through the glass, moving her head back and forth as she scopes out the sidewalk.

“Thank you for letting me handle it,” I say, giving the women a final nod, and slip several twenties onto the station in front of me.

I move to Olivia’s side and wrap my arm over her shoulder as I push the glass door open with my hip. Bells chime with the movement as we step onto the street.

“I’ve got your back, Olivia,” I whisper.

She gulps and leans against me.

“You want a milkshake?” I ask. “While we find you another salon to finish your nails?”

“Okay.” She hiccups.

It’s exactly what she needs to pull herself together.

“Thank you,” she adds.

“For what?”

“For back there,” she says, peering at me, her eyes questioning. “I owe you.”

Delightful.

“While I typically like holding IOUs over someone’s head, I’m going to need to cash this one in ASAP. Take a day off this week; it’s going to require some discretion.”

It’s almost midnight, which means that Zane is sound asleep, while I’m hunched over my desk determined to get a little more work done.

During our after-dinner chess game, Zane tried a new-ish strategy. My brain quickly mapped out how it would play out, but instead of using it to my advantage, I allowed him to defeat me. I needed to get back to my office, and he was due for a win.

My eyes are dry and lids itchy. I stare through the discomfort into the microscope, working on a green piece of glass that resembles an emerald. It’s perfect for the cross that I’ve forged as a replica of mine. There are clear glass pieces to cut and metal to work for the party guests, but I’ll use the machines for that, and they’re too noisy.

Anger works its way through me, first at the back of my skull, then down through my chest, until it twitches in my fingers. Replicating this piece to fool an asshole is a waste of my fucking time.

I shouldn’t expect any couth from him. His life is an indication of that. He lies to Olivia about an uncle, the cross, and God knows what else. His mere existence is a threat to her—the cons he runs heighten the stakes—and I don’t like it.

The jewelry is mine, and soon, I’ll have it all, but I’m invested now. I’ll get revenge on Jared, the aggressive money shark posing as “Camden’s” uncle.

I’ll craft the perfect plan to take Travis down, too. He’ll pay for every lie he’s ever told, for every person he’s ever slighted.

Framing him would be ideal, but too challenging without Olivia on board—which would be impossible, since she’s somehow still head-over-heels for him.

“Hun?” Zane says groggily, rapping lightly on the door before pushing it open.

“Hey, Love,” I say, the sight of him relieving me of my agitation.

“It’s late. What are you still doing up?” His gaze roams over my workspace, and then he rubs his eyes.

“Just trying to get some repairs done. I have a lot to do.” I smile at him.

“We should get you a new desk,” he says, his gaze roaming the tattered desk the prior renter left behind.

“This one’s fine.”

“It’s terrible.” His nose scrunches. “It’s falling apart.”

I turn on my stool and glare at him.

“Who are you to judge whether it works?” I snap.

“I’m just saying, you could get a different one, if you’d like.”

“Why does it suddenly matter so much? You dying to make this space mid-century modern, too?” My anger boils over at him, and I let it, even when I know it’s irrational.

He sighs, indicating his lack of interest in a midnight fight. “What would you like, Elle?”

“I don’t know!” I shout. He’s always so fucking amenable. “Maybe a plant or a chair. A dog that you’ll never agree to. I’d have better luck convincing you to adopt a homeless guy.” His face scrunches and twists in his display of confusion. “Never mind,” I grumble, standing. “We’ll just be moving again in a few months anyway.”

I step in front of him as my tantrum dissipates. Pulling his hips to mine, I press against him. He hums his pleasure as I slide my hand down his torso and into his briefs.

He lifts me, and I wrap my legs around his waist. He carries me to our room, where I’ll hopefully find momentary distraction in his arms from the antagonizing, relentless thoughts.