“No. I just have really good resources.”
She worked hard to swallow. The room was quiet. “How do I know the money is guaranteed?”
“It is . . . but it won’t all show up right away. I’ll wire it to you in increments, just to make sure you hold up your end of the bargain. I’ll start with ten thousand and increase from there.” I adjusted my purse on my lap.
Marriot was quiet for a beat. She looked all around her. “This will go against all my codes—all my work ethics.”
“You’ll be fine, and so will Ivy.”
She drew in a deep breath and then exhaled. “Fine,” she said, lifting her chin. Her bottom lip was trembling. “Make it forty thousand and it’s a deal.”
And a deal it was.
Marriott would get every check I received from Lola. I wasn’t joking about how well Lola paid me: eight thousand dollars a month. Kind of low when you consider everything I’d done for her and how filthy rich she was, but it was all right. I could afford to pay Marriott and I didn’t need much anyway while living in the mansion. Food was provided. Clothes were a uniform. Gas was covered by one of Lola’s business credit cards. It wasn’t like I went shopping or had a personal life anymore, so I’d saved several thousand dollars over the years—ever since Lola showed me her true colors. Not only that, but my ten million was well on the way. It was only a matter of time before I would receive it, so this small sacrifice would be worth it.
I asked Marriott for a pen and then scribbled Lola’s name on a sheet of paper, sliding it across the desk. “Just in case you forget.”
Marriott took it and placed it in her top drawer, giving me a wary glance.
As I climbed into Lola’s SUV and started the ignition, I could feel Marriott watching me go. I didn’t care. I knew she would keep quiet and do what she was told if she wanted the money and a better life.
She would feel remorse for telling you, Ivy, but she’d get over it and realize your decisions afterward were your own.
This was a plan being set in motion and nothing was going to stop it. Nothing at all.
CHAPTER FORTY
You did everything much better than I could ever plan, Ivy. You were a wise girl, something I adored about you.
You didn’t jump the gun and run with Lola’s name. You took your time. You came up with your own plan. You had to have known that Lola hadn’t sent that name herself, but that was what Marriott told you, right? I know it is because that’s what I told her to tell you.
You had to have hoped and prayed Lola knew nothing about you, but you took the risk anyway and showed her your face, which proved to me you had several tricks up your sleeve for her. I liked that.
What were you thinking when you realized Lola didn’t know who you were? I bet you were relieved, thought you were ahead of the game and extremely smart, but you didn’t think to ask yourself who had really given you that name, did you? You just assumed what was happening was meant to be, and that you were smarter than the originator—than me.
I admit, it was a nice touch signing up for Lola’s charity. I always thought you’d slink your way in some other way. She was obsessed with that little charity of hers. Good job.
But I have to tell you, even if you’d used your real name on the application, Lola wouldn’t have known who you were. Matter of fact, Lola had no clue the Hills had a daughter.
She didn’t give a fuck about the deceased couple, she just wanted the situation buried, and she didn’t care how. You should hate her for that. You really, really should. She never would have owned up to her wrongdoing if it weren’t for me leading you to her.
I’m confused, though, by why your motive changed. You wanted to destroy Lola, take her down at first. I saw that anger in your eyes as you left Marriott’s clinic. You wanted to ruin this Lola woman. Destroy everything she touched. But let me guess . . . you saw Dr. Maxwell and became mesmerized. I had a feeling that would happen.
You went to him several months later, he fondled your breasts, and suddenly you felt connected to him. I suppose I should have seen that one coming. Your obsessive disorder was going to kick in one way or another; I just expected you to continue obsessing over Lola, not become crazed with the idea of being with him.
I could have told you from the jump that he wasn’t all that great. All he ever did was cheat on Lola, and she did the same in return, but he loved playing the victim. He loved having the women he fucked around with think they were his first affair and that his wife was no good. That’s how he got the ladies. That’s how he got you.