Chapter 7
LILA
At around two in the morning, the car passes through the gate and rolls quietly into the driveway.
The house is lit, silent, and empty of people.
The two men escorting me, who haven’t said a word the entire trip, help me out, hand me my burger, and climb back in before moving away from the house, heading to the exit.
As the car vanishes out of sight, I stand in the middle of the driveway, listening to the summer night. The wind rustling through the leaves, the water dripping in the fountain, the occasional bird forgetting that it’s too early to sing, or the katydids’ short rhythmic bursts.
What a night.
What just happened?
I’m still so shocked that we did what we did, that I don’t know where to go from here.
Had I had my way, I’d go upstairs, pack my things, call a cab, and leave. Spend the night in a hotel, then book a plane ticket back to New York, and forget about spending the rest of summer here.
It’s not up to me, though.
I mean, I could do all that if I wanted to lose my money.
Um, yeah… There’s this other thing I forgot to mention.
There’s another little clause in my father’s will, one I’d never even taken into consideration, because I didn’t need to.
It had never crossed my mind that I wouldn’t respect his wishes or be the good woman he wanted me to be.
The thing is, I could lose my inheritance if I failed to work during summer break or refused to live with an adult before I graduated from college. In this case, Henrietta.
By misbehaving, I would forfeit my right to my inheritance, and all the money would go to her.
The thought gives me shivers.
I never thought seriously about that. Again, it has never been something to worry about.
But now, as I feel like putting some distance between her husband and me, this seems like an important issue to consider.
A different thought spearheads through my head. It’s the same thought that has been circling my awareness for a while.
Oh, my God.
Call me suspicious, but what if she and her husband are truly in this together? Wouldn’t it work really well for them?
Creating some drama, making me do what they want me to do, and then getting all the money?
He is shady as fuck. Has no problem doing immoral things like blackmailing people and extorting them.
And she is nowhere to be found.
How convenient, isn’t it? She’s away from home for so many days just as he seduces me.
He is seducing me, right?
It’s a rhetorical question for me to ponder as my feelings become even more antagonistic.
What is going on?
I try to review what happened this evening.
He caught me trying to climb over the fence. Scooped me up and took me with him. Did that blackmailing little number on me. Got me acquainted with the illegalities of his business.
He was absolutely unfazed when I said I could do some bad stuff to him if I went to the police and told them what I knew about him.
What if he was right and those people already know about him?
The feds might do something to him. Would I go as far as snitching on him?
All these thoughts make my apprehension soar.
I wish I could go back to when the most important thing I needed to do was to select my favorite burger from a menu, and talk to Keira about getting laid.
About that…
What just happened in his office again?
My first guy wasn’t that good with his fingers. He would’ve rather have a root canal than slide a finger into me.
He was so afraid of… I don’t know what exactly. My reaction to him? The fact that I might get off? The fact that he might hurt me…?
He said something to that effect.
Whatever.
I didn’t know I could get off from a man’s fingers. Mine didn’t work like that.
Maybe I feared the process as much as my first guy did. I tried it in the comfort of my home. It still didn’t work for me. Playing with my clit did.
Back to my story.
I still get soft aftershocks as I relive Damon’s hand up my skirt. His fingers playing with my pussy. His mouth sucking on my boob.
I get hotter and hotter just thinking about it.
So, let me see if I got this right.
What if he wants me to do something stupid, leave, spend the summer in Brooklyn, and never come back?
What if they call the lawyer and tell him I have left?
They get the money. I get nothing.
She must be the brain behind all this.
Who does that type of thing anyway? Well, people have done worse things for way less.
What if her husband seduces me and I never leave? What can happen if I do that?
Nothing. Absolutely nothing.
They can’t touch me. I need to be alive and well for her to get her money a year from now.
They’ll need to wait so they can get what’s theirs––I mean hers.
In this scenario, based on what I’ve seen so far, he could be a problem.
He’ll be creative, driving me crazy, and he’ll do more than make me come in his lap or try to compel me to do stuff I normally wouldn’t do.
He could fuck with my brain in every way imaginable. And she will be part of it. What kind of vile people are these two?
What if they’re trying to derail me, make me act unlike me so I can lose my money in the end?
But what if I’m wrong, and there’s a third possibility, meaning none of this is what it seems.
That he’s not her accomplice, and this isn’t about the money.
This possibility scares me the most.
So, let’s stick to the idea that he’s trying to seduce me for a nefarious reason.
I could fight him off, or not––see where this is taking us.
Interesting night, and absolutely scary thought.
With that in mind, I slowly walk toward the house, and I enter the hallway leading to the kitchen a little later.
LILA
Sighing, I chew on my burger.
It’s absolutely delicious, not to mention that all those things happening tonight have made me work up an appetite.
Perched on a barstool, with my elbows resting on the kitchen island, I stare at the pool through the glass doors when a loud noise explodes next to me.
“Where were you?” Henrietta barks behind me, her house keys clinking against the smooth counter.
I choke on my food and cough. Other than sliding my glass of water close to me, she does nothing else.
I get a glimpse of her frown as I cough continuously before I sip water and finally breathe properly.
“What the fuck is wrong with you? You scared me,” I say, tilting my eyes down, and trying to understand why I didn’t hear her.
She wears slippers and a fancy pajama set––satin shorts and a top––a flowing, silky robe on top of it.
She still has makeup on, and please don’t tell me she was waiting for her husband.
He seemed quite busy at the club. As a rule, he spends the night out.
Don’t these people talk to each other? Wasn’t she supposed to come back next week?
Was he lying to me? Was that part of their games?
For sure, her yelling at me looks genuine. She seems mad at me, and perhaps even at him.
But I need more than this to understand their dynamic, and what role I’m playing in all this.
“Where were you, Lila Skye?”
She slides into a barstool next to me and shifts to face me with one hand gathering her robe over her lap.
There’s no acting or pretension in her stance. Her expression seems authentic.
Why is she mad at me?
“What’s your problem?” I ask.
“His men dropped you off.”
I swallow hard as if I have a fishbone stuck in my throat.
‘And you know that how?’ is my first question that luckily remains unspoken.
Asking her about that would only make me look even guiltier.
I don’t know what kind of game these people play, but I need to brush up on my skills and play it with them until I figure out what this is all about.
So I start by not looking like I’m affected, and I tell her the truth.
“I went out with Keira.”
She knows about Keira. She met her before. Their dislike for each other was thick and mutual.
She purses her lips, waiting for me to elaborate.
“And then I got drunk.”
“Go on,” she says as I put the rest of the burger down and drink more water.
“I don’t remember much after that.”
I’m also rehearsing my speech for when the police will come over and ask me about a certain man picking up a particular suitcase crammed with money, jewelry, guns, or body parts, perhaps.
I point to the burger.
“I got hungry. Bought some food. Went to Keira’s.
Ate it. Got this extra burger. Headed here and tried to get in.
As you may very well know, I’ve been having a hard time with the gate, so I went back to town.
Again, I don’t remember much after that.
I think your husband found me, took pity in me, and instructed his men to take me home.
And here I am,” I say, content with how nicely I wrapped up my story.
My smugness fades as I can’t read a thing on her face. I can’t tell whether she’s buying it or not.
She’s probably not.
“He saw you wear that?”
She’s pointing to my skintight dress.
“He and five hundred other people. I don’t think he looked at me, though.”
I shift my focus to the burger.
Saved by another bite, I chew slowly and ponder what to do next.
“I was trying to get a date,” I say as the edge of her stare gives me blisters.
“Not with him, I hope,” she tosses at me, a little dark, a pinch humorous.
I dismiss her assumption with a faint gesture, gently suggesting how ridiculous she is.
“It’s a guy from Keira’s workplace. Where she used to work, actually.”
Although I’m telling her the truth, taking another sip of water way too quickly after finishing saying that makes me look guilty.
She leans onto the counter, her head propped on her hand, her elbow pressed against the surface.
“Tell me more.”
“It’s a guy.”
“I got that.”
“He’s not a good guy, and I’ve got a better choice.”
I try to distract with all that information.
“But I decided to go with my second choice, and only then, if things don’t work out, will I mess with the good guy.”
“Interesting. You have morals.”
Unlike you.
“Yes, I do have morals. I don’t want to mess with the good guy. I’m leaving in a few short weeks, and I don’t want to break his heart.”
I sound so sincere that her face glows with a smile. She lifts an eyebrow at me.