I took a moment to decide what I was going to do. That fucking bitch catfished me. I took a couple of small deep breaths while I decided whether or not I’d leap across the table and bash Olivia’s plastic face in. My body was tense. I could fucking kill her right now. I took another deep breath, trying to center myself. I knew what Olivia had done, but Olivia didn’t know that I knew. I had the upper hand here. I could fly off the handle, scream at her, make a scene, and leave the club, refusing to ever speak to her again. I considered that option.
But then I watched her. I watched her sway her hips, sing along to the music, and try to get everyone to dance. I watched her put her arms up and slither them around like fucking snakes as she tried her best to move with the beat. I watched her smile and laugh and soak in all the attention she was getting from random men at the bar. I decided at that moment I wasn’t going to scream at her. I wasn’t going to make a scene. I wasn’t going to cuss her out. I was just going to pretend like everything was fucking peachy. I regained my composure. I forced my lips to curve into a smile. Standing from my seat, I joined her, swaying my hips. The girls followed us to the dance floor. Olivia raised an eyebrow at me and smiled back. She didn’t know it yet, but her days were numbered.
57
Olivia
After a few songs, we returned to our seats. I was surprised Shannon joined in on the dancing. Then again, rejection and desperation will make you do things completely and totally out of character. She hadn’t checked her phone in a while. Shannon had clearly given up on her date showing at all. Little did she know; her date had shown. I let out a giggle and took another drink. Shannon needed to be reminded of her place in Buckhead, and what better way to remind her than to diminish her self-confidence. She did the same to me once upon a time.
Four years ago, at Buckhead’s gala of the year, Shannon got drunk (nothing has changed) and told everyone about my past, something I had confided to her. She told them how my father was arrested, how my family was slimy, and how he lost all of our money. She belittled me and ridiculed me the whole night, dragging me through the mud, reveling in it like it was a game. From that point on, people looked at Dean and me a little differently. We weren’t the classy Petrovs, we were the smarmy Petrovs, and we ultimately fell into those roles. Because it’s easy to become who people say you are. On top of that, for years the women in Buckhead called me Nemo—“new money,” a constant reminder that I wasn’t like them. I could have spoken to her about it, explained how she hurt me, but where was the fun in that? Forgiveness is boring, but revenge . . . now, that’s a real thrill! Betray me once, and I will bury you, one shovel of dirt at a time.
I had heard Shannon a while back talking about online dating. From then on, I made it a point to routinely look her up on popular dating sites to see if she had created a profile. A few weeks ago, I struck gold when I discovered her. She never even questioned it. Desperate women don’t ask questions. I wondered how long I could keep it going. Could I lure her somewhere? Or humiliate her to the point where she’d never be able to show her face again? Could I make her feel the way she made me feel? Forced into a role that I created for her? Or maybe I could finally unload that last spade of soil, the one that will keep her where she belongs—six feet below the rest of us.
“This was fun. Thanks for including me, Olivia,” Shannon said with a smile. She wouldn’t be thanking me if she knew the truth. Fun indeed.
“Anytime.” I smiled back. “So sorry your date didn’t show.”
“Yeah, that sucks. His loss,” Keisha piped in.
“Men are dicks,” Karen said.
“It wasn’t a total loss. Jenny met a guy.” I laughed.
“Actually, he was really nice. We exchanged numbers.” Jenny took a drink.
I gave her a puzzled look. Nice means zilch when it comes to dating. Has she learned nothing from being around us all these years? We don’t date nice. We date rich. But then again, Jenny wasn’t one of us.
“Good for you, girl.” Keisha high-fived Jenny.
“If you say so.” I rolled my eyes. “I’m going to go settle the bill. Anyone want anything else?” They all shook their heads and thanked me—as they should.
I walked over to the waitress who was chatting with her coworker instead of serving us. I had already decided I was going to dock her tip. I shouldn’t have had to come find her to settle my bill. I was the customer—the very wealthy customer—and therefore, I deserved impeccable service. I tossed my Black AmEx card on the counter. “Ring it up.”
“Do you want to know the total?” she asked meekly while her little coworker skedaddled off.
“Look at me. Do I look like someone that asks how much? No. Just run the card,” I demanded, putting my hands on my hips and tapping my foot.
She swiped the card. Then she swiped it again and again.
“It says it’s declined.” She tilted her head.
“Bullshit. Run it again!”
She swiped the card again and again.
“Do you have another card?” she asked, handing the Black AmEx over.
I stamped my foot and took the card, shoving it back into my wallet. I handed her another one. She swiped and swiped.
“It’s also declined.”
“What the fuck?! That’s impossible! Run it again, you idiot!”
She swiped it once more, slowly, as if she were mocking me.
“Declined. How do you want to pay for this?” Her meek voice had become more assertive.
I grabbed the card from her and bolted for the door, not looking back as the waitress squawked, “Hey, you have to pay!”
The limo was parked outside waiting for us. I jumped in and before the driver could turn around and ask any questions, I told him to fucking drive. Without hesitation, he stepped on it.
Ten minutes later the driver pulled up in front of my house. I threw a twenty-dollar bill at him and ran inside. It didn’t have the same effect as my hundred-dollar bill. I groaned.
“Dean, where the fuck are you?” My voice echoed throughout the house. I ran frantically from the foyer to the living room to the kitchen, until I finally found him drinking scotch in his study without a care in the world. He sat up straight in his chair, startled to see me. “You’re home early, babe. Did you miss me?” He winked.
“Don’t get cute with me, Dean. Where the fuck is the money?” I threw my purse on the ground. A few single-dollar bills fell out of it.
“What are you talking about?” He set down his glass of scotch and furrowed his brow.
“Both my credit cards were declined tonight. Why?” I threw my hands on my hips. “You tell me right goddamn now.”
“Don’t worry about it, Olivia. I’ll take care of it.” Dean stood up and walked over to me. He put his hands around my waist and tried to pull me in for a hug, but I wasn’t having any of it. I pushed him back with all my might. He stumbled backward a few steps, bumping into the coffee table. I grabbed a glass mug from his desk and threw it at him as if I were pitching in the World Series. He narrowly ducked and it smashed into the bookshelf, shattering into pieces. His eyes widened as he looked at the damage and back at me.
“Are you fucking crazy?”
I flicked off my heels and grabbed one from the floor, throwing it at him in one clean swoop. He stepped aside, and it hit the bookshelf.
“Tell me what the hell is going on!” I picked up a pen cup from his desk and cocked it back, ready to heave it.
“Just hold on. Put that down and I’ll tell you.” He flinched as I simulated throwing it at him, but instead, I dropped it back on the desk, pens scattering everywhere.
“Money’s a little tight. We had a screwup with our last shipment. A rather big screwup, so I’m having to foot those losses until we can make it up,” he explained. He took a seat on the couch and patted the cushion next to him, motioning for me to come sit. I hesitated but then walked to him. I took a deep breath as I sat down and turned to Dean, looking into his eyes.
“Listen, I’ve never cared what you did because the money was coming in. But now it’s not, so I want to know what it is you do, because you’re clearly not doing it well,” I said as calmly as I possibly could. It still came out with a tinge of frustration.
“It’s better that you don’t know, babe. You have no idea what you are talking about.” He put a hand on my shoulder and rubbed it.