Did she know? Did I need to continue pretending to be Ivy Elliot?
“Perfect. I got your number from the application,” Lola told me. “I’ll text you my address as soon as I get home.”
“Great.” I followed her out of the church and into the Florida sun, then watched her climb into the navy-blue Tesla. She waved as she drove away. I stood by my car, watching her go.
Sure enough, Lola sent me a text with the address. I had just gotten out of the shower after a quick workout when my phone buzzed on the bed. I was quick to pick it up and read it.
Brunch was at twelve.
I would bring a bottle of cheap champagne, just to show her how excited I was to be invited. Truth is, I was excited. This would get me one step closer to Lola.
It was game time.
CHAPTER EIGHT
The next morning I woke up early so I could take my time getting dressed and practice my humble mannerisms.
I found an ivory dress in the closet that I’d bought when I first moved there. I’d decided I would create a new wardrobe. Long gone were the days when I wore crop top shirts, shorts with fishnet stockings, and leather boots. I’d even gotten rid of my septum piercing. Face jewelry seemed to be frowned upon in Lola’s elite world, and I needed to fit in as best I could.
After getting dressed, sliding into a pair of sandals, and then pinning pearl earrings in my ears, I grabbed my phone and wallet and left my apartment. I locked up and went downstairs, spotting my neighbor Julius sitting on the stoop. He had a cigarette pinched between his lips.
“You look like an escort,” he said as I walked past him.
“And you look like a bum,” I said back.
“You’re a real bitch, Ivy. You know that?”
I rolled my eyes and climbed into my car.
Funny story about Julius—we slept together once. It wasn’t intentional. I’d had a little too much to drink one night and he had a lot of friends over next door who were really loud. I was stewing about Lola over some accomplishment she’d posted, and because I was already ticked off, I went over, banged on his door, and told him to shut off the noise.
Because he had friends over, Julius was embarrassed. We got in each other’s faces and he walked out of his apartment, bumping me back with his chest toward my apartment. The next thing I knew, we were making out on my bed. Angrily. Aggressively. It was weird, but good.
I have no idea why I slept with a guy like him. Julius had a tongue piercing, which I admit he made good use of, cornrows, and had arms that were covered in ink. He wasn’t my type, but I suppose I was desperate and needed some. He was okay in bed. Good enough to go to again if I needed it. I could tell he always wanted more whenever I passed by, always focusing on my ass or my new breasts, but I couldn’t stoop to Julius’s level anymore. I had to go for men like Corey.
I drove away from my run-down apartment complex and through town, following the directions of my phone’s GPS. I couldn’t believe I had her address. I knew where she lived by now—I’d followed her once—but the place was under twenty-four-hour security and you either had to be an owner of one of the homes or on someone’s visitors list to get inside, though lately I’d noticed security had been kind of slack due to all the rented-out Airbnbs in the area.
I was tempted to rent one once, just to have access to the neighborhood, but the costs were too extreme and I didn’t have thousands of dollars to spend per night.
I drove for twenty minutes, riding along MacArthur Causeway, before the GPS told me I had arrived on Star Island, right off Biscayne Bay. I knew anyone who lived in Star, Palm, or Hibiscus Island, or anywhere near Biscayne Bay, had deep pockets. It didn’t surprise me to know Lola lived there when I first followed her.
I checked in with security at the gate, pleased that Lola had me listed on her visitors’ sheet. This was a big step for me in my own eyes. As a visitor, I could come and go in the neighborhood without her knowledge, and without raising any red flags.
I made a right turn, riding through the neighborhood made of immaculate mansions I couldn’t even imagine owning. There were droves of palm trees and thick, monogrammed iron gates and neatly paved roads.
How was it that people could become so rich? These millionaires made it seem so effortless, and yet I had no clue where to even start.
When I was near Lola’s estate, I made another turn, and the black asphalt smoothly transitioned to cobblestone. The driveway was lined with palm trees and fresh flower beds in between. I drove until a wrought-iron gate appeared with a gold letter M in the middle of it. M for Maxwell.