Page 9 of Loving the Liar

“Someone’s parents sent them a ride,” Peach mumbles. “Should we take bets?”

We don’t need to take bets. And it’s not because any of us recognizes someone in the car. It’s our phones. The three beep at the same time, and our eyes widen as we look at each other. It’s that special alert coming from the unofficial SFU app. We know without looking because it makes a specific sound. Like something whizzing through the air.

“This”—Peach points at the car—“plus this”—her eyes go down to the phone in her hand—“is not telling me anything good.”

My stomach twists. I slept with a professor. What if someone saw us? What if Hermes spills? That car is probably my dad sending our chauffeur to bring me home so he can decimate me.

“There’s only one way to know,” Alex suggests quietly. She pulls her phone out of her pink handbag, and I slip mine out of my uniform jacket pocket.

“Oh my god,” Peach gasps, reading on her own phone. “Els.”

When my phone finally loads the post, my heart stops.

It’s a picture of my parents’ house with countless police, FBI, and SWAT cars in front of it.

So, the rumors were true. The Bakers did run a brothel from their own house. Those sex parties you heard about? They weren’t exactly legal, darlings.

Real question is, where was my invite?

Ella Baker, your secrets are safe with me.

Until they aren’t.

#sexpartiesattheBakers #GerarldBakerwantstopayyouforsex #DidEllahaveablast?

“Oh my god,” I cry out. “What the— Oh my god. No, no, no.”

My free hand flies to my forehead, pulling at my hairline in the process. Vision narrowing, my ears ring, but a flash to the right catches my attention. Another student just took a picture of us.

“Hey, asshole!” Peach shouts. “Delete that shit.”

“Come, Ella.” Alex wraps an arm around my waist as my knees nearly buckle.

At the same time as Peach’s tiny form strides to the guy, I hear two people come out of a nearby house.

Thank fuck Wren and Achilles are here.

“Hey!” Wren calls out to Peach and the random student. Perks of living next to your male best friends. They will run to your rescue. “Give me your phone.” Jogging toward them, he takes Peach’s defense right away.

Achilles hurries to me and Alex.

“Ella,” he says in his deep voice. “Come, get in the car. You need to get out of here.”

He’s already opening the blacked-out SUV door for me and helping me in.

“I’ll come with you.” Alex is ready to jump in after me, but Achilles holds her back by the wrist.

“Bakers’ business. Leave it for now.”

He slams the door, and the car is in motion right after.

In situations like this, I’m grateful Achilles is the one in charge in our group. In my panic, I would have said yes to Alex coming with me in a heartbeat, but it would have been a mistake.

She cannot come to my house. She cannot see from the inside what the Bakers’ mansion hides. Because the whole university might know the truth now; my father runs luxurious, hedonistic sex parties from our house, and he pays people to work them.

But no one knows the rest.

Not even my best friends know I’m complicit.

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