Page 27 of Addicted Lies

She closes the door behind her and then looks at me. “Oh shit. You look rough.”

I’ve always cursed her for being able to hold her alcohol better than me.

“Is that a barf bucket?” she asks, pointing to the bowl resting on my stomach.

“Popcorn.”

“Uh-huh. And how much of that have you actually eaten?” She throws her jacket beside the door. The bitch is a slob, but I love her, and it’s not so hard to live with her considering we lived in the same building in London. “Are you going to be okay for the party tonight?”

I groan, wanting to bail on the formal event. I understand that we have to show our faces every now and then at high society functions, but it’s just a cover for the truth of what our families actually do. And I’m certain quite a few people are already tapped into what that is.

“I’ll be there,” I say merrily because I don’t want to admit defeat due to a hangover.

Ivy takes the bowl of popcorn and throws a few pieces into her mouth. “That cat’s not here, right?”

“No, I took it to Ford’s.”

She laughs at that. Hard. “You dragged a stray into Ford’s house? I can’t believe he actually let you.”

I groan in response and put my head on her shoulder. “I named it Felix.”

She laughs harder. “Ford and Felix. Has a ring to it, no? I can’t wait to tell the others.”

“Please don’t,” I say quietly. “I don’t want Dutton thinking anything weird just because Ford picked me up.”

“Why wouldn’t he be grateful that Ford picked you up while you were smashed and then dropped you off safely?”

Except he didn’t drop me off at home.

And it’s not the first time I’ve been at his house.

I give her a look, and she sighs. “Then again, your brother is pretty psycho. Always has been,” she states, patting my head where it rests in the crook of her neck. Ivy and I have always been close. My mother and Alina are also close, which means we basically grew up as sisters. The difference is she doesn’t have an overbearing brother, although Dutton had many times shooed away boys who tried sniffing around her in our younger years.

The doorbell buzzes, and I groan.Who could be dropping by at this time?

Ivy laughs. “Don’t worry, I’ll get it.”

“How was your lover boy?” I ask as she goes to the door.

“Oh, you know, another one to cross off the list. He wasn’t great, but it was enough to scratch an itch,” she says, looking at the security camera. “That’s weird. Did you do any online shopping?”

“No.” I groan. The last few years, the only time I go on shopping sprees is for my birthday when I’m using my parents’ credit cards. Or when Dutton is overbearing and pisses me off, I use his credit card to make up for him cockblocking me and especially on my birthday, because I like to spoil myself. That tab builds up pretty quickly.

Today, however, is not my birthday, and Dutton hasn’t pissed me off this week. Yet.

“Are you sure?” she asks, opening the door to a man who kindly greets her with a rack of hanging garment bags.

“I have a delivery for Billie Taylor,” the man announces.

Ivy steps to the side, letting the man in, but we’re both suspicious. We were raised to sit on the edge of caution considering the world our parents are in, which is also why we’re both blackbelts in karate.

The man leaves the rack with the garments behind, and Ivy closes the door behind him. She opens the envelope as I finally stand. She turns the piece of paper back and forth. “No note, just a list of the items and no prices. You been holding out with a secret admirer or something?”

I open the first bag, and my jaw drops. It’s my favorite jacket. But not in the same color. I snatch the list out of her hand. It tells me nothing. I know these jackets are easily $15,000 each, and I got mine on sale for $10,000. I open each bag—eight in total—revealing the same jacket in every fucking color.

“Aren’t these the same as that one jacket you like so much?” Ivy asks inquisitively. “If you want, I can do some hacking and figure out who sent them.”

“No, it’s fine.” I dismiss her quickly, biting my bottom lip. “Maybe I drunkenly ordered these last night and forgot.”

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