Page 37 of Crazy Rich Monsters (Necessary Evils 1)

“For better or worse, they’re my family. I don’t think I can ever be truly rid of them just like I can’t get away from you.” She cocks her eyes sideways, avoiding my gaze. “Are you going to order something or are you just here to irritate me?”

The art of manipulation starts with bargaining. It involves showing vulnerability and that means, an apology. “I don’t know if you were still at the party when--”

“When your sex tape played for the snobbiest crowd of film critics? Yeah, I was there for that.”

“I’m sorry you had to see that.”

“Are you conveniently forgetting that I witnessed it with my own eyes upstairs?”

I can’t bullshit her. Everyone’s always said that I’m a great bullshitter, but I just don’t see it. I have a tendency toforgettidbits of the tales I weave that will expose my intentions. Now, she knows that I’m not actually apologizing for what she saw. She’s onto me. She knows that I’m here forsomething else, only using the fake apology as a crutch to bridge the conversation into talking about what really brought me here today.

“I’m sorry that you had to see that too.”

“How are you this fucking dense, Addison?” She scoffs. “How have you still not put the pieces together? I’m the one that did it. I filmed the two of you and then had my boytoy drop the file into the cloud, overwriting the saved file of Carter’s sham of a charity presentation.”

I stare her down in equal measures of disbelief and applause. “Why would you do that?”

“Because I want you gone. I want you out of my life, for good this time.”

“You can’t push me out. I have some unfinished business to take care of.”

“That’s hilarious. Do you think you have a choice in the matter? It’s bad enough what you did to Carter. You’ve now embarrassed my family. We both know you’ve never been the smartest tool in the shed but even the stupidest fucking girl in the world would know that now’s the time to run.”

I reach for her hand to comfort her or try to reason with her. I’m not sure which, but she breaks away from my grasp just the same. “Your family can’t keep getting away with this. They can’t treat people like they are pawns in a sick game, ruining the lives of anyone that crosses them.”

“You didn’tcrossthem. You killed their son. There’s a little bit of a difference, don’t you think?”

Great. We’ve both now come to the same conclusion on our own. Something is amiss. “Then why aren’t I already dead?”

She pauses. “You will be soon enough.”

“Is that what you want?”

“I don’t know what I want anymore.” She sighs before turning on her feet, clearly done with this conversation.

Unfortunately for her, I have her trapped at her place of employment. It’s not like she can just walk out on me. I stand up and follow her. “I’ll tell you what. You give me the answers I’m looking for and I’ll leave town for good.” I’m lying straight through my teeth. I’m praying the bullshitting skills everyone seems to think I possess are showing up to play.

She turns around, whips out her notepad and begins scribbling something onto it. “I’m not doing this here. Meet me at my apartment after work.” She rips the top page from the notepad and passes it to me. “And don’t ever harass me at work again.”

“Thank you, Emily.”

* * *

Emily was right when she said I’m not always the sharpest tool in the shed. For all I know, she could have given me the address of some completely random person. On the rarest of occasions, I can be too trusting. That’s why I’m not knocking on the door. Instead, I’m opting to sit in the car that’s pulled to the curb.

To my left is a run-down apartment with air conditioners hanging from the majority of the windows. The building is three stories high with railings on each floor. The place looks more like a motel than an apartment. Every city in America has pockets of both the rich and the poor, and the most rundown areas often live just on the outskirts of extreme wealth.

Emily’s life is the exact opposite of a rags-to-riches fairytale. Instead, she’s been thrown from the ivory tower, forced to live amongst the peasants. That’s the price she’s paid for daring to rebel against the forces of power at her family’s disposal. According to my mother, my father suffered the same kind of a fate at the hands of that same power.

Out of the corner of my eye, I notice Emily crossing the street without bothering to look both ways. She’s sporting a hoodie pulled over her work uniform and appears to be in a mad rush to get home. I climb out of the car and gently close the door behind me. The grass is wet beneath my shoes, dampened by a storm that passed through and left just as quickly. I follow her closely enough so that she won’t be able to shut the door in my face but far enough back that she doesn’t catch wind that I’m right behind her.

She approaches what I assume is her apartment and twists a key in the knob and then stops abruptly. She cocks her head over her shoulder and then spins around in a quick circle, her chest heaving. “Jesus,” she huffs. “I could have maced you.”

“Why are you so paranoid, Emily?”

“Well gee, I don’t know. Maybe it has something to do with being stalked by a sociopath.”

“In my experience, people that are paranoid about being followed tend to either have something to hide or they’re afraid of someone.” I cross my arms over each other. “So, what the hell are you running from?”

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