Page 50 of The Next Wife

And besides, it’s nice here. Not the work part, but the dressing up and coming to a spacious office and being the president part. That I think I will like very much.

I catch a glimpse of my reflection in the glass door. Not bad. In the mirror’s reflection I see stupid Sandra is sitting on the atrium couch, and she’s still watching me. Whatever. Enjoy the view, Sandra.

I wish I had someone to go to lunch with. That’s what executives like me do at this time of day.

Behind Sandra, handsome Lance walks into the lobby. I wonder if he’s single. His dark skin glows against a white button-down and jeans. I’ve never dated a bald guy.

“Hey, Lance,” I say as I hurry into the atrium.

He sees me, and his face falls into a frown. “Why are you here? What are you trying to do?”

“I’d love to take you to lunch. Discuss the future. Explain everything. How about it?”

“What? No. I have plans,” he stammers.

Weenie.

I ignore him and walk out the door. The adrenaline rush has subsided, and I’m beyond exhausted. But I need to keep up my charm today. Maybe I’ll go home for lunch, get a little rest, and then come back. That way, I can avoid Sandra’s never-ending stare. She’s been perched like a bird of prey watching me. And if I leave, I’ll look important. I have places to go, things to do.

In the parking lot, I see Ashlyn. What a surprise. She’s standing next to her car just two spots down. “Hey, Ash.”

Her eyes bulge as she shakes her head and slides into her car, slamming the door. I hear the sound of her lock, too. Of course the spoiled brat drives a BMW, white, fully decked out. She crashed her first BMW at school, so we got her a brand-new one. Because that’s what rich people do.

I walk fast, but before I can reach her, she backs out of the parking spot. She stops a few feet away from me. Her driver’s side window glides down.

“Tell me what you did to my dad. Did you put something in those margaritas? Maybe the same thing you used to get rid of your stepdad?”

“What? What margaritas?” How would Ashlyn know about the margaritas I made in Telluride? I know how she knows about Ralph. My stupid momma.

“Dad’s last night. You made him a big pitcher. He sent me a picture,” she says from the comfort of her car.

She’s lying. He didn’t talk to her that night, did he? “What else did he tell you?”

“Plenty,” she says. “I think I should call the police. I have enough to get them interested in you at the very least. A suspicious death in Kentucky, and now one in Telluride. I know you’re hiding something. Maybe a lot of somethings.” The window slides up, and she drives away.

Ungrateful bitch. She’s acting like she has evidence of something. “Come back here,” I say to her taillights.

I hop in my car and drive home on the side streets. I’m not following Ashlyn, of course, that would be weird. But I am taking a path that would lead me past her house. Kate’s house. I see her car up ahead. She called my mother, and she keeps threatening me. Digging around in other people’s business isn’t healthy. In fact, it can be dangerous.

As we pass the country club entrance, dread runs through me. I’m not a country club kid, as you’ve likely realized. Ashlyn is the definition of one.

I push the accelerator and pull up next to her at the stop sign.

She looks like she’s seeing a monster, but it’s just me.

I wave as she floors it.

Such a scaredy-cat. She needs to be taught a lesson, and fast. As I follow her, I call Uncle George.

When he answers I say, “We’ve got another little problem. You haven’t left the city yet, have you?”

“I knew you’d need me, sugar. Let me turn around at the next exit,” George says.

“I guess I do need you for at least a little while longer,” I say. “It’s Ashlyn. She’s out of control.”

“Of course she is. She’s cut out of the will, her dad’s dead, and she’s got you for a stepmother.” George laughs as he talks. “What do you need me to do, sugar?”

CHAPTER 39

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