“Bebe!” I run after her. “Bebe, please.” I grab hold of her coat and pull her back. “Stop, please.”

“No, Grace.” She turns her anger towards me now. “No. This is over. This life is over. It’s been over for a decade. And this bitch thinks she can come out here to your farm”—she seethes that part in the direction of my aunt—“and talk shit to you? No.”

He eyes are wild with anger as she waits for me to say something, but as usual, I stay silent.

“That’s right,” Aunt Rachel says. “She knows her place. She know she’s guilty—”

“Guilty of what, you stupid whore?”

“Bebe, please!”

“Guilty of ruining this family. Guilty of ruining this farm. Guilty of ruining this town. We are forever known as the place where Daisy Bryndle’s family was murdered so some sick freak could have his way with her—”

“Oh, you cunt! You did not—” Bebe lunges at my aunt and hits her full on in the chest, sending her reeling backwards until they are both on the ground.

“Jesus, Bebe! Stop!” I pull on her coat until she gets up off the ground.

My aunt stands, brushing off the dirt. And then she turns back to me, breathing heavy from the altercation. “You did this, Daisy. You led that boy on somehow—”

I slap her across the face. Hard. Harder than I ever did Vaughn.

“Shut up,” I say in the wake of her stunned silence. “Just shut the fuck up.”

Her hand goes to the red mark on her cheek and she shakes her head. “Get out of here. Now. Or I will press charges for assault. And don’t think for a moment”—she looks over at Bebe—“that you will get out of this by declaring me a trespasser. Everyone knows this is my land.”

Bebe opens her mouth to say something but I put my hand on her arm to make her stop. “Never mind, Bebe. You were right. There’s nothing here for me. Let’s just go.”

Aunt Rachel stares us down as we climb back into Bebe’s idling Porsche and pull the doors closed with a dull thump.

“They’re all crazy.”

I agree. “Let’s just go.” Bebe puts the car in gear and does a u-turn in the dead grass, flipping off my aunt as she passes. I rest my head back as we bump along the winding driveway and when we make it back onto the paved highway, I laugh.

“What’s so funny?”

“You. ‘You stupid whore.’” I look over at her and she’s smiling.

“God. She is a stupid whore.”

“Shit. She’s not even good enough to be a stupid whore.”

“Yeah.” Bebe laughs with me now. “Stupid whores all over the world are pissed off that I insulted them back there.”

“Thank you.”

She gives me a sideways glance and tilts her chin up. “I got your back, bitch. Always have. Always will.”

Chapter Seven

#IMightRatherBeSquare

“SO,” the reporter says with a conspiratorial wink. “Do you want the good news or the bad news?”

Marjorie has been an acquaintance of mine for a while now—more than seven years—and in that time, she’s hardly aged a bit. Looks younger than ever, in fact. Her short bobbed hair is blonde with streaks of hot pink. Her clothes are minuscule, and her shoes could be mistaken for stilts, that’s how high they are. In other words, she fits right in with all the other businesswomen I have close ties with.

“Bad.”

“Hmmm,” she says, taunting me with her straw. I get a little distracted by her glittery lipstick before I look back up to her eyes.

“Just spill it, Marj.”

“They have a lot of dirt on you, babe.”

“Like what?” I know what. I just want to see if she knows what.

She shrugs. “I’m not one hundred percent sure, V. But if I had to wager a guess, I’d say it’s more of the kinky fuckery type stuff.”

“Bullshit. If they had that, they’d run it.”

“And,” she says, ignoring my defense, “that Jasinda bitch is still making the rounds with her baby bump.”

“Damn. I really thought she was lying about that. But I guess not, huh?”

Marjorie puts her hands up. “You tell me.”

I eye her. Just because I’ve known her for a long time and just because we’re having lunch together doesn’t put us on the same side. “I already told you. It’s not mine. I’m one hundred percent sure because I wasn’t fucking her when she got pregnant.”

“Well, this is what I’m telling you, hon. None of that has gone away. Now, there are rumors that you threatened Keefe over at Buzz. And if that’s true, well, that might explain why they are still gunning for you. I mean, come on, Vaughn. You don’t threaten the annoying fly on the wall. You crush it.”

“I did.”

“You didn’t.” She’s smug in the wake of her words. “Threatening with a fly swatter does not a crushing make.”

I close my eyes for an exaggerated pause to collect my thoughts. I knew it went too quiet. “What’s the good news?”

“Well, see… now that’s gonna cost you.”

“Cost me what? I already fucking pay you.”

“A date.”

“No way.”

“Yes way,” she counters quickly. “I need you to take me to a party.”

“What party? Larry never even gives me those invites because I never go.”

“The Black Bash.”

“Well”—I laugh—“I’ll have Larry check to see if I was invited, but I’m pretty sure that’s a no fucking way. I’d probably be arrested if I hit that one.”

“I need you to get two invitations and I need you to come with me, Vaughn. For real.”

“They’re not going to let us in, Marj. They hate you almost as much as they hate me.”

“It’s a masquerade, Vaughn. And the theme is iconic movie stars. We’ll dress up.”

“Just tell me the good news and I’ll pay you whatever.”

“No, the good news will be delivered next Friday at the Black Bash. So be there or be square, mister.”

And with that, she scoots out of the booth, grabs her sunglasses off the table, and walks off.