Page 111 of Wicked Little Secret
Theron was in a fit of rage and frustration when she caught us. It took me two hours just to calm him down enough to convince him I would handle it.
I would ensure Heather kept her mouth shut.
“I’m glad you get it,” I say, sipping from my hazelnut latte. “The thing between me and Adler… it’s casual. Very casual.”
“A rebound after Samson?” Heather’s perfectly penciled brow tics up. “I know I teased you about it… but you’ve never struck me as the casual type.”
“I’m more low key than anyone.”
She hums in consideration. “I guess that’s true. We’ve known each other for almost three years and I’ve never even met your family.”
…you’re so mistaken, Driscoll, and you don’t even realize it.
“You should bring them for the Fairchild’s winter solstice dinner party!”
“I’ve told you my family lives several hours away,” I fib. “They won’t be in town this Christmas.”
“Shame. Will you at least come?”
I tell Heather what she wants to hear to make her happy in the moment, then remind her one last time that what she witnessed between me and Theron isn’t something she needs to ever mention again.
She winks at me. “Don’t worry, Nyssie. Your secret’s safe with me. Maybe I need to find myself another hot older man to fuck. It’s been a couple weeks and I’m getting that itch.”
“I’m glad we’re on the same page. Just don’t forget, friends don’t betray friends. Friends help friends, like how I’m helping you fight for part of your father’s fortune. Help youneed, right?”
Heather’s expression falters before she reluctantly nods. I smile in response, then bid her farewell.
It’s still up in the air whether Heather will be stupid enough to make more problems for herself. Should she try to reveal what’s going on between Theron and I, she’ll regret it. I’ll destroy her life in the matter of a few minutes.
I’malreadygoing to destroy her life—it’ll just be so much worse if she tries to fuck with me and Theron first.
For the rest of the afternoon, I lock myself in my apartment and work on my art. The latest sculpture I’m makinghas started to take shape. My hands focus on sculpting the more intricate detailing while my mind mulls over the final phase of my plan.
Hours go by before I notice they do.
The small Christmas tree I’ve put up twinkles in the corner as afternoon fades to dusk and the living room grows dark.
Peaches dozes peacefully on the armrest of my sofa, a fuzzy little orange ball.
I wipe my hands off on a rag to check my phone. Mom’s calling.
To say things have been tense between us these past few weeks would be putting it lightly.
“Baby girl, Merry Christmas.”
I smile. “Thanks, Mom. But it’s not Christmas for another six days.”
“The school’s about to be on winter break, isn’t it?” she asks. “Will you still be visiting?”
“I leave Saturday morning. I’ll get there right before Christmas.”
“I wish you’d come for longer,” she says. “You get two weeks off, Nys.”
“There’s a lot going on here. Things are finally taking shape. You know I can’t slow down now.”
She sighs over the phone. “A part of me is regretting ever encouraging you to do this.”
I’ve wandered into my kitchen, flicking on the light to draw open my fridge and pantry and sort out what I’m having for dinner. The phone rests in the palm of my hand as I listen on speaker and detect the note of regret in her voice.