I’m not totally processing everything she’s saying. My mind is still stuck on this: “I got her to admit . . .”
“That her husband was a dick to her! And wow, he really was. Shit.” She stops and studies me. “Were you seriously trying to keep it a secret? Didn’t want the rest of us to get jealous of your skills?”
“No,” I say, rubbing the back of my neck. I probably have a raging case of sex hair—man, can it get out of control when it’s teased—but Olivia doesn’t seem to have noticed anything amiss. “I just . . . I didn’t think they were able to get that on camera.”
She shrugs. “Oh, yeah, Dustin says the actual footage is crap. Something about a balcony railing being in the way? But apparently Wilson got the whole thing with one of those bullet mics and Levi says the audio is gold, so good on you.”
Shit.That’s what happened.The camerasdidfollow us that night on the balcony, but they did it from a far enough distance that they wouldn’t spook Becca. I’m surprised neither Dustin or Wilson said anything to me, but they probably thought I planned the whole thing.
Which means all that stuff Becca told me in confidence, all those things she never wanted her girls or her in-laws or the world to know—
Oh, god.
The shower is on, but the door is cracked. I wonder if she’s hearing all this, or if I’m going to have to be the one to tell her.
Olivia is still staring at me like she expects me to go downstairs with her, and maybe that would be a good thing, because it would give Becca an opportunity to sneak back to her room. But that’s not happening, no way.
“Sorry, Liv,” I say. “But I’m exhausted. I’m going to take that shower and get some sleep.”
“Seriously? You’re missing out. Levi gives better bonuses when he’s wasted, and between this and you getting Londyn to open up about her daddy issues, you’re pretty much the golden boy. You’re sogoodwith these girls, you know? You just smile that pretty smile and know exactly what to say, and they alltrustyou like you’re their fucking priest. I should take lessons.”
“Yeah, thanks,” I say, but I’m already closing the door. Olivia stumbles back a few steps, and I think she’s wasted enough that she’s not going to remember the details of this encounter, much less be suspicious about them.
As I close the door, I’m no longer worried about getting caught. Because this is a thousand times worse: I told Becca she was safe, and she wasn’t. She trusted me, and I let her talk when I knew it wasn’t totally impossible we’d be recorded.
I let her down, and she’s going to pay the price for it. I don’t know how I’m ever going to make up for that.
I don’t think there’s any way that I can.
