Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 89840 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 449(@200wpm)___ 359(@250wpm)___ 299(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89840 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 449(@200wpm)___ 359(@250wpm)___ 299(@300wpm)
“I know.” I finally look at her, and her lips are pressed, sympathy swirling in her brown eyes. “He told Anita we were struggling and that I was ashamed and wanted him to handle selling that share. He fucking lied. I just don’t get why he’d go to such an extreme. If he needed money for something, he should’ve talked to me.”
Daphne sighs, crossing her legs and sitting back with her teacup raised in front of her. “I know it’s not my place, but I don’t think it was wise of you to open a joint brokerage account with him. As soon as you told me he’d asked about it, I just had this feeling, you know? I mean, even back in college, JoJo. The way he was suddenly so intrigued by you. He’d never noticed you before—not that it’s a bad thing. It just came left field is all. It was always like he was after something with you. I don’t know.”
“He had no interest in me before because I was unattractive and chunky. Literally no one noticed me.”
“Well, there was one person. And it wasn’t for the better.”
“Ugh. Yeah. But that’s different.” I place my tea on the glass coffee table, trying to ignore the thought that I too felt like Dominic come out of nowhere. This gorgeous man with a bright smile and delicious body. I figured I was blessed, that I deserved the attention after all my hard work in the gym and in school.
“Stop talking about yourself like that, Jo. You’ve always been beautiful, no matter what size.” She pauses, and her brown eyes become more serious as she studies me. “How much do you think you know him, really?”
“How much do you know your husband?” I counter, and I instantly regret it because she flinches, as if I’ve slapped her. I drop my head, the shame swallowing me whole. “I’m sorry, Daph. I didn’t mean that. I’m sorry.” Her question has triggered me, reminding me of my mother’s visit yesterday. Interrogating me, my marriage, my life, but it’s not Daphne’s fault any of this is happening. It’s mine. All my mistakes have amounted to this. She’s only trying to comfort me.
Daphne clears her throat, setting her tea on a saucer, then picking up one of the sandwiches. I’ve struck a chord with her, I can tell. She’s doing that pursed lips thing—the one that makes her look slightly like a fish because she’s trying to fight whatever words are rolling around in her brain.
“You’re right,” I tell her, placing a hand on her arm. Her lashes flutter as her eyes find mine. “The more time goes on, the more I feel like I don’t know Dominic at all.”
“You need to get to the bottom of what’s happening.” She picks up a plate and collects another sandwich. “Are you hungry?” she asks before biting into the one in her hand.
“No.” And I’m really not. After my mother said I looked pudgy, I don’t want to eat a thing. And to punish myself further, I stepped on the scale this morning (something I’ve not done in months) and have gained four pounds. It could be water weight, but still. I have to do better.
“I should get going,” I tell her. “I’m supposed to select flowers for the mansion today.”
Daphne makes a gagging noise, like she’s going to vomit, and I laugh.
“Stop it!” I can’t fight my smile. “It’s my job, okay? Being the state’s first lady and all.”
“I know, I know. It just seems so pointless for you. Don’t y’all have volunteers to do that stuff?”
I stand with my purse. “We do, but the public loves to see stuff like that. They like to be reminded we’re regular people too.”
She raises her teacup to me. “To each their own.”
“The mansion will be open to the public on Tuesday, that’s the only reason I’m going.”
“Do you, girl.” She stands with me, seeing me out.
I open the door, but before I go, I ask, “You won’t mind me reaching out to Ricardo so he can work on something for me, will you?”
Her eyes stretch for a fleeting second. Then her head shakes, and she says, “No, I don’t mind. Do what you have to do.”
TWENTY-FOUR
JOLENE
When I’m inside my car, my phone rings in my purse and I dig through it. When I find it, there’s an unknown number on the screen with a location in South Carolina.
“Hello?” I answer.
“Hi Mrs. Baker. This is Angelique from Charleston Credit Union.” The woman has a southern accent that’s so thick I almost can’t discern it, but when she says the name of the bank, I light up. I found a point of contact for the South Carolina bank Dominic is having some of the money sent to. They were closed for the weekend, but I sent an email to have someone contact me. “I’m calling because you asked for access to an account?”