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I gazed down at my lunch. “Bane said the same thing, and he’s willing to give up so much for it. Adeline said it was different for her and your fathers. Their paths were picked for them. You guys chose, but in a way, you still can’t have everything. Wealth, respect, power, family, safety. Does that ever bother you?”
“We have those things,” Genny said. “All except the last one—which no one really has. Look, I wanted the life my parents have and I do. I’ve got no regrets.”
“So, you’re not worried this life will be too dangerous for your kids?”
“Not at all,” Genny said, kicking her boots up on the table. “I can’t have kids.” She patted her stomach. “Got two busted ovaries. They’re just in there for decoration.”
I froze chewing my bite. “Oh my gosh, Gen. I had no idea. I shouldn’t have assumed— I’m sorry.”
She waved that away. “Don’t be. Do you know how much unprotected sex I have? I used to shit my pants every other month, buying up pregnancy tests, till a doc said I was good to go.”
“Is that what they said?”
She barked a laugh. “I’m paraphrasing. Besides, can you imagine my pregnant ass riding my hog? I decided a long time ago if I wanted a baby, I’d just steal one.”
“What do you mean steal one?!”
“Relax,” she breezed. “I won’t steal yours.”
My eyes bugged. “Did that have to be said? Genevieve, no babies will be stolen! Legal adoption exists.”
“Feisty, don’t be ridiculous. Do you know how long my rap sheet is? Only the most corrupt adoption agency would give me a kid.”
I tossed my head, mind spinning, crashing, and exploding. “This isn’t a real conversation that we’re having. This is a joke. You’re joking.”
“Hey, you brought it up.”
“As an opening to discuss my lingering fears about choosing this life,” I cried. “I wanted you to say you have no regrets, so I’d stop worrying about making my daughter’s life more difficult. You were supposed to reassure me!”
Genny barked a laugh. “How’d that work out for ya?”
I seriously considered dumping both water bottles over her head. If anything, I knew I had to stick with the Merchants for life. If only to return the eventual kidnapped child to their real family.
“What do you want?” Genny barked.
I twisted around, landing on a sight more unwelcome than an approaching eighty-foot tidal wave.
Lyla dared to wave at me as she led Madison, Naomi, Skylar, and Brielle to our table. “Hello, ladies. I thought we’d join you.”
“You thought wrong,” Genny replied.
Lyla laughed. “See, girls? Isn’t she funny? This is Kenzie’s only friend, Genevieve. Genevieve, this is Madison, Skylar, Brielle, and Naomi.”
This woman never missed an opportunity to insult me.
“Beat it,” my only friend said. “You can take the door or the ledge. Come any closer and I decide for you.”
Lyla’s grin twitched—crushed by real alarm. Genny did not view our undercover job as reason to hide her violent and homicidal tendencies.
“Gen, it’s okay,” I spoke up. “Join us. It’ll be great to catch up.”
Her eyes narrowed. The past few days I’ve refused to acknowledge Lyla’s taunts or take the openings to attack her. Despite what I told her about CH losing the Johnson account if I leave, I knew in that pit of hatred she nursed for me, Lyla was still looking for a way to get rid of me. I would be sweetness and pie until I figured it out.
“Don’t mind if we do.”
Five perfumed, beautiful, fashionable clones stole the remaining seats. They popped the lids off their dressing-free salads on cue.
“Are you really eating that, Kenzie?” Naomi asked. She was the opposite of Lyla with the short blonde hair, tiny mouth, and button nose, but she looked no less perfect. “Potato chips.”
She said the name the same way people say battery acid.
“Kenzie is fine to eat whatever she wants,” Skylar piped up. “Having a kid already wrecked her body. Doesn’t matter what she eats now.” She beamed at me. “I’m so jealous.”
Gen moved fast and I snatched her arm under the table, stopping her before they saw the knife.
“I don’t have to ask if you came over here to destroy my pleasant lunch with constant digs. I know that’s exactly why you’re here. But why don’t we do something different for a change?” I asked. “How about we stop being every Devil Wears Prada stereotype and try to get along?”
Five scoffs hit my ears.
“You’re so sensitive,” Skylar said. “No one is digging at you. We’re just talking.”
The gaslighting begins.
“Tell us more about yourself, Genevieve,” Brielle cut in. “How’d you get a job here?”
“Bribery and intimidation.”
They laughed like she was joking. She wasn’t.
“That’s an interesting outfit you’ve got on.” Lyla nibbled on a lettuce leaf. “Very nineteen-eighties hooker.”
“Shit. I was going for nineteen-nineties hooker. Think Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman.”
