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Blood can’t actually boil, but if it could, mine would. To the max. Do!Not!Insinuate!That!I!Am!A!Liar! I’m not in the mood, and I’m not about to take more of her shit. I’m done with her set and their antics. She might think she can cheat me out of my due, but she’s got another thing coming.
She tosses her head, highlights and lowlights almost as sparkly as the chunks of sparkling rock in each earlobe.
In through the nose, Lolly, out through the mouth. Du calme. Du calme. Du calme. Focus on the here and now. On what you can control. On what’s right in front of you and nothing else.
Stephanie has enough money to be wearing yet another brand-new riding outfit—from the tight-fitting riding shirt, to the full-seat breeches that I bet she bought to highlight her assets, to yet another new pair of high-end, bespoke boots. The footwear alone would pay half of what she owes me. And I’ve seen the other designer gear she’s dripping with—a different Hermès purse for each day she makes the trek to the barn, the charm bracelet she was just shaking, at least five different pairs of too-big-for-her-face sunglasses like she’s hiding from the paparazzi, and the Jimmy Choos and Louboutin heels that fall out of her refurbished 1970 Barracuda every time she climbs out of her low-slung muscle car. Somehow, she has the money to buy that stuff but not the money to actually pay her bills.
“Ask Donnie. Ask Gustavo. They’ll tell you I did it.” I almost tell her to go into the next stall and ask Tattle, because if she actually knew her horse, she wouldknowall the care I’ve given her. But if Tattle had a new bump on her leg or had dropped a few pounds or was in the middle of colicking, Stephanie would never be able to tell.
“Gustavo? Who’s Gustavo?”
It’s a good thing I don’t have a pitchfork handy. It takes everything I have to not roll my eyes.Can’t argue with crazy. Or ignorant. Or just plain rude.That’s what Alicia always says. I’m not going to argue, I’m just going to state the facts. Maybe. I mean, one little jab isn’t going to kill her, right?
“Look.” Beside me, Ambrosia stiffens. She doesn’t like my tone of voice either. “I saw you paid Kyle Hall forservicesa couple of nights ago.” Stephanie’s eyes go wide. Apparently, she’s too stupid or too careless to realize she’s got her Venmo profile set to public, so everyone can see who she’s paid and for what. I push harder, because now she’s on the defensive. “So, I’m pretty sure you can find a way to pay me. And if you don’t—”
“If I don’t?! No. You listen to me.” She really does take a step toward me this time. She drops her crop and her hands go to the diamond studs in her ears—taking them out. For a split second I think she’s going to give them to me as payment, but she tucks them in her pocket and takes another step toward me. “Youdon’t get the threatenme.”
I stand my ground. I’ve dealt with enough rank and mischievous horses to know better than to retreat. Ceding ground is ceding power, and I will not. I pretend I’m dealing with one of them. I’m just setting a boundary. I’m done letting the Stephanies and Marianos of the world use me and not do the right thing. “I’m not threatening you. I’m telling you the consequences—” I was going to say that if she doesn’t pay me by midnight then the consequences are that I will no longer be doinganythingfor Tattle—because that’s who I do it for, not Stephanie—but she doesn’t let me finish.
She shoves me. Hard. “I don’t know what you think you know about me or about Kyle, but I assure you it’snothing.”
“Don’t. Touch. Me.” I have no idea why she’s so worked up about whateverservicesKyle performed for her, but maybe she’s embarrassed that a lowly barn rat like me knows she has to pay for male companionship now that Mariano has tossed her aside.
She pushes me again, but I’ve braced myself now, and I don’t budge. The fact I don’t stumble sends her into a rage. She bends and stands in a single move, then draws back her crop and thwacks me full across the shoulders. Hard. So hard that my grip on Ambrosia is shaken and the horse is almost able to wrench away from me. I’m too stunned to know how to respond. I feel the welt rise even as I calculate my next move.
“That’s assault.”
“Oh, boo-hoo.” She’s in my face, redder than a beet and snarling. “Who would believe your word over mine? No one.”
I’m too angry to answer, too stunned to cry, and too full of raging bees to pick a single retort. My head’s not just ringing, it’s clanging for justice.
Bitchslap her face from here to Maine.Alicia’s voice sounds clear in my head.And when she arrives, bitchslap her right back here again. No one lays hands on my girl.
“It’s a felony…”
Stephanie cuts me off. “I don’t have to touch you to hurt you.” Her voice is venomous. Her eyes are wild. Ambrosia is backing away again, pulling at the end of the reins, but I am not moving, even though I’ve apparently stepped into something much bigger than I can understand. Dammit, why did I argue? Stephanie is clearly unhinged. And she is beyond furious. Alicia is going to be so mad at me. “If you don’t shut it, I’ll make sure no polo club will hire you ever again.”
“All I want is for you to pay my invoice. That’s it.” But apparently the time for that kind of damage control has passed.
Stephanie is shaking her head, taking another step toward me, when Donnie’s voice booms from the other end of the barn. “You’re late! Get your horse out to the pitch now, or you’re forfeiting this session!”
Stephanie throws a glance at Donnie, then looks back at me, a smirk stretching her mouth. “I’m not paying you for anything. I’m paying youback.You better start packing, because once I tell Donnie what just happened, you’re not going to have a job anymore. And you’re going to be done in Florida.” Then she snatches Ambrosia’s reins from my hand and stomps down the barn aisle, her phone glued to her ear as always.
What’s with everyone today? What thehelljust happened?
PAYBACK'S A BITCH
Lolly Benoit. High Winds Polo Club. Palm Beach, Florida.
Only once she’s gone trotting out to the pitch do I start to shake, the day catching up with me in a crash of panic.Of courseDonnie won’t believe Stephanie.Of coursehe will take my side. He’sseenme working with Tattle and Ambrosia and all the other ponies in here. HeknowsI’ve done exactly what Stephanie said she’d pay me for. I make a beeline straight for the tack room, so no one can see the tears that are stinging my eyes. I plop down next to Mr. Wiggins on the neatly made cot that someone has suddenly started using in there—Gustavo? But it can’t be Gustavo because he drenches himself in AXE Body Spray, and the scent on the cot is a mix of sandalwood and musk.
I stop dead. I know that smell. So help me… I sniff the pillow. It’s his, no question. Even the smell of him stirs me in places that have no business being stirred right now. But what the hell is he doing here? Mariano Arias doesn’t sleep in a tack room. The man is rich beyond imagining. But that’s what he was trying to explain to me, wasn’t it? The story he told me about his father… and the foundation… ‘I must make lifesaving, foundation-saving money,’ he said. Is he really so broke he has to sleep here? I…
You know what, no. I’m done with wondering about Mr. Polo Buttcheeks. He can sleep wherever he wants, with whomever he wants, as many times as he wants. It’s none of my business, and whatever sleeping monster juststirredin my pants—like it does whenever I’m near him—can damn well go back into hibernation until I’m good and ready to let her out.
When the adrenaline has finally dissipated and my hands have stopped shaking, I attack the mess of bridles that need cleaning.
I make myself scarce when the practice game is over, but I open my apartment windows so I can eavesdrop. When Stephanie leaves, she calls back in a sugar-sweet voice, an octave too high, “Thaaaaanks, Donnnnnie! You’re the bestest!” She blows him a kiss before slipping into her car.
