Disown.
A million scenarios run through my mind as to how one of my closest friends could do this me. But I realize…I don’t give a damn anymore.
There’s no reason that’d make it okay.
“I am,” I say, straight-faced, not even bothering to hide my ambivalence. “Disowning her, I mean.”
Finally, after months of dodging me, ignoring my calls, and only sending that weak text reply, Hillary steps closer. “I wasn’t trying to hurt you, Ebony.”Well, in that case…“I know I’ve broken your trust…” She hesitates, like she’s struggling to find the right words, before settling on, “I’m so sorry.”
And it still isn’t enough.
With a decisive nod, I turn toward the door to the ballroom, ready to leave. I did what I came here to do. I confronted Cornelia, faced Hillary, and got fired—then that firing got rescinded. But otherwise? I’m free. “I’ll see you at the rehearsal dinner, Hailey.”
I turn the knob and leave, an immediate rush of joyous anticipation flooding through me at my knowing Linc and I have the big joker, and Cornelia won’t win.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Watchers and Players
Lincoln
Neverhave I seen acrew pack up faster than the Monday my team gets the news that the restoration has passed inspection. The rest of the morning it’s all hooting, hollering, and grab-assing as we lock up the last of our equipment. Not because the job is done. No, not my guys. Believe it or not, after the “Bridges vs. Livingston Knockout,” as it’s now been coined, they’re all excited aboutThe Morning Teareplay watch party I’m hosting at my house tonight.
As far as I know, none of them are outright fans of Azalea and Yvette. But it’s today’s special guest they’re particularly interested in.
None other than the little joker herself.
A laugh bubbles up in the back of my throat, and I try, I do, but I can’t keep it in.
I drop the shovel I’ve been using to fill up my outdoor rolling cooler cart with ice, folding my body over my backyard bar. I’m gasping for air and letting it hold me upright.
“This is about to be so good,” I say to Ebony between laughing tremors.
“Iknow.” She starts giggling, too. “Every time I think about her uppity, high-saddity ass on that hideous fur sofa, her mouth turned up, silently picking their outfits apart…”
We both laugh.
That’s right. After her son’s infamous beatdown and Ebony baiting her at the bridal shower, Cornelia Livingston somehow came up with the brilliant idea to appear on the show that she’s infamous for calling “unwatchable, low-class television.” And to do what? Shame me for defending myself against her son’s attack? One-up Ebony for dragging the truth out of her?
I still can’t believe she admitted to hiring the same private investigator that Ebony used to track Julian to follow her.
Oof, wild.
And that’s not even the half of it. This shameless woman told almost three dozen women—with phones in hand—that not only has she been having Ebony followed for a solid decade, but she forced Julian to propose to Ebony to keep her away from me,andshe’s going to take Nora out like trash the way she did Hillary Winston.
Like, what?
Diabolical!
And then.And then…she boldly announced she’s now forcing Julian to marry Nora Whitfield.
Talk about one too many mimosas.
“Damn, what I wouldn’t have given to be there, listening to this woman stand ten toes down. The sheer audacity…” I shake my head, borderline impressed and wholly amused. “How can she not see what’s coming?”
Ebony stops dead in her tracks, half a dozen water bottles lodged underneath her arm, and looks at me with one of those stares of solidarity.
Part of me is fully invested in this conversation. I’m also a little lost in the moment, too. We’re hosting a party together. Albeit it’s to watch televised history in the making. But still, I could get used to this—us. We. Twenty-four seven Ebony and Linc.
