The Ivy Buckhead was practically an institution in Atlanta at this point. It was the place to be for young professionals. After college, I’d spent many nights in the converted mansion with my fellow cheerleaders. It felt like homecoming, returning to spend time with my colleagues.
I’d grabbed a quick shower before blowing out my long hair, which had long outgrown the bleached highlights from college and was back to its natural ash-blonde. I’d paired a teal sundress with strappy brown sandals, and I entered The Ivy.
I scanned the first floor, bypassing the bar to see if I could locate Kristen. I found her in a red-and-white patterned strapless jumpsuit at a booth in the back. She jumped up onto her platform heels and gestured for me to follow her.
“Lila, you made it!” she gushed. She loo
