Page 7 of Never Sleep with the Enemy

Not a nightmare. Not a fantasy. Because if it were, it would have ended the way it always does—with Jonah kissing me, sweeping me off my feet, carrying me toward some long-lost happily ever after.

God, I’m so stupid.

I shake it off, focusing on my handbag draped over the armchair by the window. As I grab it, another yellow sticky note stands out against the dark blue suede.

DON’T

I crumple it, tossing it aside in favor of digging through my bag for my phone. The screen lights up with several missed calls and messages. Most of them from Addison.

Addison

Hey, you okay?

Where are you?

What happened with Jo? You looked upset.

Girl?

Addison and Harvey. They saw me in the hallway. Their faces flash through the haze, standing out sharper than the rest.

But what happened after?

How did I end uphere?

I ran. That much I remember. Past them, down the stairs. I hit the golden-lit lobby and kept going. I made it outside and?—

Hello, kitty.

A shiver rolls through me as I scroll through the rest of my texts.

Addison

What happened?

Answer the door, sweetie.

OK! Getting scared now.

On my way down to the front desk. Ira’s gonna MASTER KEY YOUR PRETTY LITTLE ASS if you don’t reply ASAP!!!!

I quickly tap out a response.

Katrina

I’m okay! Slept in. Getting dressed now.

A voice drifts from the bathroom—soft, melodic. An effortless humming that melts into a quiet lyric or two. Faint, but familiar.

Toofamiliar.

All of America knows that voice.

Ignoring Addison’s instant reply, I start hunting for my clothes instead.

No sign of my sundress from last night. Not in the closet. Not in the dresser drawers. Not slung over a chair, or crumpled on the floor.

What the heck happened last night?

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