Page 105 of Brassy Bigwig

“Aren’t you eating?” I ask when I get into the great room.

“I already ate.”

“You haven’t started one of those ridiculous fad diets again, have you?”

“Hell no,” she promises. “Don’t you want to know what’s in here?”

She holds the envelope up so I know what she’s talking about.

“I need food in my stomach first. I have a feeling I’m going to lose my appetite once I see what’s in it.”

“You’re probably right,” she agrees as I get comfy on the sofa. “Hurry up and eat. I want to know what it is.”

I roll my eyes at her.

“So what have you been up to lately?” I ask. I feel like I haven’t gotten a good chance to talk to her in a while. Other than when we’ve spoken about all things stalker related.

“Not too much. Reed has been working a lot. He’s got some huge project going on right now. He’s not around as much as he was before. He didn’t even get home until like two this morning, and he was out the door around nine again.”

“Well, making money isn’t a bad thing.” I pry the lid off of the bowl of soup and dig in.

“Yeah, but it’s more than that. I think all this shit with Blake is causing a rift between us.”

My heart clenches for my friend.

“I’m so sorry. If it wasn’t for me then none of this would be happening.”

“Um, no. If it wasn’t for that psycho asshole, this wouldn’t be happening. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“I’m lucky to have a friend like you who doesn’t get sick of me when my life takes a dramatic turn. It’s more than anyone should have to put up with.”

“I’m your best friend. It’s going to take a lot more than this to get rid of me.”

I smile at Shelby before my eyes move to the envelope on the table. I eat a few more spoonfuls before I can’t take it anymore.

“Okay, give me,” I put my soup down. “I need to know what he sent this time.”

“God, finally,” Shelby grabs the envelope from the table and tosses it at me.

I tear it open and look inside. There is a whole stack of things to look at. I take the paper out first.

I TOLD YOU SO

What the hell does that mean?

Shelby takes the letter from me and reads it as I pull the rest of the items from the envelope. My heart plummets into my stomach as I realize what it is I’m looking at. And the text message I received last night, as well as this letter, begins to make sense. It’s a series of photographs of D and another woman at a restaurant.

These can’t be recent, right?

But my eye catches another detail in the bottom right corner of each image, and my body goes rigid. A series of numbers on each image. A date and time stamp.

Yesterday’s date. Nine-o-two. Nine-o-seven. Nine-fifteen.

“What the fuck?” I exclaim.

“What is it?”

I ignore Shelby’s question. This was the dinner he had last night? I don’t know if I’m more angry or sad, but the feeling of complete betrayal immediately has me questioning everything D has ever said to me.

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