Page 107 of Maid For Each Other

What the fuck?

I rubbed the back of my neck, trying to convince myself that this had something to do with fiction but failing because she’d written quotes of things I’d actually said to her.

Was that what she really thought of me? Had she thought that the entire time?

I looked down at her notebook and I couldn’t help myself. I knew it was a gross invasion of her privacy, but I picked it up and opened it to the first page.

Chapter One

Connor

The first thing I noticed about Connor was that he didn’t smile. Ever. He was far too important to be bothered with things like emotions. Pleasantries. Those were things experienced by people beneath him.

The second thing I noticed was his watch. Itlookedwasimpossiblyabsurdly expensive, even though I wasn’t sure exactly what it was that made me think that.

You could just tell.

And he glanced at it constantly, as if everyone of his momentsmoment he breathed was so valuable it must be tracked, recorded for posterity by the gentle ticking of thefeather-fine golden second hand that surely cost more than my car.

So it was no surprise that when his green eyes landed on me, the only thing they expressed was boredom.

I couldn’t stop reading, even as every word she’d written begged me to throw the notebook across the room.

41

Daphne Vibes

Abi

“Abi, these are fantastic ideas. And Daphne’s story is already my favorite, even though it’s only been outlined,” my MFA advisor, Anna, said, smiling as we sat in her office. “I just have a feeling it’s going to be the centerpiece.”

“Yeah?” I hated that story now, even though I knew she was right. I felt like that story had the most promise to be something really unique, but it was kind of becoming too gutting to work on. The story was fiction, of course, but the characters were being played in my head by their real-life counterparts so it was a bit of a mindfuck, picturing Declan’s face as the one who betrays Daphne.

Especially now that we were over.

“I thought so at first,” I said, “but now I’m not so sure.”

Anna stared at me for a long moment, so long that I fidgeted in my chair.

“Youare wrong,” she said, taking off her glasses. “Writing issubjective, but I’m confident on this one. Think about it. The plot is interesting, the way these wealthy people suck her in and then spit her out without a care; very Daisy Buchanan and I love it. But to me what’s far more compelling about this piece is watching Daphne get sucked in until she sees that these are really great people, right? She goes from harshly judging them to ultimately considering them to be the most amazing of people, people she suddenly feels more than just an admiration of their wealth for; she can envision them being her family. Throw in all the feelings, and the reader will be absolutely heartbroken along with her when those characters turn on her in the end.”

“God, that’s terrible,” I said, my brain superimposing all of Declan’s inner circle onto my characters. It made my throat hurt.

“It’s fiction,” she said, giving me a pointed look as if to remind me that this wasn’t actually a story about me.

And she was right. The thought of writing it was harrowing, but it was by far the most thought-provoking of all my ideas.

After the meeting, I headed for Declan’s apartment to retrieve my notebook. I’d carefully packed all my things so I never had to return to his place, but then remembered last night that I’d left my notebook on the balcony.

Which was terrible. Awful. The last thing I wanted to do was return to his building.

But at least he wasn’t in town.

Somehow, I just couldn’t bear the thought of seeing him. I needed a clean break, and the thought of being anywhere near him felt like too much.

Overwhelming.

I let myself in when I got there, melancholy settling under my breastbone as I closed the door behind me. Somehow the apartment looked the same and different, all at once, because it wasn’t the place I cleaned for money and it wasn’t the place I’d stayed at…for money.

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