Page 4 of Fraud
“Fine.”
She nearly squealed with delight. “Great! I’m going to send it out tomorrow. Keep your fingers crossed. Maybe, soon, I can call you my best friend, the published author.”
We finished our conversation, and just like that, I was back to staring at my computer.
Everything should have felt different.
I’d written a book.
An incredibly good book, according to Jane, my literary agent best friend.
And, tomorrow, that book I’d written on a whim because I was sick of sitting at home, watching Netflix every night, would be sent out to the top publishing houses in America.
I should feel different, right?
But, looking down at those tiny yellow sticky notes, I realized something.
I was still me.
Still boring, plain old Katelyn.
And the tasks on those sticky notes wouldn’t finish themselves.
By noon, all the sticky notes had been thrown into the trash.
Tasks completed and finished.
It was an odd little habit of mine. I’d been asked why I didn’t use a to-do list like everyone else or tell that robotic voice on my phone to remind me.
The answer? I didn’t have one.
I loved the feeling of accomplishment when it got to the end of the day, and I saw a fresh, clean desk where there had once been a pile of sticky notes. I knew it was a waste of paper, and I was sure the environmental club on campus would have a field day if they knew the sheer number of Post-its I went through in any given month, but it was my process.
And I recycled.
So, win-win, right?
“Hey”—Ruby lifted her head over the divider—“I was thinking about walking over to that new Thai place down the street. Do you want to come with me?”
“Oh, um”—I looked down at the black bag that I’d neatly tucked under my desk—“I actually brought my lunch.”
“Are you sure? I think a few of the girls from Admissions will be joining us.”
I shook my head, feeling guilty already. “I’m just going to eat at my desk and then go run some errands,” I lied.
“You certainly have been busy lately. I’ve hardly seen you.”
Shrugging, I felt another lie about to spring free. “I’ve been redecorating my apartment. New curtains and bedding—that sort of thing. But I’m super picky and on a tight budget.”
Total crap. I hadn’t updated anything in my apartment, linens included, since the day I moved in.
“Well, that sounds fun. Let me know if you need any suggestions. I still have tons of books and magazines from our remodel.”
“Great! Thanks!” I said, desperately trying to change the subject.
It wasn’t the first fib I’d told my coworkers since beginning this double life.
When Jane had first suggested I take up writing, I’d nearly laughed her out of the small restaurant where we were dining.
