Page 6 of Fraud
She shook her head, leaning against the counter. “I don’t know how you do it. But then again, if I didn’t have kids and a husband, I’d probably have all sorts of energy, too.”
I gave a halfhearted smile as she neatly folded the towel and placed it back on the counter. She left then, making her way back to her desk to begin the day, while I stayed frozen in place by her words.
I knew she’d meant no harm by them.
But they stung all the same because she was right.
I didn’t have a husband or a family to call my own.
Hell, I didn’t even have friends.
Outside of this office, I had no one.
With a coffee mug in hand and the gym bag back over my shoulder, I settled into my desk for the morning. Booting up my computer, I took a peek at the notes I’d left myself the day before, all neatly stacked up by my monitor. I had a few loans to check on, money to disburse, and several meetings with students.
A full day.
Tapping my blunt nails on the desk, I looked at my calendar, wondering if I’d have time to take a lunch break. As of late, that precious hour had become somewhat sacred to me. At first, my coworkers had been convinced that I was seeing someone when they caught me darting off every day.
So, that was when the lies had started.
My apartment was being redecorated, I was going to get a manicure, or I had errands to run. I’d use whatever excuse I could to explain my absence. For someone who, up until this point, had used her lunch as a chance to catch up on Facebook or read, my vacant seat had definitely been noticed.
When I’d first explored the idea of writing an actual novel, it was something I had done at home, late at night, where no one could unexpectedly pop in on me.
But the more I wrote, the more consumed I became. It wasn’t a question of wanting to write. I simply had to.
The first time I’d brought my laptop to work and pulled up my unfinished manuscript while I hid in an abandoned conference room, it’d felt like I was committing a crime. I had been on my lunch break, so it was a perfectly acceptable thing to do. Yet I’d still found myself constantly looking over my shoulder, listening for intruders, as my heart raced, and my fingers flew over the keys.
It was the biggest rush I’d ever felt.
And so I’d kept writing until I reached the end.
But it hadn’t been enough, so I’d kept going, starting another book almost as soon as I’d finished the first.
I’d never intended for anyone to read a single sultry word.
Until Jane had caught wind.
While visiting, she’d spent the night at my place, choosing to forgo her fancy hotel for an evening in with me, and while shopping for shoes, she’d found the document on my computer.
Nosy little bitch.
As if she’d heard my internal thoughts, my phone buzzed to life at that very moment.
Looking at the caller ID, I nervously answered, “Hey, Jane.”
“Guess what,” she said, not bothering with a greeting.
“You got a new Chanel bag?” I said, trying to act nonchalant but feeling my heart leap to a gallop at her words.
“We have an offer!”
I nearly dropped the phone. “What? What do you mean?”
“Actually, we have two, but one is significantly more. I’m in talks with the other publisher to see if they want to counter—”
“Can you slow down?” My mind was racing. “How is that possible? I’m no one. Seriously, no one. Did you put someone else’s name on that thing?”
