Total pages in book: 85
Estimated words: 78249 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 391(@200wpm)___ 313(@250wpm)___ 261(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78249 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 391(@200wpm)___ 313(@250wpm)___ 261(@300wpm)
Kora’s face said her bullshit detector was blaring at full volume. To her credit, she only smiled patiently and nodded.
My phone buzzed. Cole's name flashed on the screen.
"Speak of a different devil," I muttered.
"You should probably answer it this time," Kora said. "Before he gets suspicious."
I knew she was right. With a deep sigh, I picked up the phone. "Hey, Cole."
"Finally," his voice crackled through the speaker. "I was starting to think you'd forgotten our arrangement."
The word 'arrangement' made my skin crawl. "No, just been busy. It's not like I could just walk in and ask for the company secrets at Foster Real Estate. I have to actually build trust first."
"And? What do you have for me?"
I caught Kora's eye. She made an encouraging gesture.
“Nothing yet,” I said slowly.
“That’s not good enough, Ember. You need to give me something right fucking now, or this whole thing is over.”
I felt a stab of panic. Shit.
"Well..." I said, scrambling for something I could toss out that wouldn't really help Cole but might get him off my back. I needed something that sounded important, but it was vague enough that it wouldn’t actually hurt Orion or help Cole. “I mean, I’ve heard them talking about a guy named Davenport a lot, I guess? But like I said, I’m still trying to get more trust so I can do more than eavesdrop.”
"Davenport?" Cole's voice sharpened with interest. "Tell me more."
My stomach dropped at his tone. Something in the urgency and hunger there made me think even the vague tip was something Cole would cling to like a dog with a bone.
“I really don’t know more yet. If you give me more time, maybe I can find out, though. But honestly, I’m not even sure Davenport is really worth looking into. It’s just a name.”
“Your clock is ticking, Ember,” Cole said. “Give me more on this Davenport guy soon, or you’re done.”
I hung up and immediately felt like I might throw up my entire body weight in popcorn.
"You okay?" Kora asked.
"Yeah, I just..." I shook my head. "I’m worried I gave him more than I should have there. I panicked.”
"If just the name of some guy is enough to screw with Foster Real Estate, then they're operating on shaky ground anyway, right?"
"Yeah," I said, though the sick feeling in my stomach said otherwise. I couldn't shake the sense that I'd just knocked over the first domino in a very long line.
My phone buzzed again. This time, it was a text from Remmy.
Remmy: Hey! Remember how I said Orion wouldn’t be at dinner tomorrow night? Mom’s making him come and he’s being a total baby about it since he learned you’d be there. He tried to back out and our mom won’t let him. So you have to come just so we can watch him squirm. Please? My mom’s lasagna is amazing, and there may or may not be Orion’s baby pictures up for viewing if you come…
"What's that look for?" Kora asked.
"What look? There's no look. I'm just... thinking about lasagna." I was already typing my reply before I could talk myself out of it.
Me: Baby pictures of Orion Foster? I would pay money for that kind of blackmail material.
"You're in trouble," Kora said, shaking her head.
"Please," I scoffed. "The only trouble I'm in is that I have to see my impossibly grumpy boss outside of work, I said, tilting my phone toward her so she could read. “But hey, free lasagna. And maybe I'll finally figure out if he was born wearing a tie."
As I spoke, that weird feeling in my stomach was back. And this time, I was pretty sure it wasn't just the massive amount of half-digested popcorn.
No, this feeling was way more dangerous than a popcorn overdose. This was the feeling of someone who was starting to care way too much about a man who was supposed to be nothing more than a stepping stone in her revenge plot.
Catman gave me another judgmental look, and this time, I couldn't even argue with him.
16
ORION
The sound of laughter drifted from my mother's kitchen, making my jaw clench. Remmy and Ember were helping—or more likely hindering—Mom's lasagna preparation while I sat at the dining room table, pretending to check work emails.
"Oh my God," Ember's voice carried over. "He really did that?"
"Three times!" Mom said. "Every time we tried to take a family photo, little Orion would straighten his clip-on tie and demand we start over because his hair wasn't perfect."
"I was six," I muttered, though nobody was listening to me. The women in my kitchen were too busy trading stories about how “adorably neurotic” I was as a child.
More laughter. The kind that said there were probably embarrassing photos being passed around. I considered intervening, but the last time I'd gone into the kitchen, Remmy had tried to make me wear an apron covered in dancing vegetables. The time before that, Mom had asked Ember if she was single in a voice that suggested she was already planning our wedding.