Page 42 of My Rules

Sales: 0

Hurry up and call me back, Blake.

Gah ... I can hardly wait to speak to him. What if I’ve done the profile wrong or something? I glance back at my feet once more. Tonight I’m going to up my game, get really inventive.

These perverted sick fucks want to get nasty ... so will I.

Maybe I should do some research on Google to see what kind of fetish pictures people actually want. My eyes float to the other people at the lunch table. Not here, though.

Tonight . . .

I can’t mess this up. I need extra income ... and fast. I refuse to touch the joint bank account ever again, and the bills are beginning to pile up.

Damn it, what if I never sell a single photo?

No, I can’t think like that. I have to be optimistic.

Blake will know what to do. I feel like driving to the children’s hospital and paging him to the front counter for an emergency consultation.

Of course, I have a stupid staff development meeting tonight, and I won’t be home until late.

I check again.

Sales: 0

I stuff my phone into my handbag and bite into my apple.

Turns out that living a double life as a camgirl isn’t as glamorous or profitable as one would think.

Blake

It’s 7:00 p.m. I pour myself a beer, take a seat at my computer, and plug in the flash drive. I have to admit that I, too, have been thinking about this all day, since Ant reminded me. I’m truly fascinated as to who could have written the stuff on this flash drive.

The screen lights up, and I scroll down as I read the contents. There are lists and stories. I frown as I keep going through it; this appears to be some kind of backup.

I scroll much farther down this time as I look for some kind of clue.

Author Nooky Nights

I frown. Nooky? Who would give themselves a pen name of Nooky Nights ... whoever wrote this is a confirmed fucking weirdo.

The door opens, and Henley and Antony appear. “Are we on?” Hen asks.

“Yeah.” I keep scrolling down.

They both pull up a chair and sit behind me as I scroll through the screens.

“Any idea who yet?” Henley asks as he grabs him and Ant a beer from my fridge.

“Their author name is Nooky Nights,” I tell them.

“Nooky Nights?” Henley frowns.

“I like it.” Antony opens his can of beer. “Catchy.”

“So do you think the person who lost this is freaking out?” Henley asks.

“About what?”

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