Page 117 of The Fake Dating War

“Hello?” My voice comes out as a terrible croak.

“Reema? Is that you?”

“One minute—” I garble out.

I go to the sink and gulp down some water. Then I put my phone on mute and spend thirty seconds trying to make my voice sound normal.

Esha impatiently calls my name out again.

I unmute the phone and ask cheerily, “How’s the honeymoon going?”

“Don’thow is my honeymoonme! Where the shit are you?”

“At home.”

“Obviously! But where specifically?”

“W-why?”

She groans. “Clearly you’re not at work, so I need your apartment address!”

“Wait.” I grip the phone tighter. “How do you know I’m not at work?”

“Because I just spoke to your boss.” There’s another voice in the background arguing with her. It sounds familiar. Like Leo, but what would he be doing with Esha on her honeymoon?

Whatever the case, Esha tells me to hang on. I’m stuck staring at fridge magnets, confused and worried, until she comes back on the line. There’s no background noise anymore. I tell her as much.

“I’m in my car,” she says. “You have needy coworkers and—others—who want to see you. I barely got out of there alone.”

It takes me longer than it should, but finally it makes sense. “You’re—you’re here?”

“Yes. Give me your address.”

When I don’t immediately answer, she tells me not to stress a pregnant woman out.

That’s a sentence chock full of emotional blackmail. I give in, and she tells me she’ll be there in thirty minutes.

While I wait, I try holding onto the numbness which seems to be losing its power. Pain has returned and I would love a stiff drink to shoo it away, but there’s no liquor around. The next best thing is Hollywood’s Top Plastic Surgery Failures. I watch snippets on my phone, though if you ask me about it, I can’t tell you anything.

Too soon, Esha calls again. She’s downstairs.

Slowly, I walk down the stairs and down the hallway, and then I open the front door.

“Those are some wrinkled pants,” is the first thing she says.

Oh. Right.I’ve not changed my clothes since my meeting with Mr.Davies.

“Do you want to come in?” I ask, gripping the door open, blocking the entrance with my body.

“No, I’m hovering like an idiot for no reason.”

“Did you come by yourself?”

“Gurinder’s at a golf course nearby. He’s pretty stoked to do that all day.”

I let her inside. Miracle of all miracles, the elevator is working. When we start moving up, it strikes me. “You shouldn’t be here! You’re supposed to be on your honeymoon!”

“Don’t worry about that.”

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