Page 11 of Fake Engaged to the Enemy

I make noise as I’m walking. Whoever she’s talking to, it sounds important.

“You can’t blame that on me! I’m not the one who—Alright, fine.Fine. I don’t care. I don’t want to hear from you again.” She rips the phone from her ear and aggressively slams her thumb into the ‘end call button.’

Unfortunately, at that moment I swerve to the right to avoid her. And she spins on her heel, marching back toward me.

Our collision is inevitable.

“Whoa,” I shout, pivoting to avoid slamming into her.

Catherine yelps and pivots the same way.

The result is a shower of silver.

That is, screws.

They arc through the air and land with hard smatterings throughout the gravel path.

One can falls off the top of the pile and drops toward my foot.

Catherine tries to grab it. It smashes into her cell phone, making it spin away.

The last screw hits the ground. I balance the remaining supplies in my arms.

Catherine’s eyes are as round as dinner plates. She’s in a half-crouch, the paint can on the ground between my feet, her hands on it as though she’s pushing it into the ground.

“Are you okay?” I ask.

“Um… I think so.”

I step around her and put the rest of the stuff on the porch.

When I turn, Catherine’s still crouched. Now, though, she’s pulling screws out of the gravel.

“I’m sorry,” she babbles as I join her again. “I was talking with my—um, an old acquaintance. I wasn’t paying attention.”

“It’s okay,” I quickly say. “I should have let you know I was there.”

She looks up at me, her expression guarded. “How much did you hear?”

“Only that it’s from someone you don’t want to speak to again.”

Catherine winces. Her shoulders slump as she leans back on her heels. “It was from a media connection I have. This entire Crimson thing is bigger news than I first thought. I’ve been fielding calls all morning from people wanting the inside scoop.”

All this for a rumor? I fight to keep the frown off my face.

Catherine says she isn’t involved with Crimson. So I believe her. She’s not the sort of woman who runs around with married men.

Maybe I don’t know her as well as I once did.

Nothing will make me think that Catherine Hart of all people would do something like that.

We finish cleaning up the mess and head inside.

“Where’s Lynn?” I ask.

“She decided to go into town and get some new sheets for my bed. I told her it was fine.” Catherine smiles indulgently. “But apparently I’m too old for Sailor Moon sheets now.”

“Wait, you still have those?” I laugh aloud.

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