Page 34 of Fake for 7 days

Feel like visiting me tonight at 7 PM in my penthouse? It's right above my company. The address is on the business card.

I'd be delighted.

Carter

After reading the words, I gasped, and my heart leaped wildly in my chest. Surprise, joy, and disbelief mingled within me.

He wanted to see me again.

The man who had impressed me from the first moment like no other hadn't simply left me alone like everyone else before him. A smile spread across my face, the kind that comes from deep within. My cheeks grew warm.

He wanted to see me again.

And this despite the fact that all the women in New York must be falling at his feet. He obviously lacked nothing: money, good looks, an athletic body, impeccable manners, a charming personality. That I wanted to see him again was beyond question.

So now the story I had dreamed up yesterday, which could have come from a Hollywood movie, had actually come true. I had met a man at a bachelorette party.

I giggled softly again.

This time my head didn't hurt as much.

Slowly, I picked up the business card that had been lying next to the note. It had the address of a company in the middle of Manhattan.Carco Batteries. With a pounding heart, I put the small rectangular piece of cardboard back on the nightstand and stood up. My bag was right next to the door. Carefully, so as not to provoke any more headaches, I bent down and fished out my phone. In the contacts, I pulled up Carter's number, which I had saved yesterday after our accident. That wasn't even 24 hours ago. Yet it felt like I had known Carter for an eternity.

I typed a short message.

Hey fiancé. Thanks for your note. See you tonight. Looking forward to it.

For a moment, I considered adding a heart. Or a kiss. But then I didn't. Our story was still too fresh. Before I could think about it for too long, I sent the message. The reply didn't take long. It consisted of just one emoji. A thumbs up. The well-known Like. I waited briefly to see if a longer message would follow. But that wasn't the case.

What did you expect, Isabella? Another white flower? That's probably not his style, and that's not surprising. Men are like that.

Just as I was about to put the phone back in my bag, it suddenly vibrated in my hand. Continuously. Not a message, but a call. A shiver of anticipation shot through my body, and my skin began to tingle, just as it had done last night under Carter's touch.

He's calling.

I quickly raised the phone to my face.

An unknown number.

Disappointed, I stared at the screen with the sequence of numbers.

Whoever was calling me right now, it wasn't Carter.

Isabella! Don't be so unrealistic. You're not his fiancée!

"Isabella Abbott!" Before I could think any more about Carter, I decided to answer the call. Maybe it was another pleasant surprise. A hotel I had sent an application to a few months ago that was now getting back to me?

"Good morning, Ms. Abbott, this is Suvindher Smith from New York Bank." An Indian-American woman's voice, fitting her name perfectly, greeted me.

New York Bank. My bank.

What did they want from me?

"I'm calling about the last installment for your loan."

"Yes?" I asked cautiously.

"Unfortunately, we haven't received the scheduled payment."

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