Page 166 of That Time I Accidentally Became A Serial Killer

The second Poppy gets her dumb little idea, I know I’m screwed.

She yanks on my sleeve like a hyperactive crow spotting something shiny.

"Be in love with me," she hisses, pulling me along.

I blink. "Come again?"

"But when I leave," she adds, tossing a chunky ring onto her left finger like she’s preparing for battle, "flirt with the receptionist."

I stop dead.

"What the actual fuck are you talking about?"

She’s already halfway across the street, not slowing for my existential crisis.

"Trust me," she throws over her shoulder. "Just—go!"

Before I can list the forty-seven reasons this is a terrible idea, she’s throwing open the door and striding in like she owns the place.

Fucking wonderful.

Inside, the place smells expensive—soft florals, clean polish, and the stench of too much money.

Poppy’s instantly in character, wrapping her arm around mine like I’m her beloved emotional support gorilla. She leans in, all soft smiles and glittering eyes.

My hand hits her thigh. Fine by me.

I flex my fingers across the fabric and feel her tense. I ignore the heat that shoots up my arm and the cocky grin that follows.

"We’re interested in… couples counseling," she says, twirling the fake ring like it’s taboo.

The receptionist—young, hot, and professionally detached—gives us a once-over. She looks at Poppy like she has horse shit hanging out of her mouth.

She looks at me like I’m a sizzling steak.

And right in front of myfiancée. A scandal.

"I don’t think—" She’s about to shut us down when Poppy leans closer and says:

"Kay sent us."

Boom. Golden ticket.

Her posture softens. "Of course. We’re always happy to take on one of Mrs. Bennett’s referrals."

Well, fuck me sideways. That worked.

She slides a clipboard across the counter, all sugar and fake empathy now.

"Just fill this out and I’ll get you into the system."

She’s talking to Poppy, but looking at me.

Poppy flashes a megawatt grin, snatches the clipboard, scrawls something down, and gasps.

"I’m so sorry, where’s your bathroom?"

She shoves the clipboard into my hands.

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