Page 63 of Baby For My Bossy Fake Fiancé

Dickson.

I had noticed Dickson was least included in their gatherings. He trailed behind them. Held their bags for them.

It seemed like he was forced to be there.

One evening, after I’d worn the usual face cap and hoodie to blend into the college environment. I set out to put my plans into action.

To isolate Dickson for questioning.

Once I found the opportunity, I took it. He had been peeing in a corner.

After assuring him that I wasn’t spying or stalking him, he calmed down. Just enough for me to talk to him.

He confessed that he never agreed to what Sean and the others did to Mae. He didn’t even like the others in the group. But he had to remain there because he owed Sean a huge favour.

Which he repaid by being a part of the group.

He was the group’s nerd. Scrawny but not unhealthy. With thick rimmed glasses and freckles.

Anyway, he had transferred the evidence when he realized I was a lawyer. Though I was worried for him.

What would happen if Sean found out about our transaction?

He wasn’t the only one in the group with access to the videos. But we both knew he would be the first on the questioning seat.

Surprisingly, he told me not to worry. In his words, it was high time he stood up for himself.

Like a proud mother, I’d nodded my head. And like a proud lawyer I’d left the place.

Now here I was after a meeting with Mae. Satisfied. Not to lie, I felt like those detectives from the movies.

This was my first real case as a lawyer. I couldn’t wait to win.

I tucked the drive safely into one of the drawers. Then I returned to checking for messages.

As expected, I found two in my mail. They were assignments sent by John. But this time, submission would be made to Mr. Damien.

This had been the routine since the beginning of the week. Every day I had two emails sent by John. And beneath each one was an attached note stating whom to make the submissions to.

I still found it weird that my boss didn’t directly assign tasks to me. Maybe a little less weird, now that we weren’t exactly on speaking terms.

But still.

Speaking terms. I scoffed. Were we ever on speaking terms? What exactly was my definition of speaking terms?

Back and forth? Getting on his nerves? Or the sexu-

I popped a knuckle. Then popped another. And another until my ten fingers were done.

I recently found out that popping my knuckles was a great way to distract myself.

If only I had more than ten fingers.

I hadn’t seen him since the incident. We rode in separate cars to work. Fred drove me and he drove himself.

Office calls were zero. So we hadn’t crossed paths.

And I wouldn’t prefer it any other way.

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