Page 17 of Lethal Vows

“Acting lessons? What are you on about?”

And then, when I stare at her, her eyes widen with understanding.

“I know,” is all I say. “I know.”

“Look, let’s talk about it. Please.” Her usual cheerful tone seems almost desperate.

“You aren’t even going to deny it?”

“No. You already know. And I know once you have facts, you will run with them.”

“I do because facts never lie. Unlike you.”

“Wow, okay.” She glances around before she focuses back on me. “At least let me explain. Will you give me that?”

“Don’t you think you’ve had multiple opportunities to do that?” I question. “Like years,” I tack on.

“Fine. Okay. I get it. You’re mad. And you’re allowed to be. But I want you to know that, no matter what, I truly think of you as a friend.”

“One who was getting paid, though, right?”

“It wasn’t like that.”

“Were you or were you not getting paid to be my friend?” I ask again.

She hesitates, then quietly replies, “Yes, I was.”

Well, that is my answer.

“Lose my number and never contact me again.” I turn, and the doorman opens the door for me. “Ban her from my approved guest list,” I tell him, and he nods.

I don’t bother looking back as I hurry to the elevator and head to my apartment. I stroll straight for the liquor cabinet, pouring a generous glass of red wine and taking a swig out of the bottle for good measure. I flick off my heels, fall onto my sofa, and turn on the television. Right now, I need to do something mindless. It wouldn’t be smart for me to work. I’m too mad, and I may fuck something up, and I cannot afford to do that. Especially with all the heat on our firm this week.

I have people depending on me.

My phone rings. And rings. Eventually, I reach for it and put it on ‘Do Not Disturb.’

But before I realize I’m doing it, I’m already reading my emails.

Hisname pops up.

Multiple times.

I hate him.

And as I go to throw my phone down, I can’t help myself because I want to see what he says, what he’s doing.

And why is he still emailing me when I told him I wouldn’t marry him?

Because I won’t.

He can go fuck himself.

Dear Miss Ricci

Do you remember I know where you live?

Reply.

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