Page 19 of Fake Maid

Seven

Eli

Coral Walsh is a liar.

At least, this one is. There seem to be two. At first, I think I must remember it wrong. She tucks her hair behind her ear with her left hand, and I frown at the screen of our video call. The imposter keeps talking, that familiar face solemn but her voice softer than before. She trips over some words, her cheeks flushing at her stutter.

Her left hand. She used her left. The hand that wore a cast.

Something’s not right.

A memory tickles the back of my brain. A red-headed maid with a stutter, quietly cleaning my office while I worked at the desk.

It’s her. This is Coral Walsh. A woman I’ve seen many times before in my life, but who I’ve never spared a second thought for.

So who the hell did I lose my mind over? Who took my breath away the second I saw her?

Coral’s still talking, gravely informing me that what happened between us was a mistake. Except I’ve never touched this woman. Does she think I’m a complete fool? Does she think I can’t see the different way she holds herself, hear the different cadence to her voice?

“Miss Walsh,” I interrupt. She blinks at me. “I expect you at work tomorrow morning.”

I hang up without another word, tossing my phone onto my desk. I’m tired of all the lies. My hand aches inside my cast, a physical manifestation of my dark mood, and I tip back in my chair and drum my fingers on the wood.

A twin sister. Obviously. One who lives in the area—perhaps even with Coral. I pull up the email my assistant sent earlier with Coral Walsh’s details. I scroll down to the address and stare at it with dry eyes.

Just a conversation. That’s all I want. An explanation from the girl who turned me inside out. Then I’ll leave her alone.

I check Coral’s listed emergency contact, mouth twisting at the name written there, then push back my chair and stride out of the office.

* * *

I sit in the idling limousine, staring up at the apartment block. It’s modest but charming, with plain features but plants, string lights, and colorful blinds in most of the windows. The people who live here may not be wealthy, but the stairs are swept clean and the squares of warm light in the windows make my chest ache with longing.

This apartment block puts my empty mansion to shame. I clench my jaw, staring up at the windows.

I’ll go and knock in a moment. I’m gathering my thoughts; trying to swallow back the anger of being lied to so that I don’t scare her away.

Billie Blue Walsh.

The little liar who stole my heart.

“Sir?” the driver calls. “Shall I park up?”

I gust out a sigh. “No. Wait here.” I won’t be long. Billie made herself clear earlier: she wants nothing more to do with me. I just need to understand what the hell happened today, then I’ll give her all the space she wants.

Even if it hollows me out. Even though I miss her so badly I can’t breathe properly.

Warm evening air washes over me as I throw the door open, stepping out onto the sidewalk. I scowl up at the apartments, slamming the door shut behind me, and I’ve barely taken three steps when a voice freezes me in place.

“Eli?”

She’s here. With a cast on her left wrist and a frown on her pretty face.

Billie.

She hovers on the sidewalk, her face pinched and pale. A light jacket covers her shoulders, but she still wraps her arms around her waist, squeezing like she needs the hug.

“Billie,” I rasp, and she sucks in a sharp breath, stumbling back half a step.

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