Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 91840 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 459(@200wpm)___ 367(@250wpm)___ 306(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91840 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 459(@200wpm)___ 367(@250wpm)___ 306(@300wpm)
“Check Digby’s website. She might actually be a writer for him. He should have a roster of employees on there.”
I bring his website up. In the search bar, I type Sadie Black and press Enter, but nothing comes up.
“Check Gabe’s story. See who the writer is.”
“I don’t want to. I don’t want to see it.” I put down my phone. I’ve avoided looking at the story. The last thing I want to see is the reason Gabe and I are no longer together.
“I’ll look then. I want to know who the writer is.” Charly starts tapping on her screen. “Hmm. Weird.”
“What?” I sit up straighter.
She meets my eyes. “The person who wrote Gabe’s story is called Sandy White. Sadie Black. Sandy White. Similar or what?”
I grab the screen, looking at her name, reading it aloud, “Sandy White, writing for Digby’s Dirt. You think that Sandy could be Sadie?”
“Let’s find out.”
Charly pulls up another search engine and types in Sandy White, Digby’s Dirt.
A bunch of news stories on other celebrities fill the screen.
“Go on to Images,” I tell Charly. “See if there’s a photo of her.”
Charly clicks on Images. A bunch of pictures of different celebrities come up that link to the stories that this Sandy White has written.
Charly scrolls through the pictures, and one catches my eye.
“There. Stop.” I tap on the picture, enlarging it. My heart is hammering in my chest. “That’s her. That’s Sadie.” I jab my finger at the picture.
She’s dressed up, her hair down and curled, looking really glam. Different to how I saw her in her cleaning uniform, but it’s definitely her.
“Chat show host Bradford Digby, actor Chester Handel, and journalist Sandy White at the 2016 Teen Choice Awards,” Charly reads the text beneath the picture.
“Sadie is Sandy.” I cover my mouth with my hands, getting to my feet in disbelief. “I can’t believe that she did this. That Sadie or Sandy or whatever the hell you call her and Digby did this to me! What am I going to do?”
Charly looks up at me. “You have to tell Gabe.”
“He won’t listen to me, Charly.” I shake my head. “Right now, I’m the last person he wants to see.”
“Then, I’ll tell him,” she announces.
“What?” I say, surprised.
“Yeah. I’ll go see him. I’ll tell Gabe what we know about Digby and Sandy, the cleaner formerly known as Sadie.”
“Charly…I really don’t want to put you in the middle of this. Vaughn is Gabe’s friend. I don’t want to cause problems between you guys.”
She takes my hands in hers. “You’re not causing any problems. That fucker Digby and his bitch sidekick caused problems when they did this to you and Gabe. Ava, you’re my friend, and I help my friends. Hos before bros every time, right?”
She grins, and I force a smile.
“Every single time,” I say as I give her hands a squeeze.
Gabe
“Gabe.”
I hear the distant sound of Tate’s voice, and then a hand shakes my shoulder.
“What? Fuck off. I’m sleeping,” I mumble, rolling away, laying my arm over my eyes.
“Gabe, get the fuck up.” That’s Julian’s voice.
I drag my arm off my face and blink wearily against the morning light.
As I look up, I see the faces of Tate, Julian, and Vaughn.
“Ugh. Jesus. What the fuck do you three want?” I roll onto my side, away from them, facing the back of the sofa. “And how the hell did you get into my apartment?”
“I have a key, remember?” Tate says.
Someone sits on the sofa by my legs.
I open an eye and see it’s Tate.
The look on his face. It looks a lot like disappointment. And it cuts right through me.
He knows. They all know.
Of course they do. It has to be all over the news by now.
GABRIEL EVANS, EX-GIGOLO AND SON OF MURDERERS
What a fucking headline. I bet the press has been pissing themselves with excitement.
I pull my anger on and wear it like a protective shield. “Don’t look at me like that, Tate.”
“I’m not looking at you like anything.”
“The hell you are.” I sit up, resting my back against the arm of the sofa, bending my knees up so that I can rest my elbows on them, and I scrub my hands over my face. “I don’t need your judgment right now, so if that’s what you all came here for, then you know where the door is.”
“We’re not here to judge you.” Julian sits on the coffee table across from me. He pulls a pack of smokes from his pocket. Gets two out. Lights one up and passes it to me, and then lights one for himself.
“Gabe, we’re here because we’re your friends, and we wanted to make sure you were okay,” Vaughn says from his spot where he’s standing, leaning against the window.
Right where I was standing last night when I got the call that changed everything.