Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 82767 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 414(@200wpm)___ 331(@250wpm)___ 276(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82767 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 414(@200wpm)___ 331(@250wpm)___ 276(@300wpm)
I opened the software and began to edit multiple frames at a time, sending the files back to Frank, who reformatted them. He was so grateful that I was helping that he didn’t ask why I had been smiling and nodding as Taylor explained the fundamentals of their design software, and yet suddenly I knew all kinds of shortcuts and tricks to get the job done. I felt incredibly self-conscious and made a few silly errors through sheer nerves, which then had to be fixed, but we got there. It was after six when I had finally finished, and I went back to reread the email thread that had accompanied the pricing spreadsheet.
“Something funny is going on – I’ve been checking the email thread about these files, and something doesn’t add up,” I said, but his face was clear of worry.
“Well, they have the files both ways now, so no harm was done, right? Not even the Callahan bros can argue with that!”
“Sure,” I said, reverting to my cheerful persona.
“Go on, escape before I find something else for you to do. I don’t know how you did it, but you saved us here today. Have a good weekend!”
I felt like a traitor. I’d saved them? Here I was, staying after hours to help Clover House when I should have been there to expose them. I realized with a jolt that it was late, and I had to meet Drew for some kind of weird non-date date that I had somehow fallen into. As I waited for the bus, my ever-so-professional reflection in the bus shelter stared back at me. I had no idea who I was or whose life I was living, and I couldn’t decide if the feeling this gave me was excitement or terror.
Chapter 8
FREYA
KNOWING THAT I had already completed a week at Clover House didn’t make the second Monday morning any easier. I had spent the weekend worrying about whether Frank would suspect anything now he had seen that I wasn’t quite the intern I had pretended to be. I was kicking myself. I should have said everything was fine – after all, it wasn’t my job to cross-reference everything. No one would have expected me to.
I’d woken at the crack of dawn and transformed into Effie Hancock early, treating myself to a breakfast in town at one of the early cafés where I had ordered a bottomless coffee. Turns out Effie Hancock needs a lot of coffee. I’d barely slept all weekend, and it wasn’t just my frustration with my new ‘job’ that was keeping me up. Friday night with Drew had been… surprising. I had managed to get home in time to get changed and eat before he had arrived. We had gone to a student bar, a place that we both knew well. We sat in a cushioned booth at the back, away from a band that was setting up – some kind of modern folk-rock that we might have both enjoyed had there not been a lingering tension in the air. We re-examined the whole Dynasty Games situation. It was an easy conversation because it was the same one we had both been having with my family for several weeks now. Eventually, we ran out of things to say. Until the lawyers had something useful, there was nothing to be done. No amount of talking over possibilities really got us anywhere.
“Tell me about your work. I was surprised to hear about that; I thought you’d be off out of here,” he said after a bit of a lull in the conversation. For a second, I thought he was asking about the internship and I froze, but then I remembered my lie. It was true what they said about a liar needing to have a good memory.
“It’s just a bit of freelance.” I was beginning to get good at this. “No big deal.”
“Still, it’s travel money, right?” he smiled. “Remember our plans to backpack across Europe?”
“That’s still pretty much the plan!” I laughed. “Except it costs quite a lot more than we thought it would back then!”
“We were young and idealistic,” he replied, looking at me a little intensely, then seemingly taking great interest in the band who was struggling with an amp.
“We’re still young!” I followed his gaze to avoid eye contact.
“Just not so idealistic, right?” he asked, giving me a look that reminded me why we had almost crossed that boundary from friends to lovers. “Still drawing?”
“Not so much, I… don’t get the time, really,” I answered. I was never without a sketchbook and pencils when we had been together. A huge part of why I wanted to travel was to get back that part of myself that had been stifled by computer programs, assignments, and exams. I stood to go to the bar and escape the direction the conversation was headed.