Total pages in book: 161
Estimated words: 151845 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 759(@200wpm)___ 607(@250wpm)___ 506(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 151845 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 759(@200wpm)___ 607(@250wpm)___ 506(@300wpm)
‘Hey.’ I drop to the couch and tidy the pile of files in front of me, hearing loud panting. ‘Are you running?’
‘Walking fast,’ she huffs. ‘I have an hour to find an outfit.’
‘What for?’
‘Wednesday night. We’re going out.’
‘We are?’
‘Yes.’ Her answer leaves no room for refusal.
‘Okay.’ I don’t argue. I could do with a drink. Or twenty.
‘I might even go for tits and legs.’
‘Only one,’ I laugh. ‘You can’t break your own rule.’ I keep my eyes on the pile of files before me, resisting the enticement of the forbidden bookshelf in the corner of the library.
‘I feel like living on the edge. You should try it.’
I laugh out loud. Oh, she has no idea. My amused chuckle drowns out the voice in my head a little, the curious, demanding one telling me to dive into that secret compartment again. So I laugh louder, throwing my head back.
‘All right,’ Lucy says, undoubtedly looking at her phone with a wrinkled brow. ‘It isn’t that funny.’
My laughter dissipates. ‘Sorry,’ I sniff, pulling myself together and straightening my blouse along with my face. She blows an exhausted breath down the line, making a harsh crackling sound in my ear. ‘You still walking fast?’ I ask.
‘No, I broke out into a sprint four sentences ago.’
‘Why?’
‘Loose Knickers is in the office with Mark, and I’m not.’
‘Ohhh,’ I breathe, my eyes pulling to that damn bookshelf again.
‘Hey, you okay?’
‘I’m fine.’ My reply is automatic, and I conclude quickly that it’s also the truth. I really am fine. More than fine. There’s no need to expand on that. Actually, there is. I’m hopelessly in love with the man who broke into my apartment, forged a sculpture, and meticulously carved out a plan to trick his arch-enemy into buying it. The one who he suspects is responsible for his parents’ deaths. I inwardly laugh. It sounds obscene in my head, too.
‘Looking forward to our night out,’ I say instead.
‘Me too. I’ll call you.’ She hangs up, and I get to my feet quickly before I can allow my thoughts to run wild again. Problem is, they’re not running wild. They’re simply summing up my reality. My crazy, wild reality.
I stare down at the pile of red files before me, my eyeballs beginning to ache from the effort it’s taking me not to look at that bookshelf. And my brain is beginning to ache with my constant screaming demands not to. My foot starts tapping, my thumbnail finding its way to my mouth so my teeth can gnaw on it. When my phone pings in my hand, all of my nervous actions stop dead in their tracks.
You’ve just breached clause 3.7. Strike 1 x
Clause 3.7. Answer a text within five minutes. Strike 1? What’s he suggesting? Three strikes and I’m out? Peeking over my shoulder, I eye the bookshelf with the suspicion it deserves. Get the file. That’s all. Pretend it’s just like any other bookcase in the room. I’m not giving myself enough credit. I can control my curiosity. On a confident nod of my head, I march over to the bookcase, my eyes scanning for the file I need. I find it. Grab it. Turn away from the shelf.
Then the soles of my shoes seem to weld to the carpet. I can’t physically move. I have no clue why. I’ve seen the map, it’ll be nothing new, but I didn’t know what I was looking at back then. Now I’ll know exactly what I’ll be seeing and the significance of it. Or I could just look at Becker’s back. God knows, it’s stunning enough, with or without the masses of ink decorating it. But I have free access to his back now. It’s too easy. Delving into the secret compartment is wrong. Daring. Daring is exciting. Becker has unearthed that daring side in me.
‘Damn you.’ I slowly turn around and bend, peering over the tops of the books that hide the secret compartment. Then my hand is reaching forward of its own volition, feeling for the catch. ‘Where are you?’ I ask myself, my face squished against the wood.
‘Eleanor?’
I jump, dropping the file and smacking the top of my hand on the shelf. ‘Shit.’
‘What are you doing?’ Becker sounds as wary as he does interested.
I stare blankly at the tower of red files before me, not daring to confront him until I’ve nailed my poker face. That could take a while. I feel like a rabbit caught in the headlights, all wide-eyed and startled.
I clear my throat. ‘Just collecting one of the files you need.’ Dipping, I gather up the leather book and straighten, then faff with it for a few seconds, biding my time.
‘And do you have it?’ he asks coolly, his voice rising as he comes closer.
Wiping all guilt from my face, I fix an unruffled smile to it – or the closest I can muster – and turn, holding up the file. ‘Yes.’