Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 79040 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 395(@200wpm)___ 316(@250wpm)___ 263(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79040 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 395(@200wpm)___ 316(@250wpm)___ 263(@300wpm)
“To be fair, everybody did tell you so.”
I give my sister the stink eye. “Can we count that as your ‘I told you so’ so I can check one off the list?”
“Sure. Because I so told you so.” Her teasing smile fades and she gives me a sad look. “And I’m really sorry I was right. Believe it or not, I wanted to be wrong about you guys. I hate seeing bad things happen to my helpless little sister.”
“I’m not helpless,” I say, but I’m smiling and accepting the hug she offers.
Our conversation drifts to other topics and we eventually decide to put on an old rom-com to re-watch. When things are chaotic, sometimes the best feeling is just sinking into an old, familiar groove. Tonight, we go with “There’s Something About Mary.”
We’re on the part where Ben Stiller is fighting for his life against the small dog. He’s doing wrestling moves on it and has just ducked, sending it flying out an open window. I’m smiling distractedly while scrolling on my phone.
That’s when I get a notification on one of Vaughn’s email addresses I still need to take off my phone. When I met Vaughn, I was working two dead-end jobs and writing in the little free time I had. He ended up offering me a paid position as his personal assistant. I always felt kind of dirty about it, but told myself it was something I’d only do as long as I needed to finish my book.
The job was mostly answering his emails and keeping his calendar, which worked out to being way less work than my previous jobs for pretty similar pay.
I guess that’s just one more layer of how much my world got upended yesterday, because I hadn’t even thought about how I’ll need to find a new job.
But Vaughn apparently hasn’t changed his passwords yet, because the email I’m staring at is addressed to his work email. It’s a familiar email. Every time Landmark signs a new author, they send out these “Welcome so and so to the family” style emails. This one is congratulating Vaughn for the newest author he signed. Aubrey Dizzie.
There’s her picture right at the top of the email. She’s smiling, looking absolutely fantastic in a red dress. She’s squinting toward the camera, as if she’s contemplating something intellectual and fantastic for her next book. Her perfect chin is resting on the tops of her knuckles. Ugh. Good for her, I guess.
I’m about to close the email when I see the title of her story. What Have You Done: A Psychological Thriller by Aubrey Dizzie.
It’s one of those moments that doesn’t hit all at once. My shock, dismay, outrage, and absolute fury come in stages.
I’m standing up now and holding the phone a little too far from my face, expression scrunching so much I probably look like a goblin. My heart hasn’t even started racing yet, but I can feel it getting ready to. I’m pretty sure I’ve stopped breathing. It feels like the whole world has stopped breathing.
Dani is looking my way now, head tilted. “What? Did you start getting those erectile dysfunction spam texts again?” She laughs, shaping her fingers into an “L” and pointing them at me. “Loser!” But her smile fades when she sees I’m still staring open-jawed at my phone.
What Have You Done. That’s the title of Aubrey’s book. It’s also the title of my book.
I scroll down in the email to see if there’s any more information about the book. I find a brief synopsis and my eyes fly over the words.
“Holy shit,” I whisper.
“What?” Dani has paused the movie.
“I think she’s trying to steal my book. The girl Vaughn is cheating with. I just got this email from Landmark celebrating her signing. They’re describing the book. It is my book. But there’s no way. Vaughn never even read it. I never posted it anywhere or anything.”
“Um, no way. Show me.” She sticks her hand out. I notice it’s shaking. She’s scared for me. I’m scared for me.
I hand her the phone and start pacing while I gnaw on my fingers. “They can’t do that.”
“No, they can’t,” Dani agrees. She’s reading now, eyes darting from side to side. “This is so fucked up. We need to call someone.”
“Who?”
She snaps her fingers a few times. “Your Wolfe guy. Call him. He’ll know what to do.”
I run my tongue across my teeth. I don’t want to be in that man’s debt, but she’s probably right. Who better to help me with something like this than Jameson?
She pulls out her phone and her fingers fly over the screen for a few moments. She holds up the phone so I can see. “Look, you can contact his secretary here.”
I chew my nails a little longer, thinking it over. I’m hardly able to string a thought together, though. My brain is buzzing with so many emotions. I can’t believe he’d do this. Why would he do this? Why would some random woman agree to pretend to be the author of my story? How does he even think he’ll get away with something so brazen and obvious?