Page 22 of Someone Exactly Like Me (Wounded Hearts 1)
Vivian brings over our plates. “I have strawberry blintzes with a side of bacon,” she announces, putting the plate down in front of me. “And a bacon, egg, and cheese bagel,” she says putting the plate in front of Candi.
We each thank her and she smiles and heads off.
“Fun? How am I supposed to have fun when, without alcohol pulsing through me, I’ll be a sweaty, jittery disaster?” I cut a piece of my strawberry blintz and shove it in my mouth as though already defeated. “Maybe he’s forgotten.”
“I doubt it. You’re about to help him set the course for his future. He’s not likely to forget that.”
“Then I’ll follow through on my end and tell him to forget about his side of the deal.”
“Here’s the thing. I don’t know him intimately obviously, but I know him well enough to know that he’s not the kind of guy to back out of something he’s committed to. It’s not his style.” She takes a big bite of her breakfast bagel.
“But he won’t be backing out. I’ll just be letting him off the hook. Besides, I have a good start with the stuff I jotted down yesterday while you were shooting.” I wiggle a little in my chair and match the wiggle with my eyebrows.
“Ooo, let me see, let me see.” She wipes her hands on her napkin. “Do you have it with you?” She reaches out, clapping her fingers and thumbs together.
I finish chewing my bite. “I do,” I say happily as I reach into my purse. I move around my wallet, my sunglasses, my hand lotion — nothing. My chest caves in. My pages are gone. I lift my head slowly and look at her, my heart races in my chest.
“Des, what’s wrong?”
“They’re gone. They’re not here. My pages. I put them in my purse when we left your studio.”
“Oh shit.” Her eyes open wide.
“I can’t think of when they might’ve fallen out. Other than when I left my purse with you, I had it with me the whole time. Oh my gosh. What if someone found them. That’s my work.” My pulse thumps in my ears as my stomach churns.
“Is your name on them?”
“No. I wouldn’t put my name on them. And now they’re probably either in the trash at the club or in someone’s hands who they don’t belong to.” I’m frantic.
“Deep breaths. Even if someone found them and picked them up, chances are they’re not an author and have no intention of stealing your work. They probably threw them out, not knowing what they were.”
“Ugh.” I cover my face with my hands, my stomach still churning. “I can’t believe I lost them. I wrote a few really good scenes too.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. Well, you had me all tangled up with Nicco. I mean, I do have a good imagination. And he’s easy to write about.” I fan myself.
“So, you’ll write them again. And now you’ll have him in real life as your muse.” A shit-eating grin spreads across her face.
I take a bite of my blintz, so mad at myself for losing my pages. As Candi scarfs down her bagel, I try to trace my steps from the night before and figure out when and how I lost my pages.
My phone chimes with a text message and I get my phone out of my purse. Looking at the name on the screen, I freeze and turn my phone to Candi.
“Open it,” she encourages.
I tilt back my head, tracing the grain of the wood-beamed ceiling. “I’m not ready to talk to him.”
She waves her hand at me. “Open it.”
I open his message and clutch my phone tightly. My heart drops to my stomach as I suck in a gasp of air.
“Des, you’re as white as a ghost. What’s it say?”
“It says, I think these may have fallen out of your purse in my car last night. I found them on the floor in the back seat.” I turn my phone to face her and show her the picture of my folded pages.
Her hand flies to her mouth. “Oh shit.”
Leaning back in my chair, I hold the sides of my head. “How? How does he have my pages?”
