AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Why is she here, pretending to be Aubrey?
“Let’s try to find out,” I muttered, tapping Emma Tolliver Bishop in the search engine of my computer.
Instantly, websites and images of Emma, some with her parents, filled the screen. I knew by the multitude of pages that were still loading, it’d take days, maybe even weeks, to comb through each link and gather the information I sought.
Turning my focus to her bio, I memorized every detail.
Emma Tolliver Bishop, Communications Executive at Bishop Broadcasting Group.
Born: January 7, 1995 in New York City. (28 years old)
“New York, huh? You told me you weren’t from New York,” I bitterly muttered.
Parents: Rupert Marshall Bishop and Roslyn Tolliver-Bishop.
“That explains her unusual middle name,” I murmured.
There was no spouse, or any siblings listed.
The shower was still running, so I clicked on the first website and began skimming the article. It was about some mega-dollar-per-plate gala to raise money for a new art center in Brooklyn. Scrolling down further, I paused on a cock-hardening photo of Emma.
She looked like she’d just stepped off the pages of a magazine. She was dressed in a sparkling, low-cut black dress that was slit up the side to mid-thigh and hugged her lush curves like a second skin. Her wheat-colored hair was meticulously piled on top of her head in big, loose curls. Thick, dark lashes framed her pretty hazel eyes shimmering in something that looked an awful lot like mischief. A ball-churning smile stretched her ripe, red lips, and a wide ribbon of glistening diamonds banded her throat like a fucking collar.
Visions of Emma on her knees, peering up at me as she worshiped my cock, exploded in my mind. I tugged at my zipper to try to make more room for my throbbing erection as a hungry groan rumbled deep in my chest.
Keep scrolling, you horny bastard,drawled the voice in my head.
Clenching my jaw, I moved past her photo, then paused to read the glowing review about her generous donation to the art center. While the article didn’t give Emma’s exact address, it mentioned she lived in Central Park South, New York. I clenched my jaw. It chafed that she’d lied to me about not being from New York, but I scrolled on.
Seconds later, I came across another photo of Emma—dressed in a cap and gown, and flanked by her parents—with the headline:Rupert Bishop celebrates daughter’s Master’s Degree in Communications from Columbia University.
When I looked at the date of the article, grief and anger stabbed my heart. Aubrey would have graduated alongside Emma that day if she hadn’t been brutally raped and murdered. Scrubbing a hand over my face, I exhaled a heavy sigh. Aubrey had been smart. No, she’d been brilliant. She’d completed her freshman college courses while still in high school. Before she’d even finished her sophomore year at Richardson High School, colleges had contacted my parents, offering Aubrey full-ride academic scholarships. The following year, she chose Columbia University in New York for their Cellular, Molecular, and Biochemistry courses.
Had the naked nymph in my shower been offered scholarships, too, or had Daddy’s money secured her a spot at Columbia so she could follow in his footsteps?
Did it matter? No. The only thing that did was finding out why Emma was passing herself off as Aubrey.
How far had she gone to achieve her unscrupulous ploy?
Had she obtained a driver’s license, credit cards, and a Social Security number in Aubrey’s name? I didn’t know, but had to find out. I needed to find a way to look inside Emma’s purse…the one she’d clung to like a lifeline all day. There was only one problem: it was in the bathroom with her.
The shower’s still running, taunted the voice in my head.
It was, but if she caught me sneaking into the bathroom now, she’d think me a pervert.
You are, the voice chortled.
I couldn’t argue. But being a perv and broadcasting it were entirely two different things.
Why did I care what she thought of me? Emma was a liar, a thief, an enemy combatant. If I could charge into hundreds of dangerous missions and come out unscathed—for the most part—I sure as fuck could go through her purse without getting caught.
Muttering a curse, I pushed back from the desk and stormed across the hall.
Since Emma had already been in the shower a long time, I knew I had ten…maybe fifteen seconds to sneak in, flip through her wallet, and get the fuck out.
Counting off the seconds in my head, I turned the knob and slowly opened the door.
As I tiptoed into the bathroom and peered inside the shower, I nearly swallowed my tongue.
