Page 18 of Married to Lies

Despite all these people having so many incredible ideas, I felt like I was stuck on the same chapter.

Go to work.

Go home.

Sleep.

Repeat.

Maybe part of me hoped that my secret admirer would reveal himself and help me turn the page. It was a stupid part of me, clearly, considering weeks had passed since our text message exchange, and he still hadn’t shown his face. I shouldn’t have been surprised. The man had left me notes for months without revealing himself.

My phone vibrated in my chest pocket, and I pulled it out, looking at the screen.

Unknown Number: Looking for a note from me?

All of my senses jumped to attention at once. The muscles in my ears twitched like it would make me hear better, and my skin prickled, ready for sensation. Even my vision was laser focused as I turned in search of the sender. He could see me now... but I couldn’t see him.

My phone vibrated again.

Unknown number: I’m sitting in the Caf, to the right of the barista.

I stared at my phone, then at him. He wasn’t looking at me, just down at his phone on the table.

My jaw dropped.

The man seated near the coffee stand was Quentin Thomas, CFO of MyHome.

The same man Conrad had asked to find dirt on had been leaving me kind and encouraging notes for months.

My phone vibrated again, and I tore my eyes away from Quentin to read the text.

Quentin: If you want to talk, I’ll be here for five minutes. If you don’t come to my table, I’ll know you’re not interested, and I’ll respect that.

Quentin: Because I’m not a stalker.

I chuckled despite myself and looked to see his face was still trained toward the table. But I could have sworn there was the ghost of a smile on his lips. My fingers flew over the screen as I tapped a message back.

Rei: Says the man watching me from across the room.

Quentin: Can you blame me?

Heat bloomed on my cheeks as I looked back at him, and now he met my gaze. No smile, no hint of a joke. Only him, laying the truth between both of us and offering me a choice.

I studied him in a way I hadn’t before. He was a big man, skin a rich shade of dark brown, with broad shoulders, a strong, square-shaped face. Short facial hair accented his full lips and strong jaw. His hands on the phone made the device look small, like a toy for children.

For the first time, I allowed myself to realize, He’s handsome.

And my heart instantly quickened in response, like I’d had one too many energy drinks. I took a step toward him, and at the sight of my worn-in black tennis shoe, I froze.

I was not dressed to meet with the CFO of a billion-dollar corporation. My blue jumpsuit was still damp at the knees from the time I spent on the floor earlier, scraping yet another sticker from the marble tile. And besides the wet spots, the material was thin and worn from daily use, with the color fading in places. Even my hair was a mess, pulled back with a claw clip shaped like a gingerbread man—a gift from my niece who saw it in a dollar spot.

Turning on my heel, I hurried to the supply closet. If I only had five minutes, I was going to make the most of it.

I tore an outfit out of my locker, unclipped my hair, and raked my fingers through the fine black strands.

Then I tugged on a pair of fleece-lined leggings, a green and cream plaid skirt, and a thick, cable-knit sweater. The black booties in my locker finished out the look. For reassurance, I took a quick look in the mirror.

Pretty good for four and a half minutes.