Page 70 of Apparently, I’m Torture

The vendor rep stood there and shrugged, not a care in the world. “The order’s already been paid for. If you don’t take them, you won’t get a refund.”

What happened? What actually happened?

I checked my sent items, and there the email sat, unashamed, signed off by me, with the forged attachment approving double the number of cups.

I turned to him, asking, “How are Tristan and Nikki going to store all these?”

“We’ll figure it out,” he repeated. Without taking his eyes from the road, he reached over and squeezed my knee. “I’m not letting anything happen to you, okay? I’ll take the blame for this.”

My heart cracked, just a little, and some of the feeling came back, the roaring dulled. “You shouldn’t have to do that.”

He forced a smile, eyes still straight ahead. “Yeah well, I was told your career can’t take a hit and keep going, but mine can. I’m the great Shawn Jackson, right?”

I didn’t laugh. Because this wasn’t funny. I absolutely, without a shadow of a doubt, did not write that email. And Shawn did not sign off on the order. And I did not forge his signature.

I pulled out my phone and tapped a message to Mia. She had a way of calming me down, of making me feel like there was a way through.

L: I fucked up. I fucked up so badly. I don’t know how, but I ordered twice the amount of coffee cups. That’s $30k taken from the budget instead of $15k. Mia, how could I screw up like this?

M: Lilly, you couldn’t have. Shawn would’ve had to sign off on the order. As much as we dislike the fit asshole, he wouldn’t make a mistake like that.

L: He says the order papers were signed with a fake signature. Someone forged it.

M: …why would you forge his signature for extra cups?

L: I wouldn’t. I didn’t. But the order came from my email.

M: Fucking Trevor.

L: What would Trevor have to do with it?

M: Bri called to tell me that Treviboy has been coming into South Bronx over the holiday break. He’s been sitting at your desk.

I held my breath. What the actual fuck?

M: Bri told me because she didn’t want to worry you. And I sat on it thinking maybe the chucklefuck was using your comp to help you through the module. I should’ve known better. I wouldn’t put it past that bastard to forge an invoice and send a fake order using your email address.

A fire licked my ribcage, racing down my spine, melting my limbs to lead.

“That fucking, fucking, FUCKING ASSHOLE. HE IS THE VILLIAN,” I yelled, gripping my phone so tight I could’ve shattered the screen.

“What?” Shawn asked, shocked.

“Trevor. It came from Trevor. He’s the one who forged the order and the email. Mia told me Brianna caught him sitting at my computer over the holiday break. The fucking sadistic bastard is trying to, to–”

“You think he’s trying to sabotage you?” Shawn’s glance slid from the road to me. “Why would he do that? Stacey told me Trevor’s still pretty obsessed with you.”

“Are you kidding? He hates me.”

“No one could hate you, Lil.”

I rolled my eyes. “Coming from you, that’s rich.”

“Lilly,” his voice was stern, but I was too angry, too furious, to find it sexy. “I already told you. I never hated you.”

“Then why did you say working with me was torture? Hmm?” I crossed my arms and shot him a got you there look. I knew I was acting like a petulant child. I knew that. But that didn’t mean I could stop myself, or even feel a teensy bit embarrassed by it.

“Because being around you was torture.”