Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 73021 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 365(@200wpm)___ 292(@250wpm)___ 243(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 73021 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 365(@200wpm)___ 292(@250wpm)___ 243(@300wpm)
She must have been upset to not text me back and to ignore that many of my texts. Whatever had been said to her was bad and hurt her enough that she closed herself off. That shit wasn’t going to happen. I mean, there was someone for everyone. If she’d get out there and maybe fix herself up a little, she’d find a guy or girl—hell, I wasn’t sure what gender she was into. I hated thinking of her alone. She deserved companionship. Someone would be lucky to have her in their life.
Sitting down back at my desk, I put the papers in front of me. Smiling at the face I remembered. It was her senior picture in the yearbook, along with her former address, her mom’s name, no father listed. She never talked about her parents. I was curious now.
It went on to list her full-ride scholarship, which I had known about. I turned the page to scan through most of the things I already knew until I got to something that wasn’t correct. Her place of employment. It said she’d graduated from college and moved to New York City to work as a junior editor for Wilson Roe Publishing. That wasn’t a small publisher. That was a fucking big one. The same one that was going to publish Opal’s book.
Had Ted made a mistake? He never made fucking mistakes.
Then I stilled as I continued to read. The name of the senior editor she worked for was one I didn’t want to see again, especially on this paper. It was the same motherfucker. Arden Neilson was her boss. Why had she lied to me about her job? She’d made it sound like it wasn’t a big deal, but it was. This was a huge deal. Her office wasn’t some hole-in-the-wall somewhere. She was on fucking Fifth Avenue.
When I turned the page, ready to text her ass and demand why she’d lied to me about her career, a photo of Juliette Romeo stared up at me. Was this her fucking client? I wasn’t sure how I felt about that. I had planned on making a reason to see her again, but if Noa worked with her, which would make sense, then that fucked things up. Made it weird. Arden was Juliette’s editor, so Noa would also work with her. Or at least know her.
I picked up the picture and stared down at the author headshot I’d already seen online when I googled her, forgetting for a moment that I was trying to find out who had hurt Noa. Remembering that Juliette wasn’t my concern right now, I set the picture to the side, and I realized there was another photo of her. But not a posed one. This was taken of her stepping out of the front door of the publishing house. She was wearing a white sundress that hit at her knees, floating around her upper thighs as the breeze blew it.
Fuck, those tits in this dress were better than at dinner the other night.
But why had Ted given me another picture of her? Where was Noa? This was supposed to be about Noa. I kept getting distracted by images of Juliette.
When I moved that photo aside, there was yet another one of Juliette, but this time, she was laughing with her head thrown back, exposing her smooth, delicate throat as she leaned on some man. I tore my eyes off her to see who it was she was cuddled up against, and the picture began to tremble as my grip tightened on it. Arden Neilson. His arm was around her as if she belonged to him. They hadn’t appeared that way at dinner the other night. Was this why? They’d dated, and it was over. Now he was being a complete dick to her.
Slapping the picture down hard, I glared at the papers. Why was there no photo of Noa?
My eyes scanned the new page until it got to the words that sucked the wind right out of my lungs, to the point that they began to burn.
Pen Name: Juliette Romeo
I reread it, then sprang up out of my seat, shoving my fingers into my hair as I stared in horror, confusion—fuck, I didn’t know what I was feeling. But this was wrong. This was messed up.
Ted had gotten some wires crossed. There was no way that Noa was Juliette. There wasn’t a shred of resemblance to the girl I remembered. Not to mention, she’d have said something. I had been right there in front of her.
Grabbing the author headshot of her and the one of Noa’s senior picture, I held them beside each other and studied them.
The idea that the girl with the big-ass duck lips that pooched out over braces and thick glasses with large black frames was the same person as the gorgeous blonde with the killer body seemed impossible. I knew people grew up, but damn. Narrowing my eyes, I studied the shape of her mouth that awkwardly stuck out due to the braces, then looked at the plump lips that belonged to Juliette. It was difficult to be sure, but they could possibly be the same. When I looked at her eyes, it was hard to tell the color through those damn glasses she wore. I couldn’t remember paying much attention to her eyes back then, but Juliette’s had been impossible to miss.