“The drop-out rate.”
“You mean more than half the competitors drop out?”
“Yup.” He nodded happily. “It’s a three-point-eight-kilometer swim, a two-hundred-kilometer bike, and a forty-two-kilometer run over two Munros to finish.”
I wasn’t sure what a Munro was, but the whole thing sounded terrifying. “That’s a lot of kilometers,” I said. “What’s the prize?”
“A T-shirt.” He laughed. “And bragging rights.”
A commotion at the front door drew our attention. Sally strode in on three-inch heels, every hair in place. A buzz of excitement rippled through the line of fans.
Seeing Sally’s face triggered a waterfall of emotions. I’d thought of her as my favorite author for years, but now I thought of her as the woman who had a piece of Beckett. A pretender who had everyone in this line fooled.
“My mom is her biggest fan,” Xan said, following Sally with his eyes.
The crowd parted to allow Sally to glide through. She smiled at her fans, her lips shining with her signature red shade. A wave of nausea rolled over me as I watched her toss her perfect hair over her shoulder. From the top of her glossy head to the toe of her Louboutins, Sally was the picture of what a best-selling romance author should look like. But it was all a lie. She’d probably written nothing longer than an email.
“My mom is going to flip when I get a book signed for her. Hopefully, she will be so happy with me that she’ll forget I’m her last unmarried son.” He laughed. “At least for a day or two.”
Rage welled up inside me as I glowered at Sally. “She’s a fake.”
“What?”
My anger spilled over, an unleashed volcano. “She’s not the real Miranda Lockhart.”
I hadn’t realized I’d said the words out loud until I noticed a few people in the crowd had turned to look at me. Sally tossed her head in my direction, and I steeled myself not to quiver under her inspection.
Feeling my cheeks flush, I pressed my lips together. I hadn’t meant to say those words, but now that they were out in the open, I felt an enormous sense of relief. Sally wasn’t Miranda Lockhart, the author who I had admired for years. She was just a regular woman with a gorgeous head of hair.
“She’s not the real Miranda Lockhart?” Xan asked in a loud voice.
Someone in the crowd gasped, and everyone turned to eye Sally. Her smile dimmed, and her eyes shot daggers across the room—straight at me. She came out from behind the table and strode toward me.
“Do you work here?” she asked.
I glanced down at my T-shirt and then raised my eyes to her. “Yes.”
Sally’s eyes flicked over me, taking in every detail of my appearance. “I need to speak to your manager.”
“Is there something I can help you find?” I asked.Like maybe the exit?
“Just get the manager.”
I wasn’t quite sure how I got there, but suddenly I was in Sally’s personal space. I jutted my chin, meeting her eye.
“I don’t take orders from you.”
Xan leaned closer and cupped my elbow. “Hey,” he hissed under his breath. “What’s your problem?”
Sally’s nostrils flared as if she smelled something rotten. “You’re that waitress from the bar. Still upset that I wouldn’t sign your book?”
I smirked. “I got my books signed by therealauthor.”
I had the pleasure of seeing the color drain from Sally’s face, but then I noticed the crowd. The fans who’d been surrounding Miranda Lockhart’s table swarmed around us. A few of them had their phones out, aimed at us.
The euphoria of exposing Sally was short-lived as I realized what I’d just done. I’d betrayed Beckett.
Xan came to my rescue. Stepping between me and the gaping crowd, he flashed a smile that drew all eyes to him.
