That was always nice to hear, and I wrote several of them notes of thanks for buying and reading my books.
As I scrolled down through the list of the most recent notifications, a name caught my eye. Claudia. She’d sent me a private message dated last week.
What on earth could she have to say that she thought I’d want to hear?
I clicked on it and read her words of apology—all of which I’d heard before.
She claimed to miss me and think of me constantly. She begged for another chance. She said she still loved me and always would.
Hmmm. She must have burned through the money already.
Knowing her spending habits, it wouldn’t surprise me. I tapped the small circle containing her profile picture to go to her page. There she was, posing and mugging with her girlfriends, smiling, laughing. There were a lot of selfies in clingy designer clothes which, admittedly, did catch the eye.
She didn’tlookwretched and distraught. She looked like she was having a ball.
I scrolled, growing more and more irritated. How was it that I was miserable and alone while my ex-girlfriend was having so much fun? She was the one who’d caused our breakup.
Or maybe shewasn’t having fun. Appearances could be deceiving, especially on social media.
Could she really be missing me? Could she have changed in the time we’d been apart?
I clicked back on her message and read through it again. To my complete shame, I actually considered it for a moment.
Maybe Hunter and Mrs. Potts were right. Maybe I did need to open my heart again. Maybe getting back together with Claudia would cure my writer’s block. I’d certainly written like crazy when we’d been together and in love.
Love. Yeah, see, that was where the problem came in. I’d wanted so badly to believe in love back then I convinced myself I’d seen it when it wasn’t there.
What she’d done was proof of a totallackof love. And conscience. And basic decency.
I closed the laptop with a decisive click. Apparently, I suffered from a total lack of common sense to even consider it. I refused to be a fool for Claudia again—or anyone else. I’d never trust another woman with my heart.
And I certainly wasn’t going to let some newspaper writer expose my secrets and make a fool of me.
The sound of the doorbell brought me to my feet.She’s here.
This was it. Time to go to war. Ms. Hamelin wanted an interview? She’d get one. One bland, begrudging word at a time and adhering to my strict contract.
Speaking of fine print… a new plan occurred to me, and I grinned like the Grinch getting a terrible, awful idea.
My publisher’s deal with the New York Daily Report required the reporter be given at least two hours in my home.
But it hadn’t specified that I had to bepresentfor all of that time.
Sitting back down, I relaxed into the chair, stretching my legs out in front of me and crossing them at the ankles. I couldn’t help it—I laughed at my own genius.
The intercom buzzer sounded, and Harrison’s voice came through. “Ms. Hamelin is here.”
I pushed the button to answer. “I know. Let her in. And keep her busy. I’ll be down when I’m good and ready.”
Harrison was a talkative fellow. Lethimentertain her for a while. I had fan mail to answer.
Chapter Five
Be Our Guest
Bonnie— One hour earlier
From the backseat of the Lyft car, I took in downtown Providence. The area surrounding the train station was surprisingly pretty.
