The Decoy Girlfriend(27)

She’s a woman waiting for an answer, and Freya swallows past the lump of regret. “Do I have a choice?”

“You always have a choice,” Mandi says, tone waspish.

Yeah, two bad ones. Play along or face exposure. Put like that, the answer is obvious. Still, Freya tries, “I’m a literal rando off the street, Mandi. You’re willing to leave your career in the hands of someone you don’t even know? How do you know you can trust me?”

Mandi’s answering smile is somehow both sweet and grim at the same time. “Oh, I know I can.”

“What does that—”

Mandi holds up her phone, showing a browser search of Freya’s name, accompanied by a headshot and book cover. “Because if our little secret gets out, your reputation will be ripped to shreds just like mine.” Her smile is all shark. “I think this is what they call leverage?”





CHAPTER NINE



In the days that pass after Freya leaves the apartment, Mandi doesn’t contact her. It’s just long enough for Freya to almost entertain the fantasy that the whole meeting was a deadline nightmare that didn’t actually happen. That would make a lot more sense than the golden girl of the silver screen blackmailing Freya into taking her place or else.

Freya’s working the register at Books & Brambles, laptop optimistically open on the counter, and is sucking down the dregs of her iced coffee when an iMessage notification slides across the screen. She automatically opens it, assuming it’s one of her friends.


Unknown Number: Your homework. Study up, Freya. You WILL be tested.



A document accompanies the message, titled “MANDI_DOSSIER.”

“Great,” Freya fumes; just when she thought she was off the hook and that Mandi had talked herself out of this epically bad, no-way-it-can-work idea, this happens. Her hands clench around the plastic cup until the ice rattles.

A few feet away, Cliff and the customer to whom he’s selling Steph’s book look over. Even Emma pauses in rearranging the stationery and bookish gifts table until Freya waves a hand in apology.

She doesn’t add Mandi to her contact list, as if that will make it less real. It’s a futile stand to take, because the last thing she wants to think about swiftly becomes the only thing she can think about.

Which really fucking sucks at a time when she has a book to finish that trumps all else.

Maybe it’s the word “homework” that does it, or the reminder that Mandi expects her to memorize a novella’s worth of her life history, or just the fact that Freya was a former honor roll kid, or all those things, but she does as she’s instructed. There’s a little burn of jealousy that an undoubtedly super-busy Mandi wrote all of this in three days.

She minimizes Mandi’s doc with a yawn, satisfied with what she’s retained on her first read-through, and reopens her manuscript. She scrutinizes her words, but spying Stori stacking shelves nearby and watching her with a hopeful expression, she refrains from her first instinct—deleting everything.

Before she can congratulate herself on her willpower, both Freya’s laptop and phone come to life with her literary agent’s FaceTime call.

Thinking fast, she props her phone up on her laptop screen, answers the video, and starts tapping away furiously on the keyboard. She pauses, trying to give the impression she’s just finished a long bout of uninterrupted typing and needs to clear away the brain fog.

“Oh my gosh, Alma! Hi!” Freya chirps.

Oh yeah, she’s nailed it.

“Were you just fake typing?”

Freya whips forth an innocent look. “Of course not!”

Alma peers at her through the screen. “You were.”

“I categorically deny it.”

Some people make the mistake of thinking that with such an old-fashioned name, Alma Hayes is as dusty as they come, but they couldn’t be further from the truth. She’s sharp as a paper cut. With her pixie-cut mop of ginger curls, Peter Pan–collared shirts, and ever-present cardigan, no one sees her coming: she’s a fierce negotiator and looks out for her clients to the nth degree.

It’s because of her that Freya still even has a book two at all. Freya doesn’t want to disappoint her.

Alma’s voice turns sly. “Then you won’t mind turning your phone around so I can take a quick peek at all your progress, right?”

Oh god, Freya’s already sweating nervously. Again. “You know I don’t want to jinx anything by showing anyone before it’s ready for eyes. I’ve had too many false starts.”

“And things are going okay this time around? Not another dead end?”

Freya hates lying to her. Hates wondering if Alma’s buying it. It’s even harder to dodge when Freya can see her agent’s face on the screen. Sometimes she thinks Alma does it deliberately so she can try to get a read on Freya in return.

“Never mind coming up with something, Freya,” says Alma. “You’re a terrible actress.”

If she only knew . . . Despite the fond tone, for a half second, Freya’s almost affronted. Almost. Then her ridiculous feeling of wounded pride is replaced by something far more worrying.

“Wait . . . what’s up?” Freya bites at her lower lip before catching herself on the screen. “We didn’t have a call scheduled. It’s not— They said I still had time! They’re not canceling my contract, are they?”