Twisted Love (Twisted, #1)(68)

Nothing.

I fished a heavy-duty paper clip from the library’s writing desk and crawled under the chess table, bending the clip until it was straight. I jiggled the screw in the middle of the outlet, feeling ridiculous, but my instincts screamed at me to continue.

Just when I was about to give up, the outlet popped open, revealing a stash of papers in the wall.

Fake outlet. Of course.

My heart thudded as I reached for the papers—right as an engine roared in the distance.

My uncle was home.

I unfolded the documents—letters, written in two familiar sets of handwriting.

I speed-read them, unable to believe my eyes.

I’d expected corporate politics. Boardroom foul play. I wouldn’t have been surprised if my uncle tried to hold on to his CEO position, even though I was supposed to take over soon. But this? This, I never saw coming.

The puzzle pieces in my brain clicked into place, and a strange cocktail of betrayal, fury, and relief knotted in my gut. Betrayal and fury over the revelation; relief that—

The front door banged open. Footsteps, coming closer.

I shoved the letters into the wall, folding them the way I’d found them, and screwed the outlet cover back on. I crawled out from beneath the table, placed the pawn in the same position it’d been in before I knocked it over, and pocketed both the paper clip and my gloves, which were sleek enough that they didn’t create a visible bulge in my pants.

I plucked The Count of Monte Cristo by Alexander Dumas—one of my favorite books—off the shelf on my way to the door.

“Alex,” my uncle said when he saw me in the hall. He chuckled. “Dumas again? You can’t get enough of that book.”

I smiled. “No, I can’t.”

All the while, my blood raged.





32





Ava





He was late.

I tapped my fingers on the table, trying not to check the time on my phone. Again.

Alex and I had agreed to meet at the Italian restaurant near campus at seven. It was now seven-thirty, and all my texts and calls had gone unanswered.

Half an hour wasn’t that long, especially when you took rush hour traffic into account, but Alex was never late. And he always, always answered my messages.

I’d called his office, but his assistant told me he’d left an hour ago, so he should be here by now.

Worry unspooled in my stomach and gnawed at my insides.

Had something happened to him? What if he’d gotten into an accident?

It was easy to think of Alex as invincible, but he bled and hurt like anyone else.

Ten more minutes. I’ll give him ten more minutes, and then I’ll…hell, I don’t know. Send out the freakin’ National Guard. If he was hurt, I wouldn’t sit here and do nothing.

“Can I get you anything, dear?” The waitress swooped by again. “Other than water,” she added pointedly.

The tips of my ears turned red. “No, thanks. I’m, um, still waiting for my friend.” That seemed slightly less pathetic than admitting I was waiting for my boyfriend.

Slightly.

She let out an aggrieved sigh and moved on to the older couple next to me.

I felt bad about hogging the table on a Friday night, but I’d barely seen Alex over the past week, and I missed him. We slept in the same bed every night, and our sex was as explosive as ever, but he seemed more distant during the day. Distracted.

“Ava?”

My head jerked up, and my chest deflated when I realized it wasn’t Alex.

“Remember me?” The guy smiled. He was cute in a geek-chic way, with black-rimmed glasses and longish brown hair. “I’m Elliott. We met at Liam’s birthday party last spring.”

“Ah, right.” I suppressed a flinch at the sound of Liam’s name. I hadn’t seen or heard from him since the charity ball, but Jules—ever tuned in to the gossip—informed me he’d gotten fired and had moved back to his parents’ house in Virginia. I couldn’t say I felt sorry for him. “Nice to see you again.”

“You, too.” Elliott ran an awkward hand through his hair. “Hey, sorry about what happened with Liam. We haven’t kept in touch since we graduated, but I heard about your breakup and, uh…what happened. He was a real jerk.”

“Thanks.” I couldn’t blame him for being Liam’s friend. Ex-friend? I was the one who’d dated the asshole, and guys usually treated their friends better than they did their girlfriends. It was a sad truth.

“Sorry to bother you during dinner—” His gaze flicked to my water glass. “But I’m looking for a photographer who can do an engagement shoot for me, and none of the ones I checked out fit what Sally, my fiancée, is looking for. But I saw you and remembered you’re a photographer, so I figured it’s a sign.” Elliott flashed a sheepish smile. “Hope this doesn’t sound creepy, but I pulled up your website and showed it to Sally, and she loves your pictures. If you’re free in the next few weeks, we’d love to hire you.”

I spotted a pretty blonde at a neighboring table watching us. She grinned and waved at me. I waved back.

“Congrats,” I said, my smile genuine this time. “I’d love to help. Give me your number, and we can sort out details later.”