Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 88270 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 441(@200wpm)___ 353(@250wpm)___ 294(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 88270 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 441(@200wpm)___ 353(@250wpm)___ 294(@300wpm)
She nods, writing furiously. "Good. Very good." She pauses, looking up with a sly arch of her brow. "You'd have to clarify a spending allowance, though. Make sure it's unlimited, or damn close. Use those for even more purchases—stuff that pays dividends later. Jewelry, bags, art—things you can sell down the line." Her voice gains enthusiasm, a conspiratorial whisper. "Milk the situation as much as you can, Jules. Turn this into a goldmine."
I feel a twist of skepticism, and my body tenses, the couch cushions shifting under me as I pull my knees up. The fan's breeze ghosts over my bare legs, raising faint goosebumps despite the warmth.
"Whoa, slow down. What Carolyn's doing is unethical as hell. And I’ll be putting my life at risk. I could go to prison for fraud or whatever, if this blows up." My voice cracks a little, emotion surging, a mix of fear and that dark allure. "If I'm going to do this, yeah, maybe you’re right, I should milk it for all it's worth. Squeeze every drop of juice out of it. But... buying art and jewelry. God, Emma, it feels wrong."
She meets my gaze, her expression steady. "My point exactly. It's shady on her end, so make it worth your while. Maximize the perks."
“I’m not a criminal.”
“I know that. It’s not criminal. You’re helping her and helping yourself. She’s rich. Money’s obviously not a problem for her or her husband. Sounds like they’ve got too much.” Her pen scratches softly as she draws a heart and colors it. "And… she said, you can take your friends out to lunch wherever, whenever you want, right?” Per Se, Le Bernardin—sky's the limit, right?”
I can’t help the sudden grin that spreads across my face. Emma really is incorrigible. “Yeah,” I say dreamily and lean back against the cushions. I imagine it: pristine white linen tablecloths, crystal glasses… the kind of places I've only seen through the window. The fantasy of luxury wraps around my senses like silk. "Yeah... that would be no problem. I could do lunch every day if I wanted to.”
Emma adds it to the list, her handwriting tilting with excitement. "Unlimited lunches with friends – me.” She looks up, head tilted to one side. “What happens if there is ever a problem?”
“I can call her on a secret phone number. It’s like a lifeline."
“Wow! A secret hotline for issues." She sets the pen down, the notebook open between us, and we both stare at it, the air thick with possibility. My heart beats a little faster, the wine buzzing in my veins, that inner conflict twisting like a slow, heated dance—fear and desire, risk and reward, all tangled in the humid night.
Chapter Four
JULIET
“That’s it,” Emma says.
The notebook’s pages are filled with her hurried scrawl—pros stacked like temptations, cons a short, but stark list of shadows: legal risks, emotional toll, the sheer weirdness of wearing someone else's skin.
My skin feels flushed, not just from the wine but from the opportunity coiling low in my belly like a secret touch, sensual and insistent, promising escape from the grind that's worn me thin.
I can feel Emma’s gaze on me, waiting, probing. She sets her glass down with a clink, the ruby liquid sloshing gently, and leans forward, elbows on her knees, her oversized tee slipping off one shoulder to reveal the freckled curve of her collarbone. "Well? Are you tempted at all? Even a little?"
I trace the stem of my wine glass with one fingertip. Tempted? The word sends an electric shiver through me, like the brush of silk against bare thighs in the dead of night. Of course, I am. The cafe's endless shifts, the way my current account hovers like a ghost at zero, the dreams I shove into drawers because there's no room for them in this life.
"Of course I am," I admit, my voice barely above a whisper. I meet her eyes, my own stinging a little, and the confession spills out. "Emma, I just about afford my rent and bills right now. Any unexpected expenditure will completely obliterate my savings account. You know there’s only three thousand in it, right? And it has been at that level for the last three years." I pause, my chest rising and falling. “And you know, I always wanted to open my art studio, remember? Maybe this will be my only real shot at something stable, something mine."
She nods slowly and reaches out to cover my hand with hers again. There's fierce loyalty in her eyes, the kind that makes my throat ache. I can see the wheels turning in her head, the way her brow furrows just a touch—practical Emma, always the one to poke holes before leaping.
"Yeah, okay," she murmurs, squeezing once again before letting go. "But... we now need proof that your body double is not some con artist spinning fairy tales." She grabs her phone from the arm of the couch, the screen lighting her face in a cool blue glow, and her thumbs fly across it, quick and sure. "Google time. Let's confirm her claims—see if Carolyn Bessant is who she says she is."