Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 77160 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 386(@200wpm)___ 309(@250wpm)___ 257(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77160 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 386(@200wpm)___ 309(@250wpm)___ 257(@300wpm)
Not by Frank.
But also… not by the law either.
My heart was skittering around in my chest as I checked my door lock before stripping out of my sweats and pulling on the green dress I’d been dreaming about for months.
I glanced at my burner phone, double-checked the sounds, then shoved it into its hidden pocket at my side. It felt weighty and bulky against my arm, but when I lifted my arms and moved around in the mirror, I couldn’t see it.
With that, I made sure the flashlight and door lock were well hidden inside my sweats that I shoved in my bag, then went on stage to sing to a crowd of strangers who had no idea my stomach was twisting itself into tight circles by the moment.
“Monroe!” Frank called when I finished my last set.
Just like that, all the knots wrapped themselves into a tight ball that lodged itself at the back of my throat.
“Frank,” I croaked, then coughed to try to cover the awkward sound.
“You’re not getting sick, are you?”
“No. I just need to get my after-shift tea to soothe my vocal cords.”
To that, he nodded.
“This is a new dress.”
“It is,” I said, unable to stop myself from running my hand down the front, still a little awed that I actually had it on my body.
“Who gave it to you?” he asked, eyes going stormy.
“Gave it to me?” I asked, my belly seizing.
Did he know?
Could he know?
“Was it Eric again?”
“Oh! No! No, I treated myself,” I said, waving off his comment like it was silly. “I was a little worried that if we had a bunch of repeat guests, they might not like that I’m always in the same couple of dresses.”
“I’ve had that worry myself,” he agreed.
I was sure it had never crossed his puny little mind.
“It felt like it was time for an upgrade. Do you like it?” I asked, giving him big, hopeful eyes even as my stomach turned from the words.
“Do a spin for me?”
I should have seen that one coming.
My heart fluttered, but I reminded myself that if I couldn’t see the phone in the bright lights of my dressing room, there was no way it would be visible under the dim lounge lighting.
“Of course,” I said, giving him a playful smile before turning in a slow circle.
“Stunning. As always. We should—” he started, holding a hand out to help me down the six-inch stage.
“Frank,” someone called, making both of us glance toward the door.
One of his henchmen was standing there, a serious look on his face.
“Excuse me. Duty calls.”
Thank God.
Because I was pretty sure he was about to ask me something that would be hard to find my way out of.
And if I didn’t get this snooping over with that night, I was pretty sure I was going to chicken out completely.
I rushed back to my dressing room, grabbed my bags, then made my way back in the direction of Frank’s office.
If he came, I could just say that I thought he was going to ask me to work another shift or something.
I expected to feel a little calmer after successfully getting in once and out without actually being caught.
But my skin felt electric.
My mouth was paper-dry.
And there was this strange shivering sensation continually moving through my stomach.
Once I got to the door, I plunged my hand into my purse to grab the flashlight.
I paused, glancing at the mouth of the hallway, then listening to see if I heard anyone coming.
With no signs of other people, though, I had no choice but to continue my investigation.
I sucked in a breath, pressed the flashlight into the corner of the door where it would open once I reached for the knob, then clicked it on.
It was a blinding kind of bright, making me fumble to push the door open before someone saw something weird and came running.
I aimed it directly at the camera and said a silent prayer that Milo was right about it whiting out the camera feed.
I rushed around and stuck the flashlight on top of a stack of boxes, aimed at the camera, so my hands were free.
Then I ran at the desk, ripping open the drawers one by one.
On the left side, there was just old junk: a tape dispenser, pens with logos on them, sticky notes, take-out menus to places that hadn’t existed in years, even an ancient phonebook.
But on the right side, there were pieces of mail and receipts.
I yanked my phone out of my hidden pocket, snapping pictures as quickly and steadily as my shaking hand would allow.
I put everything back in the right order and went down to the next drawer.
There were folders there, but I only managed to get a picture of the top pages of two of them before I heard something that had my stomach bottoming out.