by J. L. Berg
Copyright © 2017 by J.L. Berg
All rights reserved.
Visit my website at www.jlberg.com
Cover Designer: RBA Designs www.rbadesigns.com
Custom Photography: KKeeton Designs www.kkeetondesigns.com
Editor: Jovana Shirley, Unforeseen Editing, www.unforeseenediting.com
Ami Waters, Book Glam www.bookglambyami.com
Interior Design and Formatting: Champagne Formats
No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without the written permission of the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
ISBN-13: 978-0-9983912-1-2
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Playlist for Fraud
Other Books by the Author
Acknowledgments
About the Author
For Jill Sava,
who always inspires me to be better, to persevere and to just keep swimming.
TO WHOM IT MAY CONCERN:
First of all, let me just say…I never meant for any of this to happen.
I know everyone says that when they’re about to confess all their deepest, darkest secrets, but it really is the truth.
Two years ago, when I took the last seat in a creative writing class, thinking I was the world’s biggest idiot for shelling out actual money for something as trivial as night school, I never thought anything would come from it. I never expected to be blindsided by such a brilliant, inspiring teacher or to discover the rush of creating a story from beginning to end.
But it happened. It all happened, and the rest, as they say, is history.
That brings me to you…and why I’m writing this confession.
After everything that’s happened, after all the ups and downs, the triumphs and the pain, I’ve decided it’s not worth it. The anonymity I’ve shrouded myself in isn’t worth a damn if I can’t have the one thing I want.
So, here it is—my brutal truth.
My real name is Katelyn O’Malley, but you, the world at large, probably know me best as Laura Stone.
Yes, that Laura Stone.
I am the mastermind behind The Scandal Chronicles—the best-selling erotic thriller series that you have secretly read and loved but tell everyone you hate because you think you’re above all of that. That sex-infused series that even your mother fantasizes about.
I wrote that. Every single gasp-inducing scene and every spine-tingling orgasm that had you turning the page for more.
You must be wondering what kind of kinky sex life I lead, right?
Well, surprise…
I am a virgin.
I SHOULD REALLY BE WORKING.
That was the solitary thought running through my head on repeat for most of the afternoon. It wasn’t like me.
I was a team player. A go-getter.
A gets-all-her-work-done-but-still-stays-late type of person.
It had made me one of Fremont University’s top employees since I’d graduated from the ranks of student to staff several years ago.
Yet the stack of papers I still had to review sat untouched on my desk as I stared at the computer screen in front of me.
Blinking several times, I hit refresh one more time.
No new emails.
Nothing.
Maybe the server was down.
What if, right at this very minute, billions of emails were piling up for me, and I couldn’t check them because of a server glitch?
Okay, that was highly unlikely.
I sighed. I was never going to get anything done.
Why did I let Jane talk me into this? I wondered as I clicked on my inbox once again, waiting for it to update, only to come up with the same result.
No new emails.
“Hey, Ruby. Is your email working?” I called out, knowing she could hear me loud and clear in the cubicle next to me.
Her head popped up, and I caught a glimpse of her bright red curls.
“I got a random email from IKEA,” Ruby answered before following up with, “Why? Hot date?”
“Very funny.” I rolled my eyes as she took her seat again.
It was widely known that I hadn’t had a date in… a very long time. My coworkers liked to joke around about it, but, really, I thought they just wanted a wedding to plan. It was the downside of being the youngest in an office filled with women.
I got it.
They were all settled with kids of various ages, and I was…well, I had a cat.
And work.
And my email.
Speaking of…
Damn it!
No new emails. Again.
Looking down at the eight different Post-it notes I’d made myself that morning—reminders of various tasks I needed to complete that day—I turned away from my lonely inbox and tried to convince myself to focus on actual work-related things instead of stupid pipe dreams that were never going to happen.
Just as I was about to log in to the campus-wide system, talking myself into one of my monthly projects, my cell phone began vibrating across my desk. Flipping it over in my hand, I looked at the caller ID and felt my heart immediately leap into my throat.
Is it a good thing that she’s calling rather than sending a quick, painless email like she promised?
Oh God, maybe it was that bad, and she wanted to let me down gently.
I took a deep breath and hit Accept, holding the phone to my ear, as I snuck out of my cubicle and headed toward the restroom. “Hello?”
“Kate!” Jane’s voice eagerly replied.
Jane had been my best friend since college, and I still managed to get caught up in her crazy schemes, like that time during our sophomore year when she’d convinced me that streaking across the campus was a good idea.
“I finished your manuscript!” she announced.
My heart faltered.
“And?” I asked, wincing, as I prepared for the onslaught of what was to come. I slowed to a crawl, pacing down an empty hallway.
“It’s amazing, Katelyn. And I’m not just saying that because we’re best friends, and I’d be an asshole if I said otherwise. I’d like to show it to a few people if you’d let me.”
“No!” I nearly shouted.
“Oh, come on! Please. You know I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t that good. I mean, I love you, but I wouldn’t put my career on the line for you.”
I rolled my eyes. “Thanks.”
“So, is that a yes?” she asked. “If you say no, I’ll be forced to go online and spill all your deepest, darkest secrets from college.”
“Sharing on Facebook that I had a crush on Mark Dillon during our freshman year really wouldn’t be detrimental to my life anymore. I’m sure his supermodel wife would
find it hilarious.”
“She is not a supermodel. She was in Vogue, like, twice. Anyway, you’re getting off topic. Can I pitch this? Please?”
The way she said please reminded me of how my coworkers’ kids would ask for candy when they came to visit.
“It was hard enough to show it to you,” I said, my hand trembling from shock. “Showing it to multiple people? Editor people? It seriously can’t be that good. I’ve never written anything in my life.”
“Believe me, Kate, it’s that good. And that’s total bullshit. You’ve been writing ever since I met you.”
“Restaurant napkins and diaries don’t count,” I argued.
“Well, whatever. It obviously worked. That, or the night-school teacher you kept rambling on about really was brilliant. Are you sure he didn’t teach you a little more than—”
“No! He was a friend. Besides, he’s happily married.”
I could hear her faint laughter.
“Okay, okay…”
“You’re so weird.”
“Anyway, getting back on track. I can see it appealing to everyone. It’s dramatic, thrilling, and hot. I mean, the sex alone would sell this book, especially that part where he—”
“I’m at work!” I nearly yelped, severing her sentence before she had a chance to finish.
I knew what part she had been about to mention by the way her voice lowered. It instantly made my cheeks flood with heat as I hurried to the restroom. I didn’t want anyone hearing this conversation.
“Am I on speakerphone or something?”
“No, I just…anyway. Wow, are you sure? I was not expecting this response. I thought you were going to give me a nice pat on the back and tell me to keep trying.”
“I’ll definitely be patting you on the back, especially if I can get you a deal out of this. Can you imagine it, Kate? Your book could be on a shelf in your favorite bookstore, that one you’re always dragging me into.”
It was a tempting offer even if I didn’t think it had a flying chance in hell of happening.
“Fine.”
She nearly squealed with delight. “Great! I’m going to send it out tomorrow. Keep your fingers crossed. Maybe, soon, I can call you my best friend, the published author.”
We finished our conversation, and just like that, I was back to staring at my computer.
Everything should have felt different.
I’d written a book.
An incredibly good book, according to Jane, my literary agent best friend.
And, tomorrow, that book I’d written on a whim because I was sick of sitting at home, watching Netflix every night, would be sent out to the top publishing houses in America.
I should feel different, right?
But, looking down at those tiny yellow sticky notes, I realized something.
I was still me.
Still boring, plain old Katelyn.
And the tasks on those sticky notes wouldn’t finish themselves.
By noon, all the sticky notes had been thrown into the trash.
Tasks completed and finished.
It was an odd little habit of mine. I’d been asked why I didn’t use a to-do list like everyone else or tell that robotic voice on my phone to remind me.
The answer? I didn’t have one.
I loved the feeling of accomplishment when it got to the end of the day, and I saw a fresh, clean desk where there had once been a pile of sticky notes. I knew it was a waste of paper, and I was sure the environmental club on campus would have a field day if they knew the sheer number of Post-its I went through in any given month, but it was my process.
And I recycled.
So, win-win, right?
“Hey”—Ruby lifted her head over the divider—“I was thinking about walking over to that new Thai place down the street. Do you want to come with me?”
“Oh, um”—I looked down at the black bag that I’d neatly tucked under my desk—“I actually brought my lunch.”
“Are you sure? I think a few of the girls from Admissions will be joining us.”
I shook my head, feeling guilty already. “I’m just going to eat at my desk and then go run some errands,” I lied.
“You certainly have been busy lately. I’ve hardly seen you.”
Shrugging, I felt another lie about to spring free. “I’ve been redecorating my apartment. New curtains and bedding—that sort of thing. But I’m super picky and on a tight budget.”
Total crap. I hadn’t updated anything in my apartment, linens included, since the day I moved in.
“Well, that sounds fun. Let me know if you need any suggestions. I still have tons of books and magazines from our remodel.”
“Great! Thanks!” I said, desperately trying to change the subject.
It wasn’t the first fib I’d told my coworkers since beginning this double life.
When Jane had first suggested I take up writing, I’d nearly laughed her out of the small restaurant where we were dining.
Although we’d both been out of college for nearly six years, she’d still make the trip back to our alma mater several times a year to visit me. I knew it was her way of checking up on me, and although part of me felt annoyed by her motherly behavior, I appreciated the gesture all the same.
She was more than a friend.
She was my family.
My only family.
Jane had been caught up in the literary world since she was a kid. She’d always had these lofty goals of becoming an editor at a major publishing house in New York. I’d thought she was crazy. That, or just desperately trying to find a way back home after graduation. God knows why she chose Fremont, Oregon as her top college choice. She wasn’t exactly an outdoorsy, nature kind of girl.
But four years of hard work had paid off, and at twenty-two, she had been hired as a junior editor at a one of the biggest publishing companies in New York. She’d been working her ass off every day since then. After several years, she’d decided to branch off and try something new, and she’d taken a job at a large literary agency. She’d said she’d finally found her niche in the book world.
At that time, I honestly hadn’t known what the difference was in being an agent or an editor, but I was happy for her.
I’d majored in psychology with a minor in education. I’d planned on becoming a teacher or going into social work, but after a semester of interning, I’d quickly realized that I wasn’t cut out for either.
So, I’d applied for the first job I could find—processing loans in the Student Services office on campus. I’d moved from my dorm room to my office in a week, and I’d been here ever since. It was supposed to be a stepping-stone to something else.
Something great.
Instead, I’d gotten stuck, and I hadn’t been able to find my way out since.
Taking advantage of the facilities Fremont provided to its faculty and staff, I’d made it a habit to wake up early every morning to fit in a long workout. Even though the fully equipped gym was open all the time, catering to the nocturnal habits of college students, it tended to be almost empty in the early hours.
College kids weren’t known for their love of mornings. I definitely hadn’t been when I attended here.
After running a few miles around the indoor track, I made my way into the locker room and jumped in the shower. After a quick shampoo, I toweled off and grabbed the work clothes I’d stuffed in my gym bag earlier that morning and what little makeup I had in my purse. Pulling my wet blonde locks into a low bun, I swept some tinted moisturizer across my face and added a little mascara and gloss before heading for the door.
“Shoes!” I said to myself, realizing I was about to walk out barefoot.
Doubling back, with my gym bag over my shoulder, I slipped into my flats and then made my way across campus. The sun, fresh and new in the sky, was warm against my cheeks as I walked briskly, waving to a few friendly faces. The students who were brave enough to have classes at this hour stumbled down the pathways, yawning, a
s they checked their phones and sipped on hot coffee from the cafeteria. Some were still dressed in their pajamas.
What I wouldn’t give to roam around this campus in pajamas.
Picturing my prim and proper boss, I shook my head.
Never going to happen.
I loved this time of the morning. The campus was relatively quiet and peaceful. It felt like home in these moments.
Second semester was now in full swing. Homecoming and winter break were things of the past. Now, the students were eagerly looking forward to spring break and graduation, especially those who had plans to go someplace warmer. Our coastal Oregon town hadn’t gotten the memo quite yet that warm weather was on its way, as chilly temperatures still prevailed across campus.
As I made my way into the old brick building the Student Services department called home, I made a beeline toward the break room, not even bothering to drop off my gym bag.
“Please tell me there is coffee ready,” I said as I swung into the small kitchen space reserved for staff.
My coworker Sabrina was there, wiping down counters and putting away dishes. She was our administrative assistant and had a serious fetish with organization and cleanliness.
Visiting her house made you feel bad about your own life choices. It was impeccable.
“Just brewed some,” she answered cheerfully. “Help yourself to the first cup.”
“Thank you!”
“Early morning again?” she asked, motioning toward the messy gym bag over my shoulder.
I nodded, setting it down on the floor next to me, hoping she wouldn’t notice the sports bra sticking out the side.
“You know me and mornings,” I replied, pouring some cream into my cup of coffee.
She shook her head, leaning against the counter. “I don’t know how you do it. But then again, if I didn’t have kids and a husband, I’d probably have all sorts of energy, too.”
I gave a halfhearted smile as she neatly folded the towel and placed it back on the counter. She left then, making her way back to her desk to begin the day, while I stayed frozen in place by her words.
I knew she’d meant no harm by them.
But they stung all the same because she was right.
