I sniff my armpit, double checking that my deodorant didn’t lie to me and doesn’t fight against tough odors.
“I know, but it doesn’t make them any easier,” I grumble.
“What do you call yourself?” Daya asks, quirking a brow at me.
I sigh. “A master manipulator.”
“Why?”
I roll my eyes. “Because I manipulate people’s emotions with my words when they read my books,” I grouse.
“Exactly. So that’s all you do, except your mouth says the words instead of your fingers. Fake it till you make it, baby.”
I nod my head, looking at my underarms in the mirror from all angles. My deodorant may claim to fight tough odors, but the shirt didn’t come with a tag that said it was pit stain resistant.
Sighing again, I drop my arms. “It's not that I don't love meeting my readers, I just don't do well in crowds and social situations. I’m too awkward.”
“You’re also a great liar. That’s what you do for a living. Just smile and pretend you’re not having one big panic attack.”
Another roll of my eyes as I grab my purse from the bed. “You’re such a great pep-talker,” I say dryly. She snorts in response.
Daya sucks at pep-talking, and she knows it. She’s the logical person in our friendship, while I’m the emotional one. She’s all about offering solutions, while I’d rather roll around in my dread and anxiety and wax on about it.
Guess I’m more like my mother than I thought.
I’ll still never admit it out loud.
The event is a blast, as usual. Every time, I work myself up for these events, and I always end up never wanting to leave by the time they’re over.
Getting the chance to meet up with other author friends and attempting to run away with all their signed books while laughing maniacally is what truly brings me peace in life.
What truly brings me happiness is seeing the many smiling faces eager to meet me and get signed books of mine.
I love my career as a professional manipulator. I’m fortunate to do what I do.
I’m a tad tipsy from getting drinks at a bar after the event, so Daya is driving me back home in my car. We laugh and giggle over funny moments and even gossip about the crazy drama that always circulates the book community.
We’re riding a high from having such a good time, but our smiles bleed dry as she pulls up to the house.
A lone light is on, shining through the bay window. I turned off all the lights before we left.
I go to scramble out of the car, but Daya’s firm grip around my hand stops me.
“He could still be in there,” she says urgently, her grip tightening almost painfully.
“He fucking better be,” I growl, wrangling my arm from her grip. I slip out of the car before Daya can try to stop me again and charge towards the manor.
“Addie, stop! You’re being stupid.”
I am, but the alcohol has only made my anger more potent. Before Daya can stop me, I’m unlocking the front door and barreling into the house.
A single light is on over my kitchen sink, too weak to illuminate the front of the house properly.
No one is waiting for me, so I start flipping on lights to diminish the ominous tone in the air.
“Come out, you freak!” I yell, storming into the kitchen and grabbing the largest knife I can find. When I turn, Daya is standing in the doorway, looking around the room with an alarmed expression on her face.
I was so intent on killing the bastard, I didn’t even bother to look around.
The entire living room is covered in red roses. My mouth pops open, and the words on my tongue stutter and evaporate.
I turn and spot an empty whiskey glass sitting on the counter, a dribble of alcohol at the bottom of the glass, and a distinct mark on the lip.
Lying next to the glass is a single red rose.
My widened gaze clashes with Daya's. All we can do is just stare at each other in shock.
Heart in my throat, I finally choke out, “I need to check the rest of the house.”
“Addie, he could still be here. We need to call the police and leave. Now.”
I bite my lip, two halves warring inside me. I want to look for him, confront him, and stab him in the eye a few times. But I can’t endanger Daya more than I already have. I can’t keep being stupid about this.
Relenting, I nod my head and follow her out of the manor. The brisk air doesn’t even penetrate the ice settling in my bones.
What else did he do? A snarl forms when I realize that he probably went into my bedroom. Touched my underwear. Maybe even stole some.