Lie of My Life

9 The Text

*A/N: Slight spice warning 🔥

"Do you think I should wear the silver heels or the black?" Emma was asking me. I looked up from my laptop to see her standing in front of my mirror, head tilted to the side in self examination. She and Shane had their first official date tonight and she had come to my apartment under the guise of wanting to borrow shoes but I could tell now that it was because she was nervous. I stood, setting my laptop onto the bed, and approached her. I placed my hands on her shoulders from where I stood behind her and smiled.

"You will look beautiful no matter what shoes you wear," I told her and she smiled but it didn't reach her eyes. I spun her around to face me. "What's going on, Em? Why are you so nervous?"

"I... I just like him so much. And we're all friends and I want this to go well. I just don't want to mess this up."

I smiled at her. "Judging by your reaction when you first met him, the two of you were never meant to just be friends."

She smiled at that.

"He likes you already. Just be yourself. Have fun."

She wrapped her arms around me in a hug and whispered a thank you before grabbing the black heels and leaving my apartment, headed for her date. I watched her go with a smile and then returned to my work.

The following week quickly proved to be the busiest I had ever been. The billboard alone had created so much new interest that I spent nearly every business hour meeting with a new potential client which meant that, in order for me to get any designs done, I worked late into the evening nearly every night. On Wednesday, I met with the magazine journalist for my interview. She was polite and professional but very eager to speak with me and I answered her questions as best I could, hoping I could serve as an inspiration for someone out there. By Thursday I was starting to feel the effects of my hard work. I was exhausted and irritable and I was missing Emma who had been spending most of her time with Shane. As the weekend, and a promise of some uninterrupted hours for design, approached, I felt less stressed and actually permitted myself to go to bed early so that, by Friday, I was still incredibly busy but at least moderately well rested. Still, I was experiencing some burn out.

So early in the evening on a Friday night, I found myself alone in my apartment, sitting on my couch with my laptop in my lap and a glass of wine in my hand. Wes and Aaron were attending a hockey game tonight and Emma and Shane were on another date. More than feeling burnout, I was also feeling particularly depressed about my lack of prospects in my love life. So perhaps that was why, when I allowed myself a break from work, I found myself subconsciously scrolling to Elijah's name in my phone. I hovered over his last message, the picture that had surprised me so much, and considered. Wes had said it likely meant he was only interested in a physical relationship. Wasn't that what I had been searching for anyway? I looked down at my laptop, thinking back on my week where I had worked so hard. I had barely had time to sleep much less date. So this might be exactly what I needed. Something easy, no strings attached. I could get what I needed and go back to work.

Having decided to finally respond, I opened the message. But how did one respond to such a thing? He's expecting you to reciprocate, Emma's voice echoed in my head. I could do that. I headed to my room and stood in the full length mirror, examining myself. I took off my shirt and jeans, changed into a lacy black bra and matching underwear, posed, and took a picture. I didn't like it so I took another. When I was satisfied with the picture, I hit send and put my phone down, heart beating rapidly at what I had just done.

I got dressed again then, pulling my jeans and shirt back on, and made my way back out to the living room. I tried to return to my wine and my work but couldn't focus. Finally, after only a few minutes, I unlocked my phone to the message, trying to see if it had been read yet. When I saw my screen, my heart dropped to my stomach and I gasped. The name at the top of the message, the recipient of my racy photo, was not Elijah. I had sent it to the wrong person. My face burned as I jumped to my feet, eyes frozen on the contact name above my message. Carter Holden.