Joselyn needs a job.
Penelope needs someone to keep an eye on her boyfriend while she's gone.
It's the perfect match.
But, add in said boyfriend's charismatic side-kick and a troubled past desperate to resurface, and Josie's surveillance may be i...
Thanks xsagittariussx for making the cover shown above 💖
Comment of the chapter: __279__mb, thank you for supporting my addiction to cliffhangers. I'm glad someone enjoys them 😂
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Waiting for Penelope had my skin crawling. I'd changed out of Felix's sweater, leaving it folded on my desk. Judging by the way she'd acted about the whole beach house trip, seeing me wearing it might ruin any chances of keeping my so-called job.
I kept wondering what it was she was so desperate to tell me. Had she figured something out? Was she expecting me to have new information for her? I tapped my foot anxiously, my gut turning. I had the awful feeling that something was about to go bad. The only comparable moment I had was the last time someone had opened a conversation with we need to talk.
We'd been dating on and off through high school, between my escapades of rebellious teenage-hood. I hated living at home, and I resented most of the lifestyle I was living, but I loved him. My high school sweetheart. The moment we'd started dating, it had been like our relationship was set, the timeline laid out for us. Prom, college, marriage, kids. It was suffocating, but in the most masochistic way.
But when he'd started that conversation with the same words as Penelope, the one I was waiting for with bated breath—the inevitable gap rising between us. We need to talk. I let it fall apart. And I hadn't even put up a fight, because I knew what it would mean if I did.
With Penelope, though, it was different. There was no fight to put up, not when she was the one calling the shots.
She pulled up in a shiny purple convertible in a scene that could have been straight out of a movie. Her hair was in curls, blowing out from beneath a wrap in the cold breeze. She wore sunglasses even though it was overcast. It was like she was speeding through California instead of visiting mid-winter on the East Coast.
I got in beside her wordlessly, aware that her car and this neighborhood were not an appropriate combination. She stood out, everyone—even people in cars—were pausing to double-take.
