Never Lie (7)

I take a step back to allow Paige to enter the house. She’s only been here once before, and she sucks in a breath at the sheer size of it all. The living area is impressive. Paige lives in Manhattan, probably in a tiny shoebox of an apartment that costs a small fortune.

“This is an amazing house,” she breathes. She is so astounded that she lowers her phone entirely so that it hangs at her side. “So much space.”

“Thank you.”

Her eyes dart around, from the sectional leather sofa to the antique bookcases to the spiraling staircase up to the second level. She could just leave the compliment as it is, but that’s not Paige’s style. Instead, she feels compelled to add, “It’s just you in this big place?”

She knows I’m not married. No children. My parents are long gone. “Yes. Just me.”

“Geez…” She scratches her cheek. “I’d be scared to live here. I mean, you are out in the middle of nowhere. You don’t even have good cell service. Anyone could come in here and…”

It’s not as if Paige is the first person to suggest such a thing. If I had any close family members or close friends, I’m sure they would worry about me. But I’m not worried.

“Do you have a security system?” she asks.

I lift a shoulder. “I have locks on the doors.”

She looks at me like I’ve lost my mind. But I feel safe here. Isolation is not necessarily dangerous. The turn to get onto the small dirt road to my house is so narrow that many people drive by it without even noticing. And I need the extra space because this house also serves as my office. I do my writing here and I have a room where I see patients.

I’m disappointed in Paige for her judgment, even though I’m not surprised. I’m sure many people could judge her for her own choices. If she hadn’t taken the time to push out two rugrats, she might be further in her career. She might not have to suck up to someone like me.

And also, she wears far too much makeup. I don’t trust women who cake on layers of foundation like a mask that adheres directly to their skin.

“You know…” Paige gives a sympathetic tilt of her head. “I could see if Alex knows anyone for you. I’m sure one of his colleagues from work would be happy to take you out.”

“No need,” I say through my teeth.

“Are you sure? Because—”

“I’m sure.”

She shrugs like she thinks I have made a tragic error in judgment by not accepting a pity date from her husband. It’s not the first time she’s offered. After a few times, you would think she’d get the message I’m not interested, but sadly, she has not.

“Anyway.” Paige thrusts the Manila envelope at me, her bright red fingernails shining under the overhead lights. “Here’s the proof of your new book.”

I accept the envelope from her grasp. I’m tempted to rip it open. This book is the culmination of two years of research and late nights spent poring over my notes and pounding on the keyboard. But I don’t want to look at it in front of Paige. I’ll do it after she leaves.

“Thank you,” I say.

“Gruesome stuff,” she comments, crinkling her nose. She made no secret of the fact that she thought I should “tone down” some of the violent scenes described in the book, but I was adamant they should stay as is. “It’s hard to read—for some people.”

“It’s all true.”

Paige eyes the envelope in my hand. She was hoping I would open it in front of her. She drove all the way up here from Manhattan after all. It’s no small trip to Westchester, but my first book, Know Yourself, was on the New York Times bestseller list for twenty-seven weeks. This highly anticipated follow-up could be worth a fortune to her. She wants to keep me happy.

She stands there for a moment, waiting to see if I’ll offer her a tour or perhaps a cup of coffee. She wants to be my friend. Or at least, she wants a pretend friendship, where we gossip, do lunch at a café, and act as though we don’t dislike one another.

I don’t have friends. I never have.

“Could I…” She licks her lips. “Could I trouble you for a glass of water?”

I throw a glance toward my kitchen. “Of course. The water is a bit brown though, I have to warn you. I’ve gotten used to the metallic taste, but it bothers some people.”

Her nose crinkles again. She has the faintest hint of freckles on the bridge, no doubt covered by several layers of makeup. “Brown water? Adrienne, you should have somebody take a look at that.”

“Oh, I don’t mind. It tastes fine. Let me grab that water for you.”

“Actually, that’s okay.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, it’s fine.” She looks a tad green at the idea of choking down a glass of my fictional brown water. She wants to be my friend, but not that badly. “I should be heading out now. It’s a long drive back to the city.”

I nod. “Drive safely.”

She takes one last long look around my house. She’s probably wondering how much it cost me. In another life, Paige could have been a real estate agent. She has the right personality for it. Pushy as hell.

“Honestly,” she says, “you should think about getting some sort of security system for this place. I don’t want to come here one day and find you murdered in the living room.”