the other end. This wasn’t Bill. Surely not. There were bound to be several Bill Brannons, right? Probably plenty of them in Georgia, in fact. This wouldn’t be—couldn’t be—the Bill Brannon she remembered.
But she did remember that Bill Brannon. She could see him so clearly, black hair cropped close on the sides, longer on top. Thick, dark brows. Eyes the color of mocha. Full lips. Strong jaw. He had the looks of a guy she’d date in a heartbeat back in Sheldon High. But she didn’t. That wasn’t the type of relationship they shared.
Because Bill Brannon also listened to many of her worries throughout middle school and high school. The nervous ramblings of a girl not nearly as confident as she let the remainder of the world believe. A girl who wanted more than what Sheldon offered, who wanted to be a successful businesswoman and have a real family one day, the kind of family she and Amy dreamed of.
Bill Brannon had been the best male friend she’d ever known, and the one she’d left on graduation night, when he confessed his true feelings—and she left Sheldon without looking back.
“I’m afraid you have me at a disadvantage,” he said.
Oh. My. God. The Bill Brannon she knew—remembered—was on the other end of this line. With a deeper, richer voice than she recalled.
Her hand clenched the receiver.
“What did you say your name was again?” he asked. “Colette?”
Oh boy, she’d dug herself right into a hole. A big wide black one. With, sure enough, no end in sight.
“Colette,” she said, then swallowed. Maybe he wouldn’t remember. And maybe her mother would become a nun. “Colette Campbell.”
“Lettie?” Recognition slammed through both syllables. “Is that you?”
She hadn’t heard that name in twelve years, since the night she graduated from Sheldon High. The same night she’d told him the truth, then witnessed the pain in her friend’s eyes.
Her stomach knotted. “It’s been a long time,” she said, while her sister leaned forward, steadying her palms on the mound of sex toy paraphernalia she’d dumped on the sofa.
“Whoops,” Amy mouthed, her green eyes wide. “You know him?”
Fighting the way her throat closed in, Colette nodded.
“It has been a long time,” he said. “At the ten-year reunion, your last-known address was your house in Sheldon, and we all knew you’d kissed that place good-bye. So you’re in Tampa now?”
How was she supposed to answer his question? No, she wasn’t in Tampa; she was in Atlanta, the same as he was. In fact, she hadn’t moved that far from their small town in the North Georgia Mountains—merely far enough to reach a big city where she could make her mark and achieve her goals.
However, he thought she was in Tampa. Well, of course he did. Because that’s where the fictitious Integrated Solutions was located and that’s where she told him she worked. Heck, not only was Colette not in Tampa, neither was his niece.
Oh God, how could she lie to Bill?
As if on cue, Amy edged closer. “Don’t tell him,” she mouthed. “Please.”
Damnation.
According to the information sheet, Erika was currently on Tybee Island. Undoubtedly having a hot and heated time with her boyfriend while Uncle Bill thought she was working at a training conference. Lettie shook her head in disbelief. This was so not happening. Of all the people she’d never ever want to lie to, the name at the top of that list would be Bill.
Well, close to the top. The very tip-top name, of course, would be Amy. And therein was the problem.
“Yeah, Tampa is nice,” Colette said, while a wave of nausea covered her like a thick black cloud. She’d never even been to the place. Man, why did Erika’s uncle have to be Bill?
Colette had sworn she wouldn’t keep this job long. It was wrong, and she knew it. But it paid a heck of a lot more than a waitress, or a checkout clerk, or a salesperson, or a dog walker—or any of the other bizarre jobs she’d had in the past. And it helped her save the money she needed to get her business started.
She’d been convinced that was a good enough reason for helping cheaters. And she’d promised herself she’d only do it a few months. Half a year, tops.
Unfortunately, lying to Bill Brannon, the one guy who’d treated her better than any other—and the one guy she’d hurt more than any other—hadn’t figured into her equation.
“And you’re working for the company holding the conference?” he continued, aiding her eternal free fall