Fool Me Twice Read online

  © Lizzie Morton 2021

  Edited: Black Quill Editing

  All rights reserved.

  The right of Lizzie Morton to be identified as author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including photocopying, recording, information storage and retrieval systems, without the prior permission in writing of the author, except for the brief use of quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial use permitted by copyright law.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Contents

  Prologue

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Six

  Seven

  Eight

  Nine

  Ten

  Eleven

  Twelve

  Thirteen

  Fourteen

  Fifteen

  Sixteen

  Seventeen

  Eighteen

  Nineteen

  Twenty

  Twenty-One

  Twenty-Two

  Twenty-Three

  Twenty-Four

  Twenty-Five

  Twenty-Six

  Twenty-Seven

  Twenty-Eight

  Twenty-Nine

  Thirty

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgements

  Bex – For daring me to be different

  Prologue

  Britney 18 years old

  I quickly open my bag to pull out my lunch. Something feels off as I stare down inside at the contents. I sit and blink, trying to put my finger on what it is, and then it hits me. I’ve forgotten my gym kit, the same gym kit I need for my next class. Damn it. This is the third time I’ve forgotten it this semester. I’m screwing up left, right, and center. Nobody would blame me, but still … I need to do some damage control. I’m burning through my free passes, and I can’t afford to run out.

  I give the measly lunch package in my bag a longing look, not that it deserves it. It consists of a sandwich made with five-day-old bread I had to pick the mold off and half a granola bar I salvaged from the floor, next to where my mom was passed out on the couch. It’s the first thing I’ll have eaten all day and my stomach groans painfully.

  I sigh and close my bag. Food will have to wait.

  The woman sitting at the desk in the school office gives me a disdainful look when I explain why I need to leave. Whatever. She’s the least of my worries and if I stand a chance of getting home and back before next period, I can’t mess around.

  Outside, I pull out my cell and try one last time to get in touch with Ross. It goes straight to voicemail. Helpful … not.

  Time is ticking away.

  I’d sprint, but my shitty sneakers have no cushioning, and the last time I had to run in them I was hobbling for days. I opt for power walking as fast as I can. I cannot get detention. I have a shift at the diner tonight and the paycheck is the only thing keeping a roof over our heads, and the meals that are few and far between, on the table.

  This would all have been easier if Ross had just answered his cellphone. I know he had a couple of free periods and could have run home to grab my stuff, that’s if I’d been able to get in touch with him. When I reach our apartment, I unlock the door and rush to my room, grabbing my gym kit off the bed that I stupidly forgot to pack.

  I hear a noise. A groan.

  I stop in my tracks and listen for a few seconds. Nothing. I must have been hearing things. I’m about to turn and leave, when I hear it again. This time a moan accompanies the groan. It’s louder and I know it’s not my imagination. The smart thing would be to call out, warn whoever is in the apartment that I’m here. With Mom, you never know who she could have let through the door. But I’m too focused on finding out what is going on.

  I should walk away and ignore it, but I don’t.

  Tiptoeing into the living area, my eyes flicker to the couch where Mom was out cold when I left this morning. She’s not there. I walk quietly to her room, a task that should be easy, but proves difficult—each time I lift a foot my shoe sticks to the carpet and I struggle not to fall. The door is ajar, and the noises get louder the closer I get.

  When I push the door open, I stop.

  If my world hadn’t fallen apart years ago, this would do it.

  Dumbfounded, I watch as Ross, my childhood sweetheart and the only person I thought was left in my life who I could trust, groans while my mom sits on top of him, riding him like she’s auditioning for a porn movie.

  I clap a hand over my mouth, trying to stifle the gasp that comes out. It’s wasted effort on my part, because on the floor are two syringes and a tourniquet. I could make all the noise in the world—they’re both too high to care.

  I want to look away, but I’m transfixed. It wasn’t enough that she fucked up her life, she had to go and destroy the only good thing I had going in mine. Nausea hits when I back away.

  I’m done.

  I run to my room and shove what little belongings I have left—the ones I haven’t already had to sell—into a bag. Without so much as a backward glance, I storm out of the apartment, leaving my pathetic excuse of a life behind.

  One

  Britney 6 years later

  “Britney! Into my office … now!” Fiona screeches across the room.

  Staring at the screen of my laptop, I grimace. Again?

  I purposefully fly under her radar. All I want is to get on with my job in peace. Despite my best efforts, I keep getting dragged into ‘projects’ that are anything but peaceful. I’ve learned the hard way that gossip doesn’t appear out of nowhere, and I work for the most raucous gossip magazine in the country. I’ve worked here for a little over a year and it’s safe to say I’ve hated every minute.

  “Be right there,” I chime over my shoulder, being careful not to let her see my face.

  “Leigh, you too!” she screeches again, as if we’re not all squashed together in a room like sardines.

  Leigh, at the desk two over from me, sighs. Everyone knows when you get called into Fiona’s office, it’s bad news … excuse the pun.

  I hate this. I worked my ass off to get into college, managed to achieve a scholarship with no support behind me, and this is where I’ve found myself after years of hard work. If I could be anywhere but here, I would. Unfortunately, I have no choice. Firstly, there’s a nice backlog of college fees hanging over me, but they’re the least of my worries. When Mom disappeared off the grid not long after I walked out, she still owed a lot of people money. Like a lot of money, to the kind of people who don’t let debts slide. They couldn’t find her, but they found me, thanks to my name being added to our final rental contract when I turned eighteen.

  So, now, I work for the devil.

  I spend my days chasing celebrities, watching their every move, trying to get the latest scoop. We sell their mistakes and obliterate any hope they might have for a bit of normality. Each time I write an article, I can’t shake the feeling that one day this is all going to come back and bite me in the ass. Karma is coming, I just know it.

  Saving the piece I’ve been working on about some lame middle-aged guy sleeping with the nanny, I reluctantly head to Fiona’s office to find out what she wants. When I arrive, Leigh is already settled in the only chair available. I’m left standing awkwardly at her side waiting for Fiona to reveal what delightful pro
ject she has in store for us next. Twiddling my hands in front of me, my eyes flicker to the wall behind where Fiona is sitting. It’s filled with framed covers of some of the magazine’s best-selling issues. The issues in which we’ve done our worst.

  “I have a new project for you,” Fiona says, as if we’re going to be creating a masterpiece, building something great, changing the world. Not destroying someone’s life.

  Biting on my cheek, it takes everything in me to keep my expression pleasant.

  “There’s a rumor that the NFL player Becket is having problems with his girlfriend,” Fiona continues.

  “I hate to break it to you …” says Leigh, tossing her fiery red hair over her shoulder, “that’s not exactly gossip. It’s also not surprising considering what a prick he is. And he’s boring. He puts the straight in strait-laced.”

  I remain standing quietly as Fiona narrows her eyes at Leigh. “I’m perfectly aware of that. Which is why you are both here. As I was saying … there’s a rumor circling that he’s having issues with his girlfriend and apparently, he is on his way to the city. Someone saw him checking in for a flight to New York from Florida and posted the photo on Instagram. I want you to follow him when he gets here—get whatever scoop you can. This could be big.”

  Brazenly, Leigh responds, “If we do whatever it takes, what do we get in return? I’m assuming this might be a little out of our pay grade?”

  Fiona pauses before replying and I wonder if for once, Leigh has pushed her luck too far. “A bonus and a step up the ladder. How does that sound?”

  Leigh’s mouth drops open. “All for Becket the Bore?”

  My eyes dart back and forth between them, I daren’t say a word, afraid that if I do, she might change her mind. The worst part about the crap she has us do: the pay isn’t worth it. It’s still more than I’d get in most other jobs at this level. Even in a city as big as New York, jobs like this are hard to come by. The offer she’s put on the table could finally make all this worthwhile, it could be a chance to move away from doing this crap and pay off a large chunk of my debts.

  Fiona leans back in her seat, looking bored. “It’s been a long time since there’s been an NFL scandal. The best ones are unexpected. I want us to be the first ones reporting when it comes out and there’s only one way to make sure we are …”

  “How can we?” I ask. “It’s never a given.”

  Leigh looks up at me and rolls her eyes. I feel like even more of an idiot, but unlike to her, all this stuff doesn’t come naturally to me.

  “We make sure we’re there when it happens—that we know about it before everyone else,” Leigh says.

  I still don’t quite get what it is they’re both suggesting. “You sound so certain. What if there’s no dirt to dig up and what if there’s no scandal?” I ask.

  Leigh and Fiona look at each other with amused expressions.

  Fiona replies, “If there’s no scandal to be found … you make one.”

  ***

  “I can’t believe we’re stuck doing her dirty work again,” I say bitterly, scrolling through page after page on the internet, familiarizing myself with the life of The Great Michael Becket.

  Leigh’s right, he’s as boring as they come. His girlfriend, his stats—perfect. He’s a shining star in the NFL as far as his performance is concerned. But it’s like someone went through Google and deleted anything that would give him any character or depth. He has no past. The best I can find are articles about him saying the wrong thing or being a hot head on the field.

  Basically, when he’s not running the perfect play … he’s an asshole.

  It’s the images that really capture my attention. Page after page, thousands of them. The one thing they all have in common: his eyes. A glimmer of emerald reaching out to me in every single one. But there’s something there. Even in the most unclear ones, I can see something is amiss. There’s a darkness battling the light in his eyes, and I want to know why.

  Leigh spins around in her desk chair. It’s late and everyone, including Fiona, has gone home for the day. Now, it’s just us left, trying to figure out how we’re going to magic up some scoop. I’ve come up with nothing, I never do, because unlike the redhead next to me, I don’t thrive off being deceitful.

  “Suck it up,” she says. “There’s a promotion on the cards and I won’t let you mess this up for me.” Her expression is cold. She’s ruthless and would do anything to move up the career ladder, if you can even call what we’re doing a career. An alert flashes on her screen and she turns back quickly to see what it is. She sits quietly reading, then shouts out loud, “Yes!”

  “Care to share?” I ask.

  “There’s a forum we use sometimes when we need a scoop on people.” She begins scribbling on a scrap of paper.

  “And?”

  “And somebody has just responded, saying they have details on Becket. Where he’s going to be et cetera.”

  I stare at her in disbelief as she grabs her bag and stands up.

  Before leaving, she looks at me and asks, “What?”

  “Never mind the fact you’re going to trust a random stranger, but you’re going to meet with them too?”

  She rolls her eyes, something she does a lot of whenever we work together. “The forum is legit. I use it all the time. This is how we play the game, but you wouldn’t know because you never get your hands dirty.”

  “Huh, I’d say the opposite. So, what’s the plan?”

  “You wait here. I’ll be twenty minutes, max. They’re meeting me outside.”

  She doesn’t wait for me to respond or acknowledge that I’m happy to do so, simply bustles out of the office. I now have another person who thinks they can walk all over me. Great.

  True to her word she walks back twenty minutes later with a smug look on her face.

  “So?”

  “So, our source is freakin’ amazing! They know everything about him. We don’t need to do anything but turn up where he says.”

  “You’re not worried that this person knows Becket’s every move?”

  She throws her head back and laughs. “No. It makes our jobs easier. Stop overthinking it and just play the game, Britney. We follow him, catch him doing something newsworthy, and it’s a job done. Although some interference might be necessary.”

  My stomach twists. “What do you mean interference?”

  She slides open her desk drawer, grabs something, then holds a packet of little white pills in the air.

  “What the fuck, Leigh?” I hiss, then smack her hand down in case anyone is lingering in the office who could see and report us. “Are you trying to get us fired?”

  “Chill out,” she huffs. “It’s nothing they haven’t seen before. How do you think we get so many good stories?” I watch as she slides the packet back into her drawer.

  I shake my head. “What are you talking about? And why are you not putting them in your bag?”

  “How do you think we always get the best gossip? Don’t tell me you think it’s all a coincidence? It’s all set up. People here do what needs to be done. And I’m not putting the pills in my bag, because I can’t exactly walk on a plane with drugs …”

  “Then where are you going to get them from when we touch down in Jacksonville?”

  “Our source.” She rolls her eyes again as if she can’t believe the questions I’m asking her.

  It comes out as almost a squeak when I say, “You’re going to take drugs off a stranger?”

  “Come on, Britney. Whoever you get drugs from is a stranger. Fact.”

  “So, we’re just going to drug Becket? That’s the plan?” I scoff.

  “No. Not if we don’t have to. Just go with the flow and let’s see what happens. If we come up with nothing then we do as Fiona said: we make our own story. And something like this is what’s going to help us along.”

  She waves the packet in front of my face again, taunting me, and I wonder exactly how deep I’m about to sink.

  ***

/>   “Are you sure your source got it right?” I ask Leigh.

  We’re standing in the departure area of JFK airport, in the same spot we’ve been for the past hour, waiting for Becket to show up and check-in for a flight back to Florida. We followed him all day yesterday after Leigh’s source informed us he was at Coney Island. Things between him and his girlfriend turned sour, and he stormed off. Thanks to it being packed with people celebrating the Fourth of July we were unable to follow him any further.

  We thought we had royally screwed up, until Leigh received a message saying he had checked into a hotel in Manhattan for the night. The same source got in touch earlier today, informing us Becket had booked a flight out of New York. So, here we are. I keep trying to stamp down the feelings of unease that there’s someone out there following his every move, even more so than we are. It’s creepy as fuck but there’s nothing I can do. I need this promotion, this money.

  Leigh crosses her arms over her chest and frowns, looking around the crowds trying to spot him. “Stop bitching at me. I’m certain. And before you ask again, my source is reliable.”

  I grind my teeth, trying not to bite back. If we start arguing, we’re going to draw attention to ourselves and we can’t screw up again. Images of Leigh pulling out a sachet of white pills flash through my mind. “Did you bring that stuff with you?” My eyes dart around nervously.

  She shakes her head. “Seriously, you need to calm down. You look shifty and if you keep it up, we’re going to have security on our case.”

  “Do you blame me for asking?” I whisper. “Two days ago, you were waving drugs in my face. I don’t know what to expect with you anymore.”

  “Yes, but I’m not an idiot. Give me some credit. You know what the plan is. Tease him on the flight, make him want you, then go for a drink together. I’ll pick up the supply from the source when we land in Florida, then sneak it to you the first chance we get. You slip it in his drink and the rest is easy.”