Tipsietaipan_1989: What sort of conspiracy theories are being thrown around?
Unreliablenarrator708: All sorts! The most popular is that Harper is also using AI to write books under a pen name and didn’t like Tia storming the charts and stealing her spot. Another reckons Harper’s gone to some tropical island until the worst blows over. Like, as if! They get sillier from there.
My heart bongoes in my chest. Gone to some tropical island! Surely not. It must be a lucky guess.
FauxLives: Like what?
Unreliablenarrator708: Another is that Harper is Tia. Tia is Harper! And this is one big publicity stunt to get more eyes on the next book, which *they* reckon is releasing soon. Quick turnaround for another book, isn’t it?
FauxLives: OMG what if it’s true! It’s genius! Harper knows the industry well. Her Bookstagram page was monetised. What if this was the next step for her? Start a huge online furore and gets as many eyes on her own book as possible. It makes a lot of sense.
Ohsodramatic: But why would she ruin her own *very* successful Bookstagram page?
FauxLives: Because this is way more profitable? And Harper’s page had the reach needed to pull it off. If you followed Harper before she deactivated her page, you’d know that she often lamented about her side hustle and how at times she struggled with the pressure of performing and how it caused her a lot of anxiety. Maybe she *is* Tia and is now relaxing on that tropical island, cocktail in hand, counting her money…
True_Crime_allthetime007: I don’t want to believe it, but that does make a weird sort of sense.
BlahblahblahBoise: It does, dammit.
Ohsodramatic: Harper is Tia. That’s a plot twist I didn’t see coming.
No. No. No. They’re all turning on me? Just like that? Saying I’m Tia? How utterly ridiculous. Why I pinned my hopes on a Reddit community to solve the Tia riddle is yet another misstep on my part.
I go to Twitter (I’ll never call it X, it just doesn’t have the same ring to it) and search for the hashtag #CancelHarper. I’m rewarded with a stream of silly memes and gifs among a few more serious tweets that protest my innocence. I scroll past a few wild theories, including an entire thread about me being Tia.
I forward them to Lily for a laugh, because what else can I do at this point? Sure enough, the internet freezes up – I let out a frustrated sigh but it’s probably for the best. I’m being forced to mostly abstain from the internet and social media with the spotty connection, and it occurs to me how much stress it adds to my life when I do connect. It shouldn’t be that way. It’s evident in my posture, the way my shoulders are now bunched up near my ears. The tightness in my chest. Yeah, sure, that’s because I’m reading conspiracy theories about myself, but if I reflect back, even in London I felt like this most days worrying over my social media side biz. It’s something to think about.
A shadow falls over me. Damn it. He is stealthy. ‘I’m sure it was mentioned in your contract that personal phones are not permitted for use during the workday.’
I fight an eye roll. Xavier manages to grind my gears, even though he’s got me on a technicality. I can’t exactly explain my life is a dumpster fire because this guy only cares about his many rules. Sure, workplaces need structure, but his rules are a little infantile. It’s not like I’m going to spend the day scrolling on my phone, is it? It’s not even possible the way the Wi-Fi drops out.
‘Sorry, I had to check something and the Wi-Fi in the staff area is slower than dial-up days.’
He nods. ‘It’s a stupid rule, but there’s a reason for it.’
No two ways about it, the man has a God complex. ‘Noted. I’ll never do it again.’ I give him a wide smile that does not reach my eyes. The fight has gone from me today. ‘Can I help you with something, Xavier?’ I attempt to give him the glittering eye flash treatment that he’s so good at, but maybe you have to be born with that particular skill because he doesn’t react except to cock his cocky head.
‘I’d hoped for more updates from you. How are things going here?’ The look he gives me is loaded but I manage to ignore it. Instead, I make a show of shuffling papers that promptly fall out of my hands and scatter to the floor. Hopefully he can’t see that from his vantage point across the counter. What power does this guy have over me? While he’s berating me about using my personal phone, he also manages to make my heart flutter in the most inconvenient way. It’s probably not him, on second thought. It’s probably your garden variety anxiety.
‘I’m finding my feet.’ I lift my chin as the air between us practically sizzles. I’m strangely tongue-tied around him. Probably because he’s just finished telling me off like I’m some recalcitrant teenager sneaking screen time. Dammit, I really can’t let him get the better of me like this. It’s typical alpha male behaviour and I know the blueprint from reading romance novels for the best part of my life; if I let this go unchecked, I will lose all control.
‘Good.’
So what if he’s brawny and broody? He needs a lot more than that for this bookworm to fall for him, and yet my body betrays me by making my heart race, like this is some kind of opposites-attract scenario that I have no control over. If I can’t even get my own body to listen to me, what hope is there?
No, I will not give in to such nonsense. We romance readers are conditioned to believe the alpha hero just needs the love of a good woman to reveal his soft underbelly – and that’s fine, but is it really true? And why should it be the woman’s problem to delve into his past traumas or whatever the hell it is that makes him so domineering? I’m put out today from the bloody Reddit community conspiracy theories and I don’t have the energy to think.
‘Send me that email with your ideas, yeah?’ He turns away from me as he answers a call, his phone apparently having no reception issues. ‘Yes, yes, the proposition is tempting. It’s a huge chunk of rainforest that could be developed into a state-of-the-art eco resort,’ he says in his deep baritone to someone on the phone. ‘I’ll call you when I can talk in more detail.’ He swipes the phone closed and faces me again. Does Xavier plan on building another resort, elsewhere? Perhaps there’s a whole conglomerate of resorts. Who would know with the way people blab openly here most of the time but keep their mouths closed about the details that actually matter. I’m not sure why the thought of him building another resort bothers me, but it does. Maybe because the Last Chance Resort is so special, like it needs his full attention; it deserves his full attention. Am I getting sentimental over the place already?
‘Also, send me the sales figures on Friday.’
‘Please?’
He gives me an almost imperceptible nod as his lips twitch and lopes away once more.
What is this strange alchemy? Why do I insist on being attracted to men who either break my heart or are clearly the wrong type? Because without a shadow of a doubt, that man makes my pulse race in a way that I’ve never experienced before, and that cannot be good. Not with his bad attitude and boss-man syndrome. Self-sabotage, that’s what this is. Understandable when you’ve gone through such an upheaval like I have. It’s fine, I’ll just stick to my self-imposed promise – men are a closed book for the foreseeable.
There’s no time to cool my heated cheeks with a guzzle of water because Doris wanders in, giving Xavier a glare for good measure on the way past.
