Dear Sam,
I desperately hope you get this letter – I don’t know how else to find you. We said it would be a one-time thing, but I don’t want that anymore and I hope you don’t either. Were you as excited as I was? God, it was fun and you were amazing and we connected so well. Not just the, you know, sex part, but everything. You’re smart and beautiful and we really made an amazing couple…
Samantha’s face caught fire and she slapped the paper face down on the desk. It was a love letter, someone else’s letter, full of sex and intrigue. Her face throbbed with the heat and she knew it had turned scarlet like it always does when she’s embarrassed. Keeping her head down, she flicked her eyes around the room to see if anyone noticed. Her co-workers sat hunched intently over their laptops pecking on their keyboards like hungry fowl. Two men in suits were chatting quietly with the new guy.
It’s a federal crime to open someone else’s mail, but it was given to her, carried in on the mail cart, and left on the corner of her desk. It can’t be her fault for opening it if someone gave it to her. Feigning annoyance like it was another useless vendor’s missive, she studied the envelope.
Sam
Franklin University
Purchasing Department
108 Carthage Hall
Lansing, MI 48910
The windowless room that contains the small purchasing department is a tiresome beige with a brown and yellow patterned linoleum floor, too large for its seven inhabitants. Three years ago her department moved here during renovations, then the economy crashed, budget cuts hit, and they were trapped. She’s trapped too, an agent in charge of electronics and capital equipment purchases. Not a manager or even a senior agent after five years of dedicated work. A graduate with a 3.9 GPA, she should be manager by now, but her boss Winnie has connections to the top and she’ll never leave.
Her face was cool to the touch now and she looked around once again, nervous with guilt. As usual, nobody was paying any attention to her.
You said let’s not share anything personal. Let’s create the perfect memory of an exotic moment, like a romance novel that we’ll keep forever in our thoughts. But I don’t even have a picture of you, and I know you’re beautiful but I’m already starting to forget what you look like and how are we going to have exotic memories without pictures. I put in one of me. Anyway I want more than memories, I want you in real life again. It was an enticing idea at the time but the more I think about it it’s crazy. We were great together, let’s at least try and see if we can make a go of it. What do you think, Sam?
Pulse pounding in her ears, she pried the envelope open an inch and stole a peek at the photo. The man in the picture was good looking. Great looking in fact. He had long wavy hair that curled above his left eye and a square jaw jutting out from a powerful neck. He stood jauntily with his arm around a man whose head was scissored off the side of the print. Both were bare chested.
Her face aglow again, she slid the papers into her desk drawer and picked up a legal contract to hide behind.
Sam. She hated it when people called her Sam, it was too boyish. She was “Samantha” and proud of it. The kids taunted her mercilessly in school and it still stings today. “Sam the clam” they’d shout at her as she went past. They didn’t know the truth but she did. She was quiet and smart, and they were dumb and stupid and cruel.
Samantha was as skinny as a bean pole back then, with long stringy hair and threadbare clothes. She hid behind a tattered curtain of dark bangs that hung to her nose and rarely spoke because of the stutter. Sam the clam. She conquered it years later but the damage was done. She was an introvert and would always be.
She slid the drawer open a few inches and flipped the envelope over. The return address was from some company in Ottawa that she’d never heard of.
Spirit Security
1260 Grants Rd
Ottawa, ON K0J 1V0, Canada
Was it a joke? She looked around the room expecting them all to burst out in laughter but saw only typing and hushed conversation. Maybe they were waiting for a signal, a siren, a release of balloons or pigeons and then everybody would explode. They’d laugh at her, and she’d melt in embarrassment. Just like before.
She’s the only one in the department who had a name like Sam. Lila, Shanice, and Winnie were the other girls. Those names weren’t even close. A man? Sam could be a man. Barry, Jamil, and … what’s the new guy’s name? Marc, his name is Marc. Nope, none of those worked.
But Marc, he replaced the dry goods guy, Samson Singleton. That’s it! This letter is for Samson. He left a few weeks ago. She can give the letter to HR and let them figure out where he is. Mystery solved, Samantha leaned back and let out a disappointed sigh, expecting or at least hoping for a more dramatic conclusion.
She decided to drop it off tomorrow. Tonight she’d enjoy a vicarious thrill.
#
That evening as a pot of chowder warmed on the stove, Samantha pulled the envelope from her purse and arranged the letter and photo on the table. She glared at the picture, prickled by a twinge of jealousy that this stranger would dare prefer men over her. It’s been a year since she broke up with her ex, an army captain who was willing to commit years to the service but couldn’t commit to her. She was a good partner to him but he didn’t care and couldn’t keep his little willy in his dress slacks. That asshole doesn’t deserve her.
They look similar, this man and her ex. Both attractive with strong builds, but she could tell this new guy is a better man. His eyes were dark, tender, beckoning, shoulders relaxed and confident. He was a better man, but a gay one, clearly not for her. He would make a good boyfriend for Samson, they were both good looking and nice. Samson’s sexual preference was surprising, but she didn’t know him well. She wasn’t close to any of the people she worked with even though she’d been around them for years.
Samantha poured a glass of wine and sat down with her chowder. Tomorrow morning she’d drop the letter off in HR, they’d understand it was an accident. She flipped to the signature.
Nathan Vonn was the name printed beneath an illegible scrawl. A good name, Nathan. Strong.
I love how your face lit up as you laughed at my silly jokes, stupid jokes that didn’t even deserve a snort. I was mesmerized, smitten with your carefree style. That night we made magic. It wasn’t enough magic, Sam. I need to see you again. Let me know if you feel the same. I can come to visit, or we can meet somewhere exotic again. Let’s do that. Please. Call me. Email me.
Samantha drank in the words, pairing them with sips of sweet wine. She sighed, Samson will love this.
She’s a voyeur hiding in the bushes, peering into a stranger’s bedroom. She imagines herself with Nathan, her hands pressed up against his sculpted chest, two bodies heaving in exertion. It’s exciting and dangerous, but reading someone else’s tender professions of love is wrong. She continued.
Too soon for me, sadly, the image of your beautiful face is fading but I still remember your curves. From your smooth belly up the swell of your breasts to your lips…
Breasts?
It’s a girl! Samantha jumped up. Samson doesn’t have breasts. Standing, she scanned the rest of the letter. “Lipstick, eyelashes, bikini,” all girl stuff. Definitely not Samson. Definitely not gay.
Ecstatic, she grabbed her laptop and flipped it open. Kicking herself for not thinking of this sooner she stalked him. His LinkedIn profile said he worked at a cybersecurity firm. He is a digital forensic analyst, whatever that is. He must be pretty smart. She found him on Facebook too, with dozens of pictures of him with girls and comments about dating. He’s 31 years old, heterosexual, single, never married.
Available, so it says.
#
Samantha reasoned that it would be better to play detective and find out who this Sam is by herself. HR is busy right now and won’t do anything anyway. She’s smart. She knows people. The mystery girl will appreciate her help.
It won’t be hard. She knows it isn’t the purchasing department — it’s likely a ruse from Sam to stay hidden. She probably doesn’t even want to be found. There’s a good chance she’s married and living an important life and an affair will destroy her reputation. Samantha will have to keep her investigation discrete.
The next day at work she logged on to her company’s HR database and ran searches for names that contained ‘sam.’ There were plenty of hits but only two women besides herself came up. One was Samantha Guzman, a director who she knows is happily married, Catholic, and well into her late 40s. The other was an administrative assistant named Samilee Potter, a woman she’s never met. It must be her.
I remember the intensity of your brown eyes that drilled holes deep into my soul. Your golden skin was soft to the touch and those tan lines were like a tantalizing roadmap. I love how your auburn hair glistened in the sun and bounced on your shoulders as you skipped ahead of me on our way to the pool. Mostly I remember your kisses – deep, long, and slow.
With her eyes clenched it seemed like Nathan was describing her perfectly. Brown eyes, light skin, dark hair. She’s not tan though, and her hair isn’t exactly auburn. Or that short. And she doesn’t skip. She wished it was her, not this Potter girl. The kissing part was tantalizing and with her eyes clenched her imagination confirmed it.
On Friday, Samantha tucked the letter into her purse and hiked up to the third floor to check out Samilee Potter, the assistant to Colin Palermo, Vice President of Admissions. Sitting behind an oak desk with a brass nameplate engraved with “Ms. Samilee Potter” was a pregnant black woman with long spiraled hair. Samantha stood transfixed, confused.
“May I help you?”
“Un, no. Yes. Are you Sam? Is there a restroom on this floor?”
“It’s Samilee,” she smiled. Down the hall to your right.”
Samantha spun around and hustled back to the stairwell where she finally took a breath. Not her. No clues left, she had no idea who it could be. It wasn’t anyone here at the University, at least not someone who uses the name Sam.
#
I need to see you again. Let me know if you feel the same. I can come to visit, or we can meet somewhere between. Let’s do that. Please. Call me. Email me.
For the first time in over a year, Samantha felt a twinge of passion, a hint of desire. Poor Nathan needed to find his beloved Sam and he would be heartbroken to learn that his lover had lied to him. Why couldn’t she be his Sam?
The decision to write to him was agonizing, bold. She knew it was wrong and she should crumple it all up and throw it away. But he’s in love, she knew it in her heart. A little companionship wouldn’t do her any harm either, she thought, even if it’s only a pen pal and a juicy fantasy. The worst that could happen is he’d figure it out and laugh at her. That was pretty bad, brutal in fact, but survivable. He might report her to some postal service authorities and she’d get arrested for mail tampering, but she could hide the evidence and deny it — that always seems to work. Her ego, that would hurt. But on the positive side, wow!
She churned over it all weekend long, testing different approaches and tones. Sunday night, fueled with a glass of wine or two she started typing.
“Hi Nathan,” She began. No dearest or dear anything sappy like that. Keep to the basics.
“I got your letter. It’s nice to hear from you.” No, she backspaced, “It’s great to hear from you.”
Samantha struck a balance between evasive and eager, with a sprinkle of promise and hope but not too much, like she was toying with him, flirting. She revealed little about herself while probing for more clues to help build her story. She edited the email a hundred times, evaluating every word. Then, moments before the stroke of midnight, she took a big gulp of wine and signed the email: “Fondly, Sam,” then hit ‘Send.’
Pushing back from the table, she cursed herself. “This is childish you idiot, you moron, he’ll know or he’ll find out and then the real Sam will appear and everything will blow up in my face. I’ll be a laughingstock, shit, shit, shit.” She pounded the table with both hands so hard that the salt shaker crashed to the floor, scattering its contents everywhere.
#
Monday morning was a fever dream. She checked her email incessantly, admonishing herself every time. No word, no response. At lunchtime, she sent herself an email from her business account to make sure it was working. It was. By noon there was still no reply. He discovered she’s a fake and he’s called the postal authorities. She watches stormtroopers crash through the door and drag her away to a dirty dungeon where people stare through the bars taunting her. The pitiful lonely girl who can’t even win a boyfriend by tricking him. Ha ha, what a loser she is.
“Samantha!” Winnie shocked her out of her dream.
“Huh? Yeah?
“I need to speak with you in the conference room.”
Oh shit, they found out. HR must have gotten a copy and tracked down the real Sam. I’m in trouble, Winnie is going to fire me. I hope they don’t search my apartment, oh God, the letter is sitting right there on the counter in plain sight. They can’t miss it, I should have hidden it, I need to get home and cover my tracks.
“Sure, I’ll be right there,” she muttered, flipping through papers on her desk.
Winnie is the department manager, Samantha’s boss. Their relationship is cordial and professional, but not close. Samantha has always believed that she would be a much better boss but doesn’t have the contacts at the top as Winnie does. It’s not what you know, it’s who you know, and Winnie has friends in high places. That’s the only reason she’s the boss.
“People are talking,” Winnie said as Samantha slunk into her chair, resigned to her fate. “They’re telling me how well you covered for me during my vacation last month and how effective your new legal review process is. You did a nice job on that.” Winnie paused for effect but Samantha was too surprised to speak.
“I’d like you to help me with a new project.” It wasn’t a question. “The executives want us to research and report on our priorities if we had to cut expenditures by twenty percent. It’s purely hypothetical, there’s no reason to believe they would do that…” which means they sure as hell plan to do that. Winnie prattled on about the importance of the project, expectations, sharing of workload (mostly falling on Samantha), timeline, and then finished with “Needless to say this is sensitive.”
Samantha was astonished, excited — exactly the opposite of what she was expecting. Rather than being fired, she was being tagged to support a major project, one that the executive team requested. This was her opportunity to shine and she knew she would glow as bright as the sun and they’d see her for what she was, a brilliant and intuitive businesswoman.
She walked to her desk like a model on the runway. It didn’t matter that Winnie had all the connections because Samantha would soon have them too. The executive presentation would be the pinnacle of her career.
While scribbling notes she remembered Nathan and realized she hadn’t checked her email since noon. It didn’t seem quite as urgent but she logged in and refreshed her list.
It was there.
The email with a subject line of “RE: Reconnecting”
It was from Nathan.
She gulped and looked around furtively, knowing that everyone was watching, but they weren’t. Her face flashed scarlet as she grimaced and clicked.
OMG Sam, I’m so glad to hear from you. I didn’t think you’d get my letter and I expected I’d never see you again. You made my day! It’s been rough at work lately and your email gave me hope. So much to say, where do I start? …”
Her hands trembled as she took shallow sips of air, scanning the rest of the email. He reminisced about meeting at lunch in The Caricol and she Googled it back to a resort in Jamaica called The Palms. He referenced two different evening events so she knew they spent at least two nights together. He loves his computers and hates that she doesn’t talk much about her life (that’s reassuring). His family lives near him but they’re not very close. He says she’s beautiful and he remembers how much he loved her deep, dark, inviting eyes.
He wants a picture and he wants to meet. More than pen pals.
#
All week, Samantha dug into the work project with vigor, and Winnie helped out more than expected. They spent hours together in the evenings poring over expenses and assets, sharing bowls of Pho, sushi, and sandwiches.
“I’m getting a divorce,” Winnie announced one evening.
“What? Oh my God, I’m so sorry. Did this just happen?”
“No, it’s been simmering for over a year. Eddie cares more about his clients than me. He’s a banker, you know. Lots of schmoozing and dinners, and it’s all about money. We met there, at the bank, a lifetime ago. It’s over now.” She paused, then brightened. “You Winsome you lose some.”
“I’m sorry?”
“You know, my name, Winsome, Winnie. ‘You Winsome, you lose some.’ Funny, huh?”
Samantha had a picture in her mind of a power-hungry bitch who would trample over anyone who got in her way. But she’s not that at all. She’s vulnerable, genuine, and nice.
Nathan has been pushing. He’s only a day’s drive away and they could meet in Detroit or Toronto, or he could come to her town. He was persistent and kept asking for a picture. Samantha kept her cool, claiming to be busy at work but realized she’d need to make a move soon. A trip to the salon and a photo were in order.
“Short to my shoulders and heavy on the auburn highlights please,” she instructed the stylist and the scissors snipped away the last remnants of her escape plan. The girl in the mirror was Sam now, bouncy and bubbly, popular and confident, the antithesis of the real Samantha. That night she darkened her eyes, fluffed her bob, and took a hundred selfies until she had the perfect one. She was coy and mysterious in the moody light, her face visible but slightly obscured.
He didn’t exhibit any outward signs that he’d detected fraud. ‘You’re so beautiful,’ he wrote the next day. He claimed the picture was exactly as he remembered her but she was even more stunning than before. He included another picture of himself in a suit and tie, his curly hair tamed with gel. The man cut a fine figure with his broad shoulders and gregarious smile.
Then she did it. She gave in and made a date with him for three weekends hence, which would give her enough time for a new dress and a few trips to the tanning bed. They would meet in Toronto. In a hotel. One room with one bed.
Samantha’s head was exploding with excitement and anticipation. She couldn’t sleep, couldn’t eat, couldn’t think about anything else, terrified and exhilarated. Should she be doing this? Of course not, it was a lie, a deception. It was wrong but she wasn’t lonely anymore and if it worked she’d have a boyfriend again, one who was handsome and smart and who loved her. ‘Confidence,’ she reminded herself as she stood tall in front of the bathroom mirror, admiring the new Sam.
“Holy cow, girl! What have you done with your hair?” Winnie gushed with compliments. “It’s beautiful. I’ve always liked wearing that length and it’s a total smash on you. I need a trim and some highlights again. Where did you…”
#
Samantha sat on the padded bench adjusting her new dress in the lobby of the Toronto Suites, nervous as a teenager. Her hair and makeup were just so, and her new diamond earrings sparkled as brightly as she did. They were an expensive splurge but frugality has its limits and she has quite a lot of money in her trust fund anyway. This is a special occasion after all.
“Hey, Sam!” It was him. “We’re all checked in.” He was beaming and holding a single red rose in his outstretched hand.
“Nathan?” she stood up and took the rose, realizing she said his name as a question. “Thank you, Nathan.”
“This is awkward,” He leaned in and gave her a big hug. “You feel so warm and your hair smells divine. It’s like we’re back on the beach again.” Holding her shoulders, he looked into her eyes as if evaluating them, sizing her up. Samantha pulled back, uncertain if he’d detected something wrong. She had no way of knowing if he could tell the difference. To her, this was a man in a photo, a fantasy she’d built into a lover.
They went up to the room first and dropped off their bags. He reserved a suite with a couch and a TV, but the King bed was screaming out for attention and it terrified her. The hug he gave her in the lobby still tingled.
Dinner was a truffle and sausage risotto for her and a bison tenderloin for him, medium rare. And wine, lots of wine. They drained a bottle of Chardonnay and took a Merlot back to the room to sip while sitting on the couch relearning how to enjoy each other’s company. Nathan couldn’t stop talking about their experiences in Jamaica while Samantha slipped in enthusiastic, but generic interjections when she could. She learned a lot. One thing led to another and they ended up in the king bed together, naked. Two hours later the sheets and blankets lay scattered across the floor and they were sweating and puffing, smiling, her head on his shoulder.
The morning sun accentuated the throbbing in her head as she watched him sleep. Was it real? Did she make love to a man she’d never met, pretending to be someone she isn’t? She should feel shame but she doesn’t care, it was exquisite and the risk is intoxicating. She succeeded. Tentatively. He doesn’t know she’s a fraud, at least not yet.
“Let’s run away together, Sam.”
She reached out and draped her arm over his chest. “You’re insane, Nathan. You hardly know me.”
“I know everything I need to know. Wouldn’t it be romantic?”
It was an absurd notion, they both knew it. Especially after the first, or rather the third, night they’d spent together. The idea evaporated with a wave and they got up, showered, and went for breakfast.
They met again the following Saturday. This time in Detroit.
Phone calls and long conversations were a nightly ritual. She traveled to his house and he to hers. Weeks turned into months and the end of the year loomed. She gave him a key to her apartment.
“Where would you go?” he asked her one night.
“What do you mean?”
“You know… if we ran away together.”
“That again? Nathan, it’s silly.”
“Oh come on, humor me. Suppose we could be together anywhere in the world, where would it be?”
“Easy, somewhere on a remote sandy spit in the British Virgin Islands. I read all about the islands there and they sound so charming and romantic. We’d live in a simple home near the beach with a sailboat and a small dog. We’d go fishing and boating. We’d snorkel and catch conch and lobster and steam them over a campfire by the shore. We’d drink margaritas and Piña coladas and fall asleep in each other’s arms under the stars.”
“Wow, that’s specific. It sounds wonderful, Sam. Let’s do that someday.”
#
“Where did you get the lovely flowers?” Winnie asked Samantha as she set the vase on her desk.
“My boyfriend sent them.” She was still reluctant to reveal much about Nathan, worried that the real Sam might somehow catch wind of the affair. Winnie was becoming such a good friend though and the excitement was too great to keep bottled up inside. “He’s a computer guy, smart and good-looking.”
“Ah, yes. They’re the best,” Winnie said. “I had a fling with a computer geek once. A Canadian. I should look him up now that I’m divorced. I wonder if he’s…” She looked as if she wanted to share more but stopped herself. “Grab the thumb drive, are you ready for the dry run?”
“Uh, yeah, I’m ready, let’s go.” A Canadian?
Every presentation to the executive team needs to be as polished as a gemstone. Executive panels aren’t for the timid as they always pepper the presenter with deep questions from all angles which can leave an unprepared speaker babbling incoherently. Samantha was nervous, especially because of her childhood stutter, and planned to go through as many dry runs and edits as necessary to get the flow and delivery right. For topics of this magnitude, one executive is assigned to help, and in this case, it was the CFO, Roger Petrik. Roger is young, ambitious, and as sharp as they come. He was a friend of Winnie’s, one of the reasons she was a manager.
Roger embraced Winnie as they entered the room, and shook Samantha’s hand with a snug grip. “I’ve heard great things about you, Samantha, and I hear you’ll be the lead presenter. I’m eager to see it, let’s get started.” The first pass was terrible with so many interruptions and edits, but after a dozen more tries she felt like it had a nice flow. There was a lot of work still to do, but she was confident it would be fine.
Winnie patted her on the back as they left the conference room. “Nice job today.”
“Oh, Sam, I need a word,” Roger called out.
They both turned to walk back in but Winnie stopped her “Roger calls me Sam — an old nickname. I’ll catch you later.”
Samantha’s knees turned to rubber as she watched Winnie walk back into the room, auburn hair bouncing on her shoulders. She slunk out around the corner and collapsed against the hallway wall for support. He called her Sam. Roger knows her as Sam. How could she be a Sam? Winnie. Winsome. Some. Sam? An old nickname? Her stomach churned as she rode the elevator down. Winnie was Sam. The Sam. The Sam that she was impersonating.
Her perfect world was teetering on the verge of collapse.
#
“You can’t have him! He’s mine!” Samantha screamed into the mirror. She came home early with a stomach ache. Her hands clenched so tightly that her nails dug into her palms drawing blood. Panting, teeth clenched, she felt like her whole body would explode and splatter all over the bathroom. Maybe it should, maybe she deserved it, it would be a fitting end to this romantic debacle.
She loves him, and he loves her. It’s obvious. They’ve said it to each other many times. Winnie would be too brash for his tastes and it would never work out for them anyway. She was Sam now, and he was hers. Even if he found out he’d still prefer her. It may have started as a lie but it’s not anymore. Not much anyway. He would forgive her, wouldn’t he?
Later that night she called Nathan, anxious as a twit. “Let’s run away together, I’m sick of my job.”
“You sound funny. I thought you wanted to wait?”
“No, I’m ready now. I love you and the only thing I want is to be with you. You said you can work remotely, and I have enough money, I can always get another job if I need one.”
He laughed. “It’s funny, Sam, just this morning I found the perfect home for us. It’s on the back side of Tortola in the British Virgin Islands, exactly where you want to be. It’s a bungalow a few steps from the beach, and the price is right. I’ll send you the link.
It sounded wonderful, perfect in fact. The pictures showed a cozy home painted in robin’s egg blue with palm trees and a sandy beachfront. It was within walking distance of the town and surprisingly cheap at only a few hundred thousand dollars. They could fix it up and he could work from there. She had some money in a trust fund that could last her forever if she was careful.
They talked again the next day and Nathan joined the real estate agent on their call and he said they’d have to move fast if they wanted it. He explained there was an offer in hand already but the seller would consider another if it was higher.
“Do it!” Samantha said.
“Sight unseen?” Nathan confirmed.
“Let’s do it.”
“Okay then. I’ll transfer half of the money to you and then we can wire the full amount from your account. We’ll split it right down the middle, fifty-fifty.”
A week passed in agonizing anticipation with a lot of urgent emotional phone calls, one of which included a brief mention of marriage. Their over-listing offer was accepted and they had until Tuesday to transfer the money. It would be a thrill to get married and live on a tropical island, a wonderland of dreams. It would also keep Winnie from finding them. She swore that Nathan would never find out.
#
Samantha drove to Ottawa and she and Nathan sat down in his office to make the transfers.
“Are you absolutely sure?” he asked her for the umpteenth time. “Once we wire the money, we can’t change our minds. And like I said, there are no loans and down payments here, we have to buy it outright.”
“Yes, yes, I keep telling you. Let’s do this.”
They logged into their accounts and Nathan transferred half of the money to Samantha’s checking account. It showed up a few minutes later. “Ha ha I could take your money and run,” she teased. He grinned and shook his head.
Samantha transferred the other half from her trust fund, and the full sum was sitting there right in front of them. “Last chance,” she teased as she clicked the button to send the money to the escrow company. She jumped up, dancing around the room, floating on air. “We own a house!” she screamed.
“That’s the Sam I know and love.” He jumped up and wrapped her in a bear hug. “Welcome to home ownership, my dear.” Nathan dropped down on one knee and opened a small felt box with a glittering diamond ring inside. “Marry me, Sam.”
Squealing in delight, Samantha slid the ring down her finger and spun around in circles, showing it off to all the walls. “Let’s get married on Tortola!”
“Anything you want my love. Anything. How soon can you go — I’m ready now.”
Nathan pushed for urgency but they ultimately agreed she would put in her notice the day after the big presentation next week. He would arrange all the remote-working details with his company, buy the plane tickets, and by the end of January they’d flit off to a new life together in a new home on a beautiful romantic island.
Wednesday came, the day of the presentation, and Samantha was nervous. “Oh my God!” Winnie said as she ran up to Samantha’s desk. “My son was in a wreck and I need to go see him. I need to go right away. Oh my God, you’ll have to do the presentation without me. I’m so sorry.”
“No, that’s okay, Winnie. Go! Go see your son, I’m sure he needs you. I’m so sorry, I hope he’s okay. I got the presentation, we’ve practiced a million times and it will go fine. Good luck.”
Winnie grabbed her coat and laptop and sprinted out the door.
Then it hit her. She would be doing the presentation alone. No safety net. If a hard question came up she’d look like a fool. She’d stutter and they’d laugh at her. It didn’t matter, she reassured herself. In a few days, she’d be on a flight to a tropical paradise, a new life, and a husband. She looked at her empty finger and sighed. The ring was hidden in her drawer at home. Soon she’d be wearing it full time and she’d never see this place or Winnie again. Her confidence was back and she was ready.
“Thank you for this opportunity…” Samantha began, standing at the end of the table in the room they called The Fishbowl. The executives were dressed formally, stern, eyes intent. Slide after slide she told the story as smoothly as a bird in flight and she parried all the questions like a pro. Halfway through she caught sight of a man shuffling past the glass, looking away. He was familiar, like Nathan, but it couldn’t be and she didn’t have time to think about it. A few ‘Ums,” and “Uhs” later, she was back on track, finishing with a flourish and a friendly round of applause.
“Thank you, Samantha,” they said, and she was out the door, relieved it was over. The next steps would belong to Winnie, and it felt like the weight of the world had lifted from her shoulders.
That man who looked like Nathan bothered her though. He offered to come to visit her at the university from time to time but she was adamant that she wouldn’t allow it. Reception would know, so she headed off in that direction to confirm it wasn’t him.
“Can I see your visitor list?” she asked John, the man behind the desk. He handed it to her as he lifted the receiver to answer a call. “Nathan Vonn” was the third entry on the list and her heart skipped a beat. It indicated that he signed out about ten minutes ago. She cursed and squeezed the clipboard in her hands while John finished his call. Samantha thanked her lucky stars that Winnie had left earlier, otherwise her well-crafted deception would have been exposed. This can’t go on, it’s too risky. She’ll put in her notice tomorrow. “This man,” she pointed to the list “did he leave any message? Did he say why he was here?”
“Um, Nathan. No messages. He and Winnie left together, a late lunch I think they said. Why?”
Samantha turned white and doubled over, groaning.
“Are you okay?” John asked. “Do you want me to call Winnie or something? An ambulance?”
“No,” she squeaked. “I have to go,” and she sprinted out the door to her car and raced home in a daze, running every stop sign and light.
She slammed open her apartment door and scanned the room. Everything was exactly as it should be, untouched. The clock on the wall ticked lightly, her monitor and keyboard sat in perfect alignment on the desk, dishes rested on the drying rack by the sink. Puzzled, she sat down at her desk and opened the drawer. Her ring winked at her and she slipped it on. She wiggled the mouse, logged into her bank account and moaned, dropping her head in her hands.
Then she launched into a scream at the top of her lungs, tearing at her hair, kicking over the chair, and pounding on the desk. Her trust fund was gone.
Samantha grabbed her keyboard and swung it at the monitor, shattering the screen. “You bastard! You bitch!” she cried out, not caring who overheard. An envelope flew out and dropped to the floor. Still enraged, she kicked the desk and flung a mug of pens against the wall, denting it. Finally exhausted and gasping heavily she leaned over and picked up the envelope. Inside was a check for ten thousand dollars, a plane ticket, and a letter from Nathan.
Samantha,
I am so sorry. I’m deeply ashamed of what I’ve done and I know you don’t believe it but I do love you. Please hear me out. I didn’t know you when Winnie suggested we take your money but I do now and I know you’re not the terrible person she said you were. You don’t deserve this. We made a pact to grab all the cash we could and run away to start a new life together — just as you and I were planning to do. She and I were lovers, misguided and blinded by an opportunity that was evil and cruel. Inexcusable. Greed consumed us and we ruined you.
But I have another plan. I had hoped that the two of us would sneak away before Winnie and I took your money but she accelerated the timeline and we had to rush out. As you read this we’re on our way to a new home, but I don’t plan to stay there for long. I screwed up, Samantha. I fell in love with you.
Take the ticket I bought and go to our new place. Only you and I know of it and I’ll never tell. In a few weeks, I’ll escape and meet you there and I’ll bring your money with me.
Take the house and turn me in to the authorities. I won’t resist, I deserve it. But give me one last chance.
Please trust me. Meet me — you know where.
Love,
Nathan
The story kept me on my toes. It was well written and enjoyable. I would love to read more from this author.
Thanks Ellen. I’m glad to hear that you liked it – I have more on the way.