Waking Olivia
“The police are waiting to see me in Peter’s office. “Do you have any idea what this is about?” he asks as we walk inside.
“No,” I say stonily.
“I don’t want to be blindsided, Olivia. If you’ve done something please tell me now.”
“Maybe it’s that counterfeiting operation I run out of my bedroom,” I say, rolling my eyes. “I’m not on parole, Will. I don’t routinely go around committing crimes.”
I go shower and head to the office with my stomach in knots. Yes, I’ve had more than my fair share of “incidents” but it’s not like I have some secret urge to go knock over a bank or something. It seems unlikely I’d have done it in my sleep, but I’d also have sworn I never cried in my sleep and look how wrong I was there.
In Peter’s office, the faces could not be more grim, and my stomach sinks a little lower. “Have a seat, Olivia,”
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