Women's Fiction
![Lindsay Cameron - [object Object] author](https://res.cloudinary.com/readsomnia/image/upload/authors/a_B00T9T8J92.jpg)
Just One Look: A Novel
A young woman's escalating obsession with a seemingly perfect man leads her down a dangerous path in this "delicious and marvelously controlled" (The New York Times Book Review) novel of suspense.
"Bitingly modern and totally addictive, Lindsay Cameron's suspense debut is the freshest take on stalker fiction since You."-Andrea Bartz, New York Times bestselling author of We Were Never Here
NAMED ONE OF THE BEST BOOKS OF THE YEAR BY SHE READS
Eyes aren't the windows to the soul. Emails are.
Cassie Woodson is adrift. After suffering an epic tumble down the corporate ladder, Cassie finds the only way she can pay her bills is to take a thankless temp job reviewing correspondence for a large-scale fraud suit. The daily drudgery amplifies all that her life is lacking-love, friends, stability-and leaves her with too much time on her hands, which she spends fixating on the mistakes that brought her to this point.
While sorting through a relentless deluge of emails, something catches her eye: the tender (and totally private) exchanges between a partner at the firm, Forest Watts, and his enchanting wife, Annabelle. Cassie knows she shouldn't read them. But it's just one look. And once that door opens, she finds she can't look away.
Every day, twenty floors below Forest's corner office, Cassie dissects their emails from her dingy workstation. A few clicks of her mouse and she can see every adoring word they write to each other. By peeking into their apparently perfect life, Cassie finds renewed purpose and happiness, reveling in their penchant for vintage wines, morning juice presses, and lavish dinner parties thrown in their stately Westchester home. There are no secrets from her. Or so she thinks.
Her admiration quickly escalates into all-out mimicry, because she wants this life more than anything. Maybe if she plays make-believe long enough, it will become real for her. But when Cassie orchestrates a "chance" meeting with Forest in the real world and sees something that throws the state of his marriage into question, the fantasy she's been carefully cultivating shatters. Suddenly, she doesn't simply admire Annabelle-she wants to take her place. And she's armed with the tools to make that happen.
"Bitingly modern and totally addictive, Lindsay Cameron's suspense debut is the freshest take on stalker fiction since You."-Andrea Bartz, New York Times bestselling author of We Were Never Here
NAMED ONE OF THE BEST BOOKS OF THE YEAR BY SHE READS
Eyes aren't the windows to the soul. Emails are.
Cassie Woodson is adrift. After suffering an epic tumble down the corporate ladder, Cassie finds the only way she can pay her bills is to take a thankless temp job reviewing correspondence for a large-scale fraud suit. The daily drudgery amplifies all that her life is lacking-love, friends, stability-and leaves her with too much time on her hands, which she spends fixating on the mistakes that brought her to this point.
While sorting through a relentless deluge of emails, something catches her eye: the tender (and totally private) exchanges between a partner at the firm, Forest Watts, and his enchanting wife, Annabelle. Cassie knows she shouldn't read them. But it's just one look. And once that door opens, she finds she can't look away.
Every day, twenty floors below Forest's corner office, Cassie dissects their emails from her dingy workstation. A few clicks of her mouse and she can see every adoring word they write to each other. By peeking into their apparently perfect life, Cassie finds renewed purpose and happiness, reveling in their penchant for vintage wines, morning juice presses, and lavish dinner parties thrown in their stately Westchester home. There are no secrets from her. Or so she thinks.
Her admiration quickly escalates into all-out mimicry, because she wants this life more than anything. Maybe if she plays make-believe long enough, it will become real for her. But when Cassie orchestrates a "chance" meeting with Forest in the real world and sees something that throws the state of his marriage into question, the fantasy she's been carefully cultivating shatters. Suddenly, she doesn't simply admire Annabelle-she wants to take her place. And she's armed with the tools to make that happen.
Editorial Reviews
"Fresh, fun, and totally wicked . . . a sharp, modern thrill ride with a witty heroine."-Entertainment Weekly
"Lindsay Cameron's thriller will appeal to fans of You, in that readers get a glimpse inside the head of someone willing to go to extreme lengths for what they want. . . . Nothing and no one are as they seem in this thriller about envy, obsession, class, stalking, and revenge."-Oprah Daily
"I inhaled Just One Look. I was going to read one chapter, then one chapter became the whole thing. YUM."-Caroline Kepnes, New York Times bestselling author of the You series
"A brilliantly addictive exploration of modern loneliness and obsession, with hints of The Girl on the Train."-Helen Monks Takar, author of Precious You
"[A] wild ride of a novel . . . one of the most viscerally accurate renderings of corporate law in recent fiction. It's also a delicious and marvelously controlled portrayal of one woman's delusions, and how they undo her, but also create something new and whole."-Sarah Weinman, The New York Times Book Review
"A relentlessly gripping and cunning tale of the new Pandora's box-the inbox. Just One Look had me promising myself just one more chapter, just one more page, just one, until-oops-I was done."-Chandler Baker, New York Times bestselling author of Whisper Network
"Will leave you chilled to the bone."-PopSugar
"You will be obsessed after the first paragraph. Lindsay Cameron has created an unforgettable character who beckons from the pages until you've devoured her every last word. Just One Look is a delicious and irresistible read!"-Liv Constantine, internationally bestselling author of
"Lindsay Cameron's thriller will appeal to fans of You, in that readers get a glimpse inside the head of someone willing to go to extreme lengths for what they want. . . . Nothing and no one are as they seem in this thriller about envy, obsession, class, stalking, and revenge."-Oprah Daily
"I inhaled Just One Look. I was going to read one chapter, then one chapter became the whole thing. YUM."-Caroline Kepnes, New York Times bestselling author of the You series
"A brilliantly addictive exploration of modern loneliness and obsession, with hints of The Girl on the Train."-Helen Monks Takar, author of Precious You
"[A] wild ride of a novel . . . one of the most viscerally accurate renderings of corporate law in recent fiction. It's also a delicious and marvelously controlled portrayal of one woman's delusions, and how they undo her, but also create something new and whole."-Sarah Weinman, The New York Times Book Review
"A relentlessly gripping and cunning tale of the new Pandora's box-the inbox. Just One Look had me promising myself just one more chapter, just one more page, just one, until-oops-I was done."-Chandler Baker, New York Times bestselling author of Whisper Network
"Will leave you chilled to the bone."-PopSugar
"You will be obsessed after the first paragraph. Lindsay Cameron has created an unforgettable character who beckons from the pages until you've devoured her every last word. Just One Look is a delicious and irresistible read!"-Liv Constantine, internationally bestselling author of
Readers Top Reviews
Joseph KasimerLui
A good summer read. Well-written and an interesting narrative. However, the plot line is pretty obvious and not hard to figure out well before the actual reveal.
Lawyer MomJoseph
Received this yesterday and all my best intentions for work were thrown to the wind as I could not put it down once I started ... I guess we all have a little Cassie obsessiveness in us!
Georgina ChapmanL
Read Lindsay Cameron’s JUST ONE LOOK. You will question your passwords, your inbox, your social media, and everything that is out in the open if someone latches onto you. This book is so well written and creepy with Cassie’s manic obsession. Five huge stars!
Drea_PhDM. Walrat
I’m honestly mad at the sites that recommended this book. I read a lot, at least a book a week if not more, and my favorite genre is the psychological thriller, so please believe me when I say I know a good book. I have even enjoyed plenty of mediocre books because they had a captivating storyline or interesting characters. This book has neither of those. The protagonist is insufferable. The plot is largely ridiculous. It only gets sort of interesting about 80% of the way through, and it’s so brief, it’s not worth it. The writing is undergraduate creative writing class level at best. I only finished it because I bought it, but it was a waste of time and energy.
Shawna ReynoldsPa
When I say I struggled to read this book, I mean I STRUGGLED to read this book. It was extremely difficult to read. But not in the “oh this person has mental illness and it’s written so damn well it makes me uncomfortable” way. It is just very poorly written, none of the characters have any sort of redeeming trait, it’s written like it’s supposed to be a building suspense…and it does nothing but fall short. I’m actually pretty mad I spent $14 and precious time I’ll never get back on it.
Short Excerpt Teaser
Chapter One
As I stepped off the elevator on the second floor, I found myself silently begging for a calamity. A fire, a flash flood, even a tiny earthquake would suffice. Anything that would give me a legitimate reason to evacuate the area immediately. Or, better yet, I wouldn't make it out in time and the somber voice of Brian Williams would detail my demise on the nightly news. Cassie Woodson entered the midtown office building on the first day of her new job mere seconds before the entire skyscraper was reduced to rubble by the powerful explosion.
Calling this a "new job" would be generous, though. That implied some degree of longevity. But hopefully Brian Williams would throw me a bone.
I smoothed my hands over my wrinkled pants and scanned for a floor directory, feeling disoriented. It had been six months since I stepped foot inside an office building-or almost anywhere outside of my apartment for that matter-and there was something about the buzz from the overhead lights that was making me dizzy. Or maybe it was just being in the upright position for longer than the time it took to walk from my couch to the bathroom.
"There will be a temporary employee badge waiting for you at the reception desk in the lobby. From there, you need to take the elevator to the second floor and head to Room 241," the man from the temp agency had painstakingly explained on my voicemail last night, as if he was giving directions to a confused toddler. He was obviously in need of the fee he received for placing me. There was a note of foreboding in his tone when he finished with, "I told them you were coming, so don't go AWOL." I wondered how many of his clients accepted a job and promptly went AWOL. If it was more than zero, it wasn't a good sign.
A petite woman with an armload of accordion files and a no-nonsense expression emerged from one of the numbered doors and walked briskly toward the elevator bank. I stood up straighter and threw my shoulders back, trying to force my body to emit a sense of composure I wasn't really feeling.
"Can I help you with something, hon?" she asked, arching a quizzical brow.
If only you could. I swallowed hard and said, "I'm just looking for Room 241."
"Second door on your right." She gestured with her head as she stepped onto the elevator.
"Thanks," I called out as the doors banged shut. The dread that had been accumulating since morning collected in my throat.
It's only temporary, I silently repeated to myself, wishing the Advil I'd chased with Pepto minutes ago would somehow help dull the thoughts ricocheting in my head. Clearly, I needed something stronger.
Room 241 was beside the emergency exit door, and as I chewed my lip, briefly considering which one to open, the voice of the Let's Make a Deal game show host ran through my mind. Cassie Woodson, do you want door number one or door number two? I was almost certainly going to pick the door that had a family of goats bleating behind it instead of the shiny new car, but what choice did I have? I couldn't go AWOL or I wouldn't get a paycheck. And I was fresh out of other options. It was bleating goats or be evicted from my apartment for not paying my rent.
I took a deep breath, cautiously put my hand on the chrome door handle, pushed it open, and stepped inside Room 241.
"Seriously? Another one?" A beaky-faced man called out when I entered the bunker-like room. "Shit," he huffed. "That must mean we're getting another data dump if the higher-ups are sending in more troops." He pushed his chair back from his spot on the long, industrial table of computers, stood up, and dusted his fingertips against his leg, spreading powdered sugar streaks all over his black pants.
"I'm Ricky." He stuck out his hand. "Staff attorney extraordinaire. I run the ship around here."
"I'm Cassie." I shook his clammy palm and forced a smile. My eyes darted around the windowless room which, judging from the piles of banker's boxes pushed into the corners, doubled as a storage area. I had the sudden feeling that the stained white walls were closing in on me, constricting around my lungs.
Deep breaths.
"Cassie." Ricky nodded, furrowing his brow, as if rolling the word around in his head. "Well, Cassie, I didn't know the temp agency was sending over a new girl today so your arrival is news to me." I cringed at both the word "girl" and "agency." It made me feel like Peggy Olson showing up for her first day at Sterling Cooper. Except Peggy was embarking on an upward career trajectory, but I most certainly was not.
"I was . . . I was given this at the reception desk." I held up my laminated ID card that read temp 021.
He took the card and studied it...
As I stepped off the elevator on the second floor, I found myself silently begging for a calamity. A fire, a flash flood, even a tiny earthquake would suffice. Anything that would give me a legitimate reason to evacuate the area immediately. Or, better yet, I wouldn't make it out in time and the somber voice of Brian Williams would detail my demise on the nightly news. Cassie Woodson entered the midtown office building on the first day of her new job mere seconds before the entire skyscraper was reduced to rubble by the powerful explosion.
Calling this a "new job" would be generous, though. That implied some degree of longevity. But hopefully Brian Williams would throw me a bone.
I smoothed my hands over my wrinkled pants and scanned for a floor directory, feeling disoriented. It had been six months since I stepped foot inside an office building-or almost anywhere outside of my apartment for that matter-and there was something about the buzz from the overhead lights that was making me dizzy. Or maybe it was just being in the upright position for longer than the time it took to walk from my couch to the bathroom.
"There will be a temporary employee badge waiting for you at the reception desk in the lobby. From there, you need to take the elevator to the second floor and head to Room 241," the man from the temp agency had painstakingly explained on my voicemail last night, as if he was giving directions to a confused toddler. He was obviously in need of the fee he received for placing me. There was a note of foreboding in his tone when he finished with, "I told them you were coming, so don't go AWOL." I wondered how many of his clients accepted a job and promptly went AWOL. If it was more than zero, it wasn't a good sign.
A petite woman with an armload of accordion files and a no-nonsense expression emerged from one of the numbered doors and walked briskly toward the elevator bank. I stood up straighter and threw my shoulders back, trying to force my body to emit a sense of composure I wasn't really feeling.
"Can I help you with something, hon?" she asked, arching a quizzical brow.
If only you could. I swallowed hard and said, "I'm just looking for Room 241."
"Second door on your right." She gestured with her head as she stepped onto the elevator.
"Thanks," I called out as the doors banged shut. The dread that had been accumulating since morning collected in my throat.
It's only temporary, I silently repeated to myself, wishing the Advil I'd chased with Pepto minutes ago would somehow help dull the thoughts ricocheting in my head. Clearly, I needed something stronger.
Room 241 was beside the emergency exit door, and as I chewed my lip, briefly considering which one to open, the voice of the Let's Make a Deal game show host ran through my mind. Cassie Woodson, do you want door number one or door number two? I was almost certainly going to pick the door that had a family of goats bleating behind it instead of the shiny new car, but what choice did I have? I couldn't go AWOL or I wouldn't get a paycheck. And I was fresh out of other options. It was bleating goats or be evicted from my apartment for not paying my rent.
I took a deep breath, cautiously put my hand on the chrome door handle, pushed it open, and stepped inside Room 241.
"Seriously? Another one?" A beaky-faced man called out when I entered the bunker-like room. "Shit," he huffed. "That must mean we're getting another data dump if the higher-ups are sending in more troops." He pushed his chair back from his spot on the long, industrial table of computers, stood up, and dusted his fingertips against his leg, spreading powdered sugar streaks all over his black pants.
"I'm Ricky." He stuck out his hand. "Staff attorney extraordinaire. I run the ship around here."
"I'm Cassie." I shook his clammy palm and forced a smile. My eyes darted around the windowless room which, judging from the piles of banker's boxes pushed into the corners, doubled as a storage area. I had the sudden feeling that the stained white walls were closing in on me, constricting around my lungs.
Deep breaths.
"Cassie." Ricky nodded, furrowing his brow, as if rolling the word around in his head. "Well, Cassie, I didn't know the temp agency was sending over a new girl today so your arrival is news to me." I cringed at both the word "girl" and "agency." It made me feel like Peggy Olson showing up for her first day at Sterling Cooper. Except Peggy was embarking on an upward career trajectory, but I most certainly was not.
"I was . . . I was given this at the reception desk." I held up my laminated ID card that read temp 021.
He took the card and studied it...
