by Lily White
At some point Rachel had taken the seat beside me, her hand reaching out to snatch the phone from my grasp. “What the hell are these messages, Mia?”
Turning, I watched her scroll through the messages, her face deepening with anger as she read the conversation from the night before. “Who is this? Is this Donovan?”
Weakly, I shook my head and realized that if I wanted Rachel to walk away from this, I had no choice but to tell her the truth.
“The messages are from my stalker.”
“Your what?”
Blinking, I leaned back against the couch, resigned to the fact that I was going to spill all the horrid and embarrassing details to my best friend. I knew Rachel well enough to know she wouldn’t let this go until she understood every bad decision, every frightening or pitiable moment that led me to this point.
“My stalker,” I explained after clearing my throat. “The man who’s been messaging me and following me for a few days now.”
“A few days! What the hell, Mia? Why haven’t you told me about this? When did it start? Does this have something to do with Donovan?”
The last question tripped me up, because in truth, I had no idea if it had anything to do with Donovan. Bits and pieces I’d learned since working for him would lead me to believe that yes, he had some hand in this, but the likelihood that a man who’d watched his girlfriend die as a result of violent crime becoming a criminal himself…it didn’t seem like a possibility.
“I’m not sure.”
Setting the phone down, she turned to me, her hands folded together like a kindergarten teacher would do when scolding an out of control child. “This is what we’re going to do. We’re going to start from the beginning. You’re going to give me every detail about how this started, when it started, why it started and how you plan on making it stop. Then we’re going to carry out whatever plan it is you have to stop it because, surely, you can’t enjoy being harassed by a stranger who claims to be watching you at all times.”
Clapping her hands once as if to emphasize the list she’d finished reciting, she said, “Let’s begin.”
Sighing, I clenched my eyes shut and opened them again to find her staring at me with an expectant gaze. Rachel wasn’t going to let this go, so I spilled every detail including how I’d signed up with the website she already warned me about only for it to disappear once I received payment and the list of rules. I told her about finding the rose in my bed one morning, and the details of the software Donovan recently sold to his clients. I told her about my sprints to the car, and the fact that whoever was texting me had access to my life. I told her I’d considered going to the police, but hadn’t found the time yet, or the proof. By the time I was finished confessing all my sins, her face was a lovely shade of crimson, the anger tightening her shoulders and causing her jaw to tic from how hard she clenched her teeth.
At the moment, I wasn’t sure if I was more scared of the stalker or my best friend, because it was obvious by the expression on her face that she was going to slaughter me for what I did.
“Is that all?” she asked several seconds after my voice went silent and I let out a breath, relieved to finally tell someone about my problem.
“Yes,” I breathed out, the weight of my foolish decisions now weighing on me even more after confessing them.
“Oh, Mia.” Rachel’s expression softened in sympathy, her shoulders losing some of their tension as she curled up beside me. Careful not to touch me, she laid her head against the backrest and stared over at me instead. It was same look from when we were teens, the same look she’d given me when I finally explained everything my father was doing to me at home. No, he’d never crossed the line into criminal abuse, but the emotional abuse had been enough to wreck me when I was a vulnerable girl learning what it meant to be a woman.
Judging by the current state of my life, I couldn’t deny that my father had been right. I was a failure, and it appeared certain that I truly would amount to nothing in this lifetime.
After several minutes of comforting silence, Mia blinked her pretty eyes and spoke softly about what would happen next. “This is what we’re going to do: First thing in the morning, you’re going to call into work and so am I. Then we’re going to take all the emails, messages, bank deposit information and whatever else you can find to point the police in the direction of Dark Realities. We’ll even take your computer and hope they have some expert there who can use your internet history to track down the site. I’m sure once the police get involved and tell whoever runs that stupid game that they need to stop, all of this will be over. Then you can move on with your life and sleep better at night. How does that sound?”
“It sounds good,” I admitted, the tension of the last few days rolling off me with the hope that, soon, this would all be over.
“Excellent,” she nodded once, sitting up and rubbing her palms over her thighs. “Then I’ll head home and grab some clothes and overnight stuff. I’ll sleep on your couch tonight just so you’re not alone and you will NOT answer that last message. You also need to give the police a list of names of every person you spoke to yesterday so they have a good idea of where to look. This guy claims to know you, so it won’t be a long list of people to interview.”
Eyes widening at the thought, I shot up and shook my head. “No. I can’t do that. If they interview Donovan and he has nothing to do with it, he’ll fire me for sure. I can’t risk my job, Rachel. Being unemployed is what put me in this position in the first place. Plus, I don’t even know what the message claims is even true. He hasn’t given me any information that proves I spoke to him.”
“Mia-“
“No! I’m putting my foot down on this. There’s no way in hell I’m risking my job. If I lose another one, I’ll have to go home and face my parents, and I’m not doing it. I’d rather sleep on the streets than admit to my dad that he was right about me.”
Her expression fell, but anger rolled behind her eyes. Rachel had always hated my father, always wanted me to run away and come live with her. But doing so would have only given him another reason to hate me, and the punishment would have been worse when he found me and dragged me home. “I can’t do that, Rachel.”
Practically begging, I held her gaze in mine, hoping like hell she’d see the predicament for what it was and not make it worse.
Her voice soft, she asked, “And what if this is Donovan messing with you? What if he only hired you so he could keep a close eye on the woman trapped in his game? What if he plans on firing you anyway once the two months are up?” She breathed out, her hand reaching like she wanted to pat my shoulder, but she snatched it away at the last second. “You have to admit it looks really suspicious on his end. If anybody could pull off some maniacal computer game, it would be him.”
My heart fell into my stomach, the pathetic beats vibrating softly beneath my skin as tears welled in my eyes.
Maybe it had been stupid of me to believe a man like Donovan had a genuine interest in me. Maybe all the torment he claimed was meant to build me up was actually meant to tear me down so far that I would eventually give in to the game to entertain his audience.
With that depressing chain of thought rolling through my head, I sighed again before standing up from the couch. “Maybe we should grab my computer and sleep at your place tonight. At least there, I’ll know we’re safe.”
Rachel nodded her head. “And tomorrow morning, I’ll be on the phone with your landlord telling him to fix those front door locks on the building or else.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Rule No. 3: You wore red heels into the office yesterday. I like red heels. A little too much. It’s best you don’t wear them again.
It’s funny how so much can change in such a short amount of time.
Like many people, I’d grown up with difficult conditions. I hadn’t suffered poverty, hunger, or even physical abuse beyond being grabbed and dragged to my room, but I had suffered humiliation. I’d suffered disappointment. I
’d suffered loss when I finally understood that the man who had loved me and protected me as child had somehow lost the ability to care that he was breaking me down piece by piece with his angry words and constant opinions.
However, despite the learned timid behavior, or the odd dislike of touch, my outlook on life had changed quickly when Donovan Stone entered it. In a handful of days I’d gone from meek and mild to the type of woman that would tell off her ex-boss and then turn around and tell off her new one the next day. I’d made demands of both Jackson and Donovan that they’d surprisingly complied with for the next several weeks since the day Donovan had delivered his rules.
But, whereas work had gone smoothly in the weeks following Donovan’s and my kiss, my home life hadn’t, and as easily as I’d become a woman who could make demands, I’d reverted back to the mousy, timid woman after discovering that, when it came to the game being played against me, I was on my own.
As we’d planned, Rachel and I had gone to the police about the stalking game. I’d told them the entire embarrassing story, admitting on a weak voice that panic over money had led me to making a decision that no normal woman would make. I’d explained how Dark Realities no longer existed, but I had emails, a bank deposit, and a computer history that would show they existed at one time. I’d offered to let them read the emails from my stalker, to see the note that was left in my room, to read the text messages that seemingly came from nowhere.
The only problem, I’d discovered, was that by the time Rachel and I had hauled my computer into the station, my entire history was gone, not just my history, but also my hard drive. A virus had wiped me out completely - a Trojan horse the computer tech had called it. Allowing me to use another computer at the station, the officer waited patiently while I’d pulled up my emails to show him the deposit and rules. And, of course, those were gone, too. The only proof left was my bank account records and the text messages on my phone.
The deposit turned out to be untraceable, the payer listed as my former firm and made to look like they’d deposited severance pay into my account. And as for the texts? Also untraceable. From what the tech said, hackers were sophisticated enough nowadays to invade every account I had as long as it was accessible online.
The only advice they could give me was to keep my doors locked at all times, and to let them know if a strange man approached me in public. The officer gave me his card listing a cell phone number and promised to send help if it was needed. Part of me believed the officer was just being nice, but didn’t actually believe I was in danger. A prank, he’d called it. After telling me to ignore the messages and not respond, he’d sent Rachel and me on our way, reminding us to have a nice day on our way out the door.
Rachel was livid. Livid enough that she offered to let me move in with her. I wasn’t willing to uproot my life over a stupid game, but I’d agreed that staying with her long enough for the game to expire would be a good idea. Technically it wasn’t against the rules for me to hide, and Rachel had been the one to point it out after I told her the rules I remembered.
For the first week, Rachel had driven me back and forth to work. She didn’t like hearing about my morning and late afternoon mad dashes between buildings and my car, and she especially wasn’t pleased to learn I’d been doing those sprints in heels.
The police had mentioned that the stalker may learn I’d gone to the police and would stop the game as a result. I hadn’t believed them at first, but after a week at Rachel’s with no emails, notes or other messages, I was beginning to hope the game was over. That’s why in the second week, I decided to start driving myself again. Rachel didn’t like the idea at first, so she’d convinced me to buy a can of mace and consider taking self-defense classes. She’d even offered to join me for the classes, claiming the exercise would be good for her.
I was now four weeks out from when the game had started, which meant I had another four to go. In that time, I’d started sleeping at my apartment again - but only after my landlord assured me the front locks were fixed. Rachel had given him such an earful about false advertising and his negligence leading to added danger for his female residents that he’d discounted me two weeks from my monthly rent. That added bonus combined with the pay raise Donovan gave me after earning my first paycheck added an extra bounce to my step when I walked through the doors of Stone Industries on a brisk, cold February morning.
As usual, the lights were dimmed in the back room and the tablet was sitting in the center of the reception desk waiting for me to announce my arrival. It annoyed me that I still hadn’t been provided a key, but I also understood that by forcing me to use the tablet, Donovan had maintained a way of communicating with me in his typical way.
I’m here, I typed, not bothering to set the tablet down again because I knew his response would ping through within seconds.
You’re 23 seconds late.
Rolling my eyes, I couldn’t help the laughter that shook my shoulders. This had become our game, our way of continuing to flirt without risk of breaking Donovan’s ridiculous rules. I wanted to be mad at him, but found it difficult to hold it against him. The man had been traumatized by the death of his former fiancé. After Rachel told me the story, I’d researched it online to find that it wasn’t simply a girlfriend Donovan had lost, it was the woman he’d intended to marry one week after the night she was killed. Years had passed since the incident and he hadn’t said a word to anybody since that night. So how could I find him at fault for not knowing how to admit to me or himself that he found himself interested in another woman, but didn’t know how he was ready to move on?
My apologies. Perhaps if you managed to talk the building owner into finally fixing the elevator, I wouldn’t waste a precious 23 seconds climbing the stairs.
Several seconds passed before his response beeped through.
But your calves are looking mighty tempting after four weeks of climbing those stairs. Plus, I own the building. Why would I talk to myself about such inconsequential things?
Laughing again, I flicked a glance up at the ceiling wondering where those damn cameras were that I knew for a fact he had planted all over the office.
Your comment just broke one of your rules. Open the door, please.
I knew he was laughing at me. Over the past few weeks as we’d gotten used to working together, Donovan had been less concerned with the rules than me. Somehow, the man was able to find every opportunity to touch me in some way, to look at me in ways that set me on fire.
Okay, but after setting down your stuff, I need to see you in my office. I have a big project coming up and I need a female perspective on it. I asked Jackson last night, but he refused to wear a dress and heels while talking to me so I got the full experience of a female perspective.
Laughter burst from my mouth, the image of Jackson, with his broad shoulders, newly grown beard and brooding expression prancing around in a dress and heels flooding my thoughts.
I’m glad he said no. The sight would be traumatizing.
Another pause, and then his response had my eyes rounding, my shoulders shaking with soft, disbelieving laughter.
I’ve seen it before, actually. Jackson surprisingly makes an attractive woman when he’s drunk.
I hadn’t finished wiping away the laughing tears from my eyes when the door popped open and Donovan stood against it to hold it in place. Unsure how it was possible, I stared in wonderment at how he was even more attractive now than when I’d met him for the interview a month earlier. Maybe it was because we were finally relaxed around each other, that we had gotten to a point where we understood there was an attraction between us, but neither felt the need to worry about it or feel awkward about our not-so-hidden feelings.
Despite our mutual desire, we’d discovered that we worked well together, and our three person, tight knit team in the office was like a well oiled machine running Stone Industries from a satellite office that only a few other people in the firm knew about. I’d asked Jackson how the other em
ployees felt about a boss who never came into the main office but still managed to shoot off messages and demands from an unknown location. Jackson smirked to explain that most were pleased with the arrangement only because that meant they weren’t under Donovan’s constant scrutiny.
Dressed in a pair of dark grey slacks and a white button up shirt with the sleeves rolled up to reveal his strong forearms, Donovan ran an appreciative eye over the printed teal dress I’d chosen to wear. Stripping off my heavy coat, I peeked up to watch as he admired the low neckline it revealed and the thick straps that were wide across my shoulders.
His eyes met mine again as a smile stretched his lips, and I had to admit the sexual tension between us was churning now that we’d committed to never allowing ourselves to explore it. Why was it that refusing each other only made us want each other more? Perhaps it was a lesson in patience - or a lesson in self-restraint. Whatever it was, it stoked a fire between us that, at times, was undeniable. Even Jackson noticed the mutual attraction and made it a point to be a constant presence in the office when he could. Every so often, he’d throw out another warning to me about Donovan, but I shrugged them off wondering if Jackson’s efforts to protect his best friend weren’t hurting Donovan more by keeping him from moving beyond the tragedy that had stolen his voice.
Donovan didn’t have to hold the door open for me, he also didn’t have to angle his large body in such a way that I had just enough room to squeeze past him, ensuring my body brushed his in a tease of sensation we both studiously ignored. I also didn’t have to glance back at him after I passed, lift a heel to point out my shoes and mention I’d worn the black heels instead of the red.
In some weird way, we maintained adherence to the rules he’d set in place, but at the same time we’d managed to find every tiny loophole we could that still allowed for us to play with each other and continue the games we’d started on the first day of my new job.