by Isabel Jolie
I get out of bed and stalk toward her. “And then I’m going to feed you.”
“Feed me?”
I squeeze her butt cheek as she turns on the shower and holds a finger under the streaming water to check the temperature. “Yep. What time is your first class?”
“Nine a.m.”
“Let’s shower quickly, then. I want to take you to the diner. I didn’t eat dinner last night, and I could eat a whole cow.”
We take turns washing each other in her bathtub shower. I take special care to clean her all over. I need to remove any doubts she may be having about me. Or about us. She said she’s not willing to give up on us. Well, that’s good. Because I’m not going to let her.
While she’s drying her hair, I strum through my messages and see a text from Bill from last night.
Bill: I know you are back at her place and she’s returned safely. We should talk about finding an apartment for security in her building if you think this might happen on a regular basis. Night shift not particularly fond of spending the entire night on a bench.
I groan. Damn the twenty-four-hour detail. They have an apartment in my building, so the night shift can stay nearby. They have monitors on my hallway and can be one flight up within minutes. We have three eight-hour shifts for my security. I didn’t request this. When I signed on for a full security detail with Bill’s firm, I read the contract but didn’t fully comprehend the impact. A few board members tell me all this hooplah’s normal and expected for a CEO of a public company with a death threat.
I run my hand through my hair. I won’t respond right away. I’ll talk to Bill about this later. On some level, I can agree a security contract for Olivia might make sense, but I don’t believe she’s in real danger. We’ve been staying at my place. Hell, I want her to move in with me. Then my security night detail can work from the comfort of the security apartment. Bill hasn’t mentioned Ms. Ray recently. I text him to ask her whereabouts. Security needs to be watching her. She’s the wild card, not us.
Olivia walks out of her bedroom. Her hair is still damp and hangs in thick, dark waves around her shoulders. She’s wearing jeans and a chunky blue sweater that highlights the curve of her hips. She sidles up to me, weaves her fingers into the loops on my jeans, and pulls me close. I hold her tight and vow to do whatever I need to do to keep her with me for the long haul. She is mine.
Chapter 25
Olivia
Blissful coffee aroma envelops me the moment I open the door to Manhattanville Coffee. It’s almost eleven a.m. but there’s still a line at the counter. I float over to it. I’m on a high. A fabulous sex high. An everything-is-going-awesome-with-my-boyfriend high.
What a difference twenty-four hours can make. I’ve gone from deciding we are over to accepting he had a kneejerk reaction that doesn’t define him or us. When I woke this morning, I lay there, thinking it all through. And I decided, aside from his initial reaction, I’ve never been happier with another guy, and I’m not ready to give up on us. Quite the opposite, actually. I want to see where this goes, because, while it’s scary to admit it, I can see a future with him.
The kiss he gave me while holding me close said so much. He loves me. I’ve had guys look at me with sexual interest before. But the way his aqua blues latch on to me, it’s different. I sense more love from him than I ever felt from my parents. Well, my dad, sometimes, at small windows of time showed an interest in his little girl. He may have looked at me with that kind of love. Before he and my mom had nothing to say to each other. Before being in the same room with the two of them grew painful.
Paige sees me standing in line and calls, “Hey, girl. You want your normal?” The couple in front of me glance my way, and I smile politely at them while answering Paige. “Yep. Thanks. How was your weekend?” Her blue hair is now streaked with white. Part of me wants to tell her Cloroxing does bad things to hair, but I refrain from giving her the parental kind of lecture.
“Great, actually. Didn’t have to pull a double shift. How was your weekend?”
I’m about to respond when someone bumps into me from behind, and I turn on reflex.
“Hey, there, girlie. How was your weekend?” Lindsey asks.
I turn back to Paige, but she’s facing away from me and is flipping levers on the large coffee machine. She didn’t even wait for my response. I don’t respond to Lindsey immediately but gather my mug and breakfast plate and head over to my normal table.
I keep staring at the counter, waiting to catch Paige’s eye. Something feels off. When she finally turns around and looks our way, I nod and smile at her from my table. She gives a quick nod in acknowledgement then turns to another customer.
Lindsey flips the extra chair at my table around and sits on it backward, facing me. I notice she doesn’t have coffee.
“How are you?” I ask. I keep glancing at Paige, since she seems uncharacteristically cold. Lindsey doesn’t answer me. She stares as I pull out notebooks and get myself set up to work.
“What’s up?” I ask.
“I’d like to ask you the same thing. I texted you yesterday and got crickets. What’s going on?” There’s an edge to her tone.
“I’m sorry, Lindsey. Yesterday, I left my phone at Anna’s and didn’t get it back until evening. Then, when I got it back, I didn’t even look at it.”
“Hmmm. That’s all you’re going to share?” There’s an accusatory tone that I don’t quite comprehend. Yeah, there is more to the story, but it’s not like she knows that. I sip my coffee, and my foot taps out my growing frustration with Lindsey and her inexplicable attitude.
“What did you text me? Everything okay?”
I pull out my phone and plop it on the table. Looking at the message app, I see I’ve missed several texts, mainly from Anna, but also from Delilah and Lindsey. Did Anna send out an SOS when I left her apartment yesterday? I’m eager to thumb through my messages, but Lindsey’s annoyed stance keeps me from doing something so blatantly rude. I take my coffee mug in both hands and turn to give her my full attention and alleviate the temptation to read texts.
“Are we friends? Or are we not friends?” She grits out the words, shoulders back, dark frizzy hair uncombed and wild.
“We’re friends, Lindsey. I’m sorry. I’m not the best at checking my texts now that I’m not working full-time. I spent years glued to a phone, and I’m kind of enjoying this break from it.”
She studies me and shifts in her chair. “Okay. I get that. But I care about you, and I want you to tell me what’s going on. Where you are and stuff. I feel like you are shutting me out.”
“I’m not shutting you out,” I respond. But at the same time, I do know I’m keeping her at a distance. She’s not as close to me as Delilah and Anna. She’s someone I see on campus and go out with every now and then. That’s how I see her, but the emotion roiling off her makes me question her perspective.
“Do you ever think about us?” she asks as if she can hear my thoughts.
“What do you mean?” I counter, cautious and uncertain I want to have this conversation.
“About the night we made out. Because I think of it. I know you have a boyfriend, but my offer, I want you to know it still stands.”
I swallow. Oh, dear. She sees me like a potential girlfriend or something. I need to handle her the way I’d handle a guy I hooked up with but don’t plan on dating. “Look, that night was fun, but I’m with Sam now. And I think I love him.” I take her hand for emphasis, to try to warm the air between us. “I know I love him.”
“Are you going to move in with him?”
“What? No, we’re not at that stage yet. I can’t imagine we’d take that step for a while. This is all new.”
Her head angles downward, sending her black hair forward and creating a curtain around her upper body. I wait for her to respond. I’ll be patient. And I’ll keep her at a distance for a while. Like I’d do with a guy I hooked up with but wasn’t interested in.
After a few moments
, she lifts her head. “So, he’s your boyfriend?”
I bite my lip and nod.
“Has he told you he loves you?”
It might lack sensitivity, but I can’t hold back my smile. “Yeah, he did.”
She stands from her chair and pushes it back under the table. “That’s good. I’m happy for you.”
She starts walking away, and I call out to her, “Hey, I’ll see you around, okay?”
She flips her hair over her shoulder and says, “Probably not too much. But I’ll see you.” Then she turns and leaves.
What the hell does that mean? I may have misheard her. There’s a healthy hum of noise in the coffee shop this morning. I blow out air and pick up my phone.
I have a couple of texts from Anna. It seems she knew I’d left my phone when I was out of touch that afternoon. The texts were sent later in the evening.
Anna: Hey, you, just checking in. Hope all is okay. Want you to know that Sam did a 180 after you left. He knows he fucked up. He loves you, hon. Give him a chance to explain.
Anna: Just checking in. Hope all is okay.
And one from Delilah with her signature, short “Call me!” and a flower emoji.
Before I have a chance to respond to any texts, my phone rings. It’s Sam.
“Hey, there.” He can’t see me, but I know I have a flirtatious smile on my face. I can feel it.
“Hi. I need you to pack up your stuff and come to my office.” The tone of his voice is all work Sam. No hint of the man I was holding and kissing earlier this morning comes through the line. But I still want to play a bit.
“Am I getting called down to the office for a midmorning quickie? Or is there such a thing as a mor—”
“Olivia. I have a car sitting outside for you. Two of my security guys are there. One is watching you as we speak.” Desperation mixes with the commanding tone. He’s not joking. This has nothing to do with sex.
I glance up, and sure enough, there’s a man with a dark suit standing at the window. Staring directly at me. My heartrate speeds up, and my hands grow cold. “What’s going on?”
“I’ll tell you when you get here. Please. Pack up, get in the car, and stay with security. If anything happens, do not leave them.”
“You’re scaring me. Can you just—”
“Olivia. Get in the car. I’ll explain. In person.” Frustration seeps through his tone.
My calendar is open, and I glimpse my lengthy to-do list. Damn. I do not have time for this today. I shake my head. I’ll catch up this evening. We can order in, and he can do work while I catch up on missing my morning work session.
I drop my mug and plate up by the bar, and Paige greets me with a warm smile. “Leaving already?”
I pull my heavy backpack up on my shoulder and nod. Paige passes change over to a customer, and I wave goodbye.
A black Range Rover sits directly outside the coffee shop, and as I push open the heavy wooden door, I notice the two men in suits standing by the waiting vehicle. One man holds open the car door, while the other stands on the sidewalk. He’s the one who had been watching me through the window. He’s sort of watching me but also scanning the street.
I slide onto the back seat, and the guy closing the door for me then gets in the driver’s seat. The other guy walks around and gets into the front passenger seat.
He shifts to turn and face me. “We’re taking you to Esprit Headquarters.”
“Can you tell me what’s going on?”
“No, ma’am. Mr. Duke will meet us when we arrive. He’ll explain.”
I pull out my phone and send a quick text to Sam. “In transit.”
What the hell could be going on? A frightening thought occurs to me, and I slide forward on the black leather seat so I can see the man’s face when I ask my question. “Is Sam okay? Did something happen to him?”
“He’s safe, ma’am. We’re here to make sure you’re safe too.” His deep voice, buzzed haircut, and no-nonsense attitude remind me of military movies. Or spy movies. Movies with guns.
“Are you in the military?”
He keeps his head facing forward, constantly scanning the sidewalks as we pass. It’s a little unnerving. This whole experience is unnerving.
“I’m no longer active, ma’am.” I hear a distinctive southern accent.
When we pull up to Esprit headquarters, Sam and Bill Withers are standing on the sidewalk waiting for us.
Sam opens the car door and pulls me close to him the moment I stand. He kisses my forehead, takes my backpack, then leads me into his building. We don’t say a word in the elevator. Bill follows and joins us. There seems to be some unspoken request to maintain silence.
Sam leads us into his office as my frustration rises. “What’s going on?”
Sam runs his hand through his hair and walks to the small conference table in his office. He pulls out a chair and signals for me to sit. “Do you remember the stalker I mentioned?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, she’s stalking you. We’d suspected it, like I told you, but this morning, we saw her sitting at your table. You seem to know her.”
“I do?”
Sam slides a large black and white photo of Lindsey across the table to me.
“Lindsey?” The photo shows her on a sidewalk in her black leather motorcycle jacket. There has to be a mistake. She’s a student at Columbia. She doesn’t look like the woman in the photos he showed me.
“Her name is Tiffany Lindsey Ray. She’s been stalking me for almost two years. How long have you known her?”
I try to remember. Did I meet her before or after I started dating Sam? I don’t remember. Wait, I do. I tap the desk with my fingers. “I met her right before Halloween.” At school. I remember the moment in the hall. I bumped into her. “But when I met her, you and I barely knew each other. We’d had dinner at Anna and Jackson’s, that was it.”
Sam rubs his chin. “Damn. She must have seen me kiss you goodnight out on the street that night.”
“One kiss and she decides to meet me?” Skepticism fills me. None of this makes sense. “She’s a grad student.”
“She’s not stable. And she does not attend Columbia.” He taps the table. “At first, Ray was only an annoyance. Now, the fact that she’s followed you, made contact with you, lied about who she is to you…” He paces to the window and back to the table. “It’s not good.”
“I don’t understand. This seems too crazy for someone who saw you on a list. If Lindsey is your stalker, she’s gone through a lot of trouble to get to know me. Did you two date? Is she an ex?”
Sam cuts his eye at me. “Not really.”
“What does that mean?”
“We hooked up once. In a bar. She couldn’t let it go.”
I remember how Lindsey and I hooked up. Was she having trouble letting that go? “So, you’ve had sex with her?”
“Once. Years ago. Not my finest moment. But yes, that might have kicked off her obsession.”
“You think?” Annoyance and jealousy rise within me, but the rational side of my brain tells me it’s not warranted or deserved. It’s not like he cheated on me.
He places both palms firmly on the table and stares me down. “Look, it doesn’t matter how it started. She’s not emotionally stable. Hasn’t been for years. Doesn’t have a support network. She might be harmless. But this is scary behavior.”
Bill speaks up. “The point is, we don’t know what her intentions are. I have recommended to Sam that we place a full security detail on you.”
“What does that mean?” I have to spin my chair to see Bill, as he’s standing behind me. I had forgotten he was even in the room with us.
“Twenty-four-seven security. We’ll get an apartment in your building, preferably on your floor, so security won’t need to be in your apartment. We can monitor feeds. We’ll have someone discreetly follow you at all times.”
Sam won’t meet my eye. He’s staring at the table. I know he fought his own security detail.
I’m not in a public company, though. Lindsey does kind of freak me out, but I don’t think she’s actually dangerous. Odd. But not dangerous. I shake my head, slowly at first, then quickly as I make up my mind. “No. I don’t want a detail. My uncle is worth about as much as this guy,” I point at Sam, “and he doesn’t have that kind of protection. I don’t think Lindsey would hurt me. She’s never threatened me. Not once.” It does cross my mind that Sam doesn’t know she’s Ms. Halloween, but sharing that with him may weaken my argument.
Bill glares at me. “We don’t know what she’s capable of. She’s made threats against Sam. Told him if she can’t have him, no one can. She is a threat to you.”
Sam still won’t look at me. He’s leaving me to fight this out with Bill. Great. Fine. I can take Bill Withers on. I straighten my back and sit taller. “Maybe. But what you are asking feels extreme.” I pause then direct my question to Sam. “How did you know she was in Manhattanville Coffee with me?”
Bill answers. “I have a security team that keeps an eye on her. You know this. But we didn’t know you know her. She’s interacting with you, which raises the risk level. And she’s smart. She’s been good at losing her tails. We need to increase security to keep you safe.”
The idea of her following me around does give me pause. She’s an odd bird, sure. Clingy. And she hasn’t been honest with me about who she is. But I can’t stomach having a suit follow me everywhere. These men even carry guns, and I do not like guns. “I don’t want security around me on campus. It’s not needed.”
“Ms. Grayson, one out of two stalkers who make a threat eventually takes action on that threat. Are those odds you want to gamble with?” he asks as if he’s talking to a petulant child.
Sam finally lifts his head. “Look, Liv, I get where you’re coming from. I fought a security detail tooth and nail.” He glances over to Bill then leans closer to me. “I hate, and I mean hate, the idea that being close to me puts you in danger. I hate that my wealth puts me in the public eye and makes me a target. If I was a good guy, I wouldn’t date you to ensure you weren’t at risk.” He stops for a moment and takes my hands. “But, Liv, I love you. I can’t imagine not having you in my life. Maybe that makes me selfish.” He looks down, biting his lip.