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“He took it.”
“I didn’t go broke sending the second package.”
“You’re not understanding,” I argue. “He had the box the entire time. Everything was a setup.”
“Are you sure you’re not being a little paranoid?” I frown, wondering if she’s playing devil’s advocate right now or if she honestly thinks I’ve blown things out of proportion. “Did you ever get a creepy vibe from him?”
“Murderers aren’t creepy,” I mutter. “They’re charismatic and charming. They catch you when your guard is down.”
“Didn’t you say like four or five other guys on his team showed up at the airport to escort you back to his apartment to keep you safe?”
“Maybe they’re all in on it,” I begin. “Maybe they’re all some gross team of men who like to hurt people.”
“That’s a little farfetched, Whitney. Even for you.”
I sigh, my eyes staying trained on my closed bedroom door as if he’s going to bust in at any moment. The thought doesn’t terrify me. Even after finding the box and my heart breaking, I never once thought he would hurt me physically. If anything, I’d prefer to avoid the damn fight, because deep down I know I’ll cave.
Dating is hard. Being a computer nerd who practically isolates herself in her apartment and dating? That’s impossible. I’d resolved myself with becoming a cat lady spinster, and sadly enough I was growing okay with the idea.
Then the fucking handsome, dominant, and charming Wren Nelson popped up in my life like a miracle sent from the gods of hunks and turned me stupid.
Fucking men.
I hate them all.
“He’s a fucking stalker,” I continue. “I can’t trust a damn thing that happened after that box was delivered.”
“Okay.” She pauses, probably mulling over thoughts on how to approach this situation differently. My best friend has always been analytical. It’s why we get along so well. “What happened before the box?”
“Nothing,” I confess. “The elevator meeting, his inclusion into Orc’s Realm, all of it happened after the delivery date on the box.”
“Well shit,” she sighs.
“Yeah,” I agree.
“Tell me about Blackbridge.”
“I shouldn’t go digging through their stuff. Wren is the best of the best. There’s no way I can do that.”
“Because you tried and hit his firewalls.”
“Exactly,” I mutter.
“When did you do that? Tonight?”
I remain silent, my answer evident in my lack of response.
“Hmm.”
“Don’t hmm me, Sarah Revone.”
“Do you honestly think those hot-as-hell commandos would go through the trouble of helping him if he’s a bad guy?”
“Did you miss the part where I said his friends are probably all involved with hurting people?”
She sighs again, but I know she isn’t even close to hanging up on me. The woman has the patience of a saint. I mentioned she’s a Domme, right?
“You know better. Did any of them seem submissive?”
I can’t help the laugh that vibrates out of my throat. “Not even close, but Ignacio is so damn hot, I think even you would listen to him boss you around.”
She grunts her disagreement.
“Can we get back to my life, please? He’s psycho.”
“You met his nana for Christ’s sake. He’s not psycho.”
“Then explain all of the coincidences to me.”
“I can’t. Why don’t you go to his apartment and tell him to explain it all?”
I wouldn’t even have to go that far. My guess, he’s camped out in front of my door waiting for me to give in.
“I can’t. I think I’m coming to you.”
She squeals. “Well, I hate that you’re upset but I’ll take a visit any day! I’ll make some adjustments in my schedule. How soon are you thinking?”
“I’ll fly out tonight if there’s something available.”
She’s a happy camper, and just the thought of spending some time at her beachfront condo perks me up a little.
After getting off the phone with her, silence fills my apartment. A quick peek through the peephole tells me that Wren is gone. Left under the door is a handwritten note, but the horrible handwriting reading, Please, baby, let me explain, only helps me make the decision to pack and head to California.Chapter 33Wren
“You’re a damn fool!”
I grit my teeth and keep my eyes on the computer screen in front of me.
“An idiot! What would Nana say?”
I can’t blame Puff Daddy. I mean, he’s a parrot after all, and he’s merely repeating shit I’ve been saying out loud about myself in this office for the last day and a half.
I pleaded at Whitney’s door, begged her to let me explain the unexplainable. I even left a note. She didn’t come to me. She didn’t knock on my door with tears in her beautiful eyes and give me the chance to beg for forgiveness.
Hell, she didn’t even stay in Missouri.
Nope, that gorgeous woman boarded her cat—don’t ask me how I found that information—and jumped a red-eye flight to California.
Sarah Revone, her best friend since her freshman year in college, lives there. Flynn spoke with her more than once while all the shit was going down with Jones. I’ve stared at the woman’s house on satellite maps for longer than I think is sane, but my eyes are still there as if my angel will appear in pictures taken probably a year or longer ago.
