Page 33 of Targeted By Desire

My cursor raced over to it, but hovered when it got there. Hacking into her security system was one thing, but invading a woman’s privacy and watching her without her consent was another. Luckily, I wasn’t someone with a code of ethics to upkeep.

With one click, a grid displaying nearly every inch of Simone’s house covered my computer screen. My eyes bounced through each frame, searching for the woman I’ve been hunting.

I found her in the bedroom, tugging pajama pants on. Her bare back was to the camera, giving me a perfect view of the dip of her hips and curve of her spine. The stream wasn’t in color, but her skin still managed to give off a freshly moisturized shine.

A visible shiver ran up her spine, and she froze for a moment. Her head spun back and forth, checking either side of her, before shaking altogether.

She pulled on a tee shirt and gathered her long braids into a bonnet. She flicked the lights off before climbing into bed.

Her eyes rose to the camera, practically meeting mine behind the lens. She stared at it for a moment, her brows threatening to stitch together. Her chest rose and fell with a sigh before she lay down and curled up under the covers.

She must’ve thought having an eye in the sky would deter me from my pursuit. Little did she know, she just gave me a front row seat.

THE AGENT

Isabelle is lucky I love her.

If I didn’t, I wouldn’t have dragged myself out of bed for this bridesmaids brunch nor would have I stayed this long.

When Isabelle asked me to be her maid of honor, she made it clear my attendance to these things was mandatory. She knew I was going to hate every second of them, but she also knew I’d endure them for her sake.

Today, the torture included the scraping sounds of her friend’s high-pitched voices against my ear drums and mind-numbingly boring conversation. Even the bottomless mimosas we were sipping on couldn’t save me from the discomfort of sitting in a crowd of women I couldn’t relate less to.

All they wanted to do was gush over the newest fashion trends, whine over their unhealthy relationships, and gossip about other people’s struggles. Listening to them speak was like hearing a table read for a television show about socialites. Almost all of them sounded like they were living in their own little bubble, detached from the issues of the real world.

Every now and then, I saw Isabelle’s brows pinch together and her bright smile dim. She’d glance around the women’s faces as if wondering herself what she was doing among them. Isabelle may have grown up in the same world as them, but she didn’t share all the same experiences. They could pretend all they wanted, but their shiny blonde hair cleared roads that our dark curls couldn’t. Add on the perpetual missing piece in Isabelle’s heart, and she might as well be speaking a different language when she takes the mask off.

Isabelle caught my eyes during one of her moments of contemplation. The ends of her lips lifted again, and she tried to hide the thoughts running across her face.

I lifted up my pinky finger on my glass, scrunched up my nose, and moved my mouth in sync with the shake of my head.

For the first time since we’ve been here, a genuine laugh came out of her mouth.

Chelsea Prescott, the lone red-head of the group, noticed the sound. Her emerald green eyes bounced between my sister and me for a few seconds. Then, a sly smile slithered onto her face. “So, Simone,” she said, summoning all of the women’s attention. “I heard you and Justin tried rekindling your flame.”

“Justin Hartford?”

“Oh, he is so handsome!”

“He’s so rich!”

“I’d kill for a chance with him!”

The chorus of the other women’s shrill voices were like nails on a chalkboard. It took every bit of self restraint I had to keep from cringing.

“We did,” I replied, eyeing the curve of her lips.

“How was that? Did you get back together?”

“Obviously not since his face is all over your Instagram stories.”

Her smile tightened, sharpening the knife she was trying to twist into my chest. “Hm, that’s too bad. Justin’s still heartbroken over the whole ordeal.”

“Yeah, well he sure didn’t act like it.”

“Did he?” She tilted her head. “Because he told me he was really looking forward to having that conversation with you - for closure. It’s too bad he never got it.”

I uncrossed my legs and leaned my elbows on the table. “Is there something you really wanna say, Chelsea? The whole rhetorical question bit isn’t funny nor entertaining, so you might as well spit it out.”