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I pulled out my desk drawer and withdrew a checkbook. I quickly wrote out a check, selecting a generous amount that would properly incentivize the man. I carefully pulled off the check and stood, holding it out. “Please call me when you know more."
He grinned, revealing a row of crooked teeth, their tips pointing in more directions than a pencil holder. "Yes, Ms. Fairmont."
I gave him a polite smile and picked up my cell. As soon as my office door closed behind him, I made my call.
Chapter 29
I'd never taken down a girl before. My prep school didn’t have the Gossip-Girl types who killed hopes and dreams while modeling couture. My high school friends were nerds. The women at Stanford were laser-focused on grades, internships and futures, no spare effort available to be wasted on things like boys and rivalries.
So, I was entering this game a virgin. But, in my own estimations, a well-equipped one. Financed and intelligent. And ... as a small point for my side ... I’d already screwed her boyfriend. I had some inkling of what he liked and had confidence in his attraction to me, despite the fact that she looked nothing like me. It was as if he'd visited an encyclopedia, scrolled to the section 'Opposite of Layana' and selected her photo. Go figure.
I also had the element of surprise on my side. I was alone in this battle, with no one aware of my scheming, no one’s defenses raised. I'd be attacking a sleeping kitten. An innocent, fragile kitten. Ripping her away from Lee and severing any chance of their reconnection.
I should have felt guilty, should have had compassion, but I didn’t. Lee was, or would be, mine. No matter what.
* * *
I stood in the steam shower, my muscles tight from my morning run, the strum of hot water lulling them into submission. I inhaled the thick, moisture-filled air and wondered what Brant was up to. He had cancelled our dinner last night and hadn’t responded to my texts this morning.
From the teak shelf by the door, my phone lit up with a notification. I twisted all of the knobs to OFF and selected a towel from the warmer. I picked up the cell, my damp finger dysfunctional on the screen, a few attempts needed before I could unlock and view the message, which was from the private investigator.
He’s with Molly Jenkins now. Panera on 43rd Street.
I quickly texted back.
Ok, let me know if they leave.
I checked the time. 11:04 AM. I was supposed to be having lunch with Brant at noon. Placing the phone on the white marble counter, I moved into the smaller walk-in closet that was off the bathroom. Flipping through the jeans, I selected a dark pair and pulled them out.
43rd Street was a fifteen-minute drive, if I caught the lights and didn’t hit traffic. If I hurried, I could make it there before they left
I dressed quickly, left my hair wet, and took my makeup bag with me. I was in my car within a few minutes, and made it to 43rd without delay, pulling into the shopping center at the same time that Lee's dark green Jeep pulled out. I braked hard, craning my neck to see more of the blonde head in the passenger seat—but then it was careening into traffic and pulling away. My car’s display chimed with a text from the P.I., one that displayed on the interior screen.
They’re leaving. I’m following.
I pulled a U-turn and then was stuck, a minivan taking its sweet time in making the right-hand turn. I drummed my fingers on the steering wheel and glanced at the dash clock. 11:28. I shouldn't even be here. If Brant found out … what would I say? How would I explain this? Another text chimed through the car's display. This time, from Jillian.
Brant won’t make lunch. My apologies.
Shocker. The minivan pulled out and I gunned the accelerator and wove through traffic, intent on catching up to Lee's Jeep. It took four blocks, but then I was behind them, his open-air vehicle making my surveillance painfully easy.
He drove like he fucked—with reckless accuracy. He hung one arm out the window and his head was often turned in her direction, every glimpse of her smile a knife in my heart. At one stoplight, he rested a hand on her headrest and leaned over, their mouths meeting for one horrible moment before my hand misbehaved and hit the horn. Her head jerked away, and he looked into the review mirror.
I inhaled, wondering if he would recognize my car. The light changed and any connection—if there was one—was lost as he floored the gas.
I hung back, letting a few cars get between us, and tried to figure out where they were heading. We entered the Belmont area, and, with my luck, they were heading down to Los Angeles, and this would be an overnight trip.
It wasn’t, because just a few miles later they stopped at a park. I drove past the entrance, then circled around to the other side, idling beside a food truck and watching as Lee got out.
He waited for her at the front bumper and held out his hand, hers fitting into it, and they walked toward the lake, a blanket tucked under her arm, a bag slug over her bare shoulders. She was in a bright blue tube dress that showed off her tan, her blonde hair in French braids, cheap white sunglasses perched on her upturned nose. I pulled out the binoculars I'd ordered online and adjusted them, homing in on the couple.
Hello stalking, I’m Layana. Pleased to make your acquaintance.
* * *
When she ran, he chased her.
When she napped in the sun, he ran a hand gently through her hair.
