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I’d found out from Google, though, that the campaign model’s name was Blake Shepfield. With a little help from Lincoln’s creepy PI, I’d then found out that Blake had been adopted and was living in New York City all these years…and that she’d had her name legally changed upon adoption—although the P.I. couldn’t find details on what her name used to be.
It explained a lot.
Can’t find someone who doesn’t exist anymore.
Even if I hadn’t been able to find out all that information, I still would’ve known it was her. No one had eyes like that. No one but her.
Her eyes, a mesmerizing shade of deep blue that seemed to fade into violet, were unlike anything I’d ever seen before. They held a depth that seemed to have no end, like the vast expanse of the night sky just before dawn. They were enigmatic pools of mystery, framed by long, dark lashes that accentuated their intensity. When she looked at me, it felt like she was peering into the depths of my soul, and my fear, even as a kid, was that she would find me lacking.
I sat up straighter when I saw her returning my way, glancing frantically over the menu to see if there was anything I would eat. This place was fancy. I’d always felt more comfortable stuffing my face in a hole in the wall than in places like this.
But this was whereshewas. So this was where I’d be.
“Have you decided what you want? Or do you need more time?” she asked coolly, obviously still not impressed at all with me after my word vomit.
“I’ll have the steak frites,” I told her, inwardly fist pumping at the small glint of amusement I spotted in her gaze as I butchered the word “frites.”
“French fries okay?”
“Do you have Russian ones? I’ve heard those are better.”
She snorted that time, and I knew the wide grin on my face was ridiculous…as was everything coming out of my mouth, but at least she wasn’t mad at me anymore.
“I’m afraid we’re all out of Russian,” she said, now smiling prettily.
“Mmmh. I’ll survive,” I mused, finding myself leaning forward because she was so fucking intoxicating. “Could I have a refill of water, though? I’m parched.”
I hated the idea of her waiting on me, but I’d have to make it up to her later. I had work to do.
“Oh, of course!” she exclaimed, her eyes going wide, like she was alarmed she’d get in trouble. She dashed away and grabbed a water pitcher before hurrying back.
It was hard to keep myself in my seat. I wanted to leap forward, throw her over my shoulder, and get her out of here.
But the plan wouldn’t allow it.
I’d pushed my glass further away, and intentionally didn’t pick it up to make it easier for her to refill it. That made it so she had to lean over the table to pour my water, so I could more easily slip the phone from her pocket I’d seen her looking at a few minutes ago.
Years of pickpocketing as a kid on the streets made it easy.
She didn’t even notice.
“I’ll go put in your order,” Blake murmured, a faint blush to her cheeks, hopefully at how close she’d been to me.
I watched her wistfully as she walked away, and then stared at the phone in my lap. This was actually a much simpler version of the plan I’d come up with. I’d figured I’d have to hire someone to hack into her phone and change things, but little miss sunshine didn’t have a password on her phone. I’d have to talk to her about cyber security at another date.
I scrolled to her contacts, inwardly raging when I saw how many times Clark—the boyfriend I’d found out about from the P.I.—had called and texted today. I blocked his number and then made a new contact with my number that I labeled “Clark.” A second later, I was downloading the tracking app the P.I. had told me about onto her phone. It would also allow me to see any messages she sent or received, as well as her app activity. I blocked Clark in her social media apps for good measure.
There. Perfect. I knew today was going to be a good day. What I’d just done, what I would do to get her…weren’t things I’d seen on my dream board, but hey, you worked with what you had.
Scanning the restaurant, I saw that she was busy with other tables. That gave me some time to do recon on the texts she’d been getting. My girl was mostly a loner besides a roommate and a few model friends she went out with occasionally. Her file had included observations from her modeling agency which noted she was “uncomfortable in the social scene.” The friends she did have were assholes. It was easy to tell, even in texts. That wasn’t going to work.
It was Clark that made me the angriest, though. Homeboy was telling her he loved her on the daily.
Deep breaths, Ari. He’ll be gone soon.
Movement out of the corner of my eye caught my attention, and I realized she was almost to the table with my food. I quickly dropped the phone into my lap and shot her what I hoped was a winning smile.
“Here you go,” she said brightly, but it was in that bland way that people used with strangers.
