Page 124 of Lorcan's Obsession

I drove after Tristen.

She turned off the highway and headed down a lone road. We weaved along winding roads, getting closer and closer to the shoreline. At last, a set of high-rise condos came into view. Why was she driving past all this?

Then, Tristen did the last thing that I could have expected. She took a hard turn, and her car screeched into the underground parking entrance of 1 JBR.

What in the fuck?

1 JBR were luxury beach resort apartments, nearly as pricey as my own residence. How did my humbly-raised fourth-year law student girlfriend afford all this?

My shoulders rounded, and I dropped my head against the headrest. I didn't want to believe this. But the facts were spelled out in front of me: Tristen was hiding a lot more from me. And that included whatever reasons she had for hiding her residence from me for so long.

What story could I come up with for the security team to allow me into her building without alerting her? I didn't have much time to think about it as I pulled up to the visitor's receiving area. A white-gloved valet attendant opened my door with a polite smile.

"Good afternoon, sir. Welcome to 1 JBR."

"Good afternoon to you too," I replied smoothly.

I picked up my bag of groceries and handed him the fob key. With a clipped bow, the attendant hurried off. In this country, a display of wealth provided a lot of free passes. Between my sports car, designer clothes, and luxury chrono wristwatch, I was working my seven-digit club like a pro. Paired with my confident, laissez-faire attitude, I looked just the same as every other resident to the average staff member. I belonged here.

Another white-gloved attendant grasped the gold-plated handle of the glass door and held it open for me. Sunlight flooded the lobby through the transparent roof and the many floor-to-ceiling windows along the wall. If it wasn’t for the crisp, conditioned air and the marble tiles beneath my feet, I would have thought I was still outside.

Did Tristen walk through this hallway every day?

I hung awkwardly by one of the windows, planning my next move. This building was one of the newest and most exclusive in the marina. If I didn’t have a name and address at the ready, they probably wouldn’t let me stay long. But I didn’t know Tristen’s apartment number. What could I say about me, about us, that would convince the attendants? I was a good friend visiting for the first time? A boyfriend? A jilted lover?

Shit, what if I was the jilted lover? What if another guy was upstairs, feet on the ottoman and watching TV, waiting for his girl to make him a nice meal with the groceries she just bought?

A cold shudder passed through me. Absolutely not. I'd kill the guy. Tristen was mine.

Fuck a plan. I would get up there by my charm, stunning good looks, and association with Tris. Like a knight gripping his sword, I wrapped my fingers around the handles of the bag and marched toward reception. Three cheerful receptionists stood behind the glossy oval espresso-colored desk, blocking my path to a stealthy escape. Cursing under my breath, I slowed my brisk walk to a relaxed stroll and put on an easy, laid-back demeanor as I approached.

"Good afternoon, Paul." I spoke casually, reading his nametag. "Tris left this in my cart. We were shopping together. She's parked in the basement, heading up right now."

I held up the groceries. The receptionist peered over the table, then glanced towards his computer screen.

"Oh, how sweet of you!" He gave me a toothy grin and stretched out his hand. "No worries, I'll take it up to her pronto."

Damn helpful receptionist. That would ruin my whole scheme.

"Ah, I appreciate your offer, but I really would feel better if I got these to her myself. I want the responsibility of anything not in perfect condition to rest solely on me."

We both stared down at the organic cocoa puffs and muesli in the bag.

"Oh, I totally get it. She is so particular about things getting done right," Paul said.

What was that supposed to mean?

"Come with me. I'll take you.” He waved his hand cheerily. “The elevators are just this way."

Shit. An elevator ride with this guy would be trouble. He was too chatty for my liking and could ask questions about Tris or me that would blow my cover. Moreover, I needed a moment just to breathe. This last hour had been a whirlwind, and I desperately needed to collect my thoughts before seeing Tristen face to face.

"So how long have you lived in Dubai?" Paul chirped.

"About four months," I answered without thinking.

The attendant’s brow rose high enough to touch the fringe on his forehead.

Just. Fucking. Great.

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