Page 37 of Fractured

“For starters, your guard got to watch something that has him all hot and bothered over you, but he’s clearly not letting himself partake. He had his hand on you in a possessive manner as he stared down the men waiting outside, and you didn’t tell him to stop touching you. Second, a naughty girl like you needs more than one man to keep her satisfied. It’s just basic math. If you don’t have more than one guy, it’s an eventuality for you to fill the need with others. So where can I fill out my application?” He pulls out his phone as if he’s just waiting for me to tell him where to find it.

What the fuck is wrong with all the men I’ve met lately? Dating more than one person shouldn’t be this easy. Where’s all the conflict? The posturing for me to pick one, or they’re hitting the road? The jealousy? It feels like a trap… I’m just not seeing what benefit they have of being okay with something like this. One was a fluke, four is… hot as fuck orgasms for me? Fuck it. I’ll have my fun while it lasts. They want to split down the road, then I’ll be waving bye to Felicia.

“I don’t know why everyone wants to push Vander and I together. There’s nothing intimate going on between us.” My mind flashes to his hard cock pressed against me as he caged me on the bed, prying answers from me. “But there is Jasper, the man who shouldn’t be counted because he claimed a connection between us, but didn’t bother to get my name or number. Nobody needs that kind of crazy in their life. And the man from the coffee shop.”

“Ah, I knew he was one of your men. What’s his deal? How does he fit into your harem?” he asks me as he leans forward and props his chin on his hand. His food is getting cold, forgotten in favor of hearing my answers. I’m starting to feel like things are getting repetitive with each man I’m having to tell these details to. In the future, I’ll have to put them all in a chat or something, so I only have to say things once. I’m drawing the line, cutting off the numbers right here. There isn’t a chance in hell I’ll repeat the list one more time.

“He’s my betrothed,” I answer through gritted teeth. Grayson is an outlier right now. He holds my attention just enough to stick around for answers. How good they are will depend on whether I let him stay around or not.

“Oh. So it’s a mutually beneficial union. An arranged marriage. Want him out of the picture? I can clear his bank accounts with a click of a button.” He gives me a cocky smirk and waggles his eyebrows.

I can’t help but laugh. “No. He’s a mystery I’d like to solve. But I’ll remember your offer in case I change my mind. Oh! There might be a secret admirer too.” Fucking stalker always listening to my conversations. I just know he would be offended if I didn’t include him. I just might end up with a unicorn tattoo as retribution. Who knows with that psycho.

“Ah. Your stalker,” he says, calm as a cucumber. Who the fuck drops the S word like it’s nothing?

“I never said that,” I say defensively.

“You didn’t need to. Come on, I’m not stupid. General questions about blocking someone from hacking means you either have a stalker, plan on being a stalker, or are worried about a cyber attack on a corporate level. While the last is plausible considering who you are, if that was the case, you would have hired me on the spot. Which leaves the possibility of you being the stalker.” He glances from side to side before focusing on me again with an intensity I can’t quite name. “Am I the object of your obsession, Countess?”

I bite my lower lip and lean in toward him. “Would you like to be?” I tease.

“Only if it comes with benefits. So was this your plan all along? To reel me in and entrap me in your stalking lair?” he battles back in our sparring match of teasing.

“I knew it was a long shot, but you tripped right into my lap and offered yourself up on a platter,” I say, referencing how we met. We both laugh and he finally lifts his fork to start eating his dinner. I knew the first day I laid eyes on him that he was brilliant, but I might have miscalculated how well I’d be able to manipulate him. “Okay, so I might have a hypothetical stalker. Nothing to worry about though.”

He chews while thoughtfully staring at me. “Is there such a thing as Stockholm Syndrome for a stalked individual to fall for their stalker?” he asks in the most deadpan tone I’ve heard him use to date. It has to be the most serious thing he’s said to me since we’ve met.

I honestly can’t tell if he’s joking or not. “I am not in love,” I say, making sure there is no confusion over the fact that I’m offended by the accusation.

“No. But you’re crushing on him for sure,” he says with a twinkle in his eyes. Bastard was trying to get a reaction from me.

“He makes me feel understood. I could share anything with him and he’d give me suggestions on how to make it more depraved. He’s done nothing but try to teach me and make me a better version of myself,” I justify my feelings to him.

Cole leans forward and uses his fork with a bite of chicken on the end to punctuate his words. “Would you like to know who he is? I can try to find out for you. Here, hand me your phone and I can start now,” he says with a small smile, and then he puts the end of the fork in his mouth. As he begins to chew, he throws me a wink.

I have my phone sitting out on the table next to me, having looked something up not long ago. Picking it up, I hold it close to my chest. “No. That’s okay. Thank you though. I want to find out for myself.” I haven’t forgotten the threat my stalker made about letting Cole mess with my phone again.

“Hmm. Okay then, if you’re sure. Think I need to be worried about him coming after me?” He takes another bite of his dinner and there’s a slight pinch of concern to his features.

“No, you don’t need to worry about him. I’ve put you on the do not kill list. Just don’t get on my bad side,” I say, pointing my fork at him.

He smiles while glancing down at his plate. Peering up at me through his lashes he says, “You might have put me on the do not kill list, but you forgot me on another list.”

“What?” I ask, not quite sure what he means by forgetting him.

“On your list of boyfriends. You forgot to name me as one of them,” he says with a waggle of his brows.

“I did? I’m pretty sure I named them all,” I tease. Holding up my fingers, I make a show of counting them. “Yep. I named them all.”

He lets out a gasp of faux outrage. “I’m hurt, Countess. I thought we made a better connection than for you to just forget me like that. And here I’ve been dreaming about that third date pillow talk.”

I open my mouth to respond, but before I get a sound out, I’m interrupted by a commotion right beside me. There’s a man in a waiter’s suit, but it’s not the man who’s been serving us. Vander is right behind him, holding on to his outstretched arm. It only takes me a moment to notice the syringe in his hand aimed for me. Vander stopped him seconds before he would have stabbed me and pressed the plunger on whatever mystery liquid is inside it.

Cole shoots out of his seat and rounds the table on the other side from where Vander and my attacker are. He pulls me to standing and puts himself between me and the attacker, adding another level of protection from me being harmed. His arm reaches back and wraps around me, pulling me flush against his back. The muscles he presses me against are tense as customers around us scream in surprise, not understanding what the disturbance is about.

Vander wrestles the man’s arm behind his back and slams his face into my plate of mostly finished food. His forearm presses into the man’s neck, while the rest of his body holds him down as he wrestles the needle from his hand. Once Vander has the item meant to attack me with, he glances up at Cole.

My date doesn’t hesitate to step forward and grab the offensive item. He holds it with two fingers, careful to keep the needle from poking him. The murmuring around us becomes louder as they catch the handoff, and are able to surmise what happened. Vander rips the man up from the table and marches him away from me. The man gives me an evil glare, but the severity of the expression is diminished with the rice sticking to his cheek.

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