Page 11 of Dangerous Obsession

WatersplashedupfromMarigold’s tires when she turned in to the small lot behind her designer consignment boutique. It never failed; every time it rained, water would build up to the point of near flooding in front of the shops along the street. Once again, she cursed the city for its lackadaisical approach to clearing debris from the sewer drain at the end of the block.

She pulled into her reserved spot near the back door, turned off the ignition, and grabbed her purse from where it sat on the passenger seat. Once she secured it over her shoulder and across her body, she scanned the parking lot.

Past experience had taught her more than she ever wanted to know about situational awareness. And after the horrible thing that happened to Dulce, her friend’s new husband had reiterated the importance of being aware of your surroundings at all times. Cole Lambert was a tough, former super-secret government agent, the strong, broody, silent type, who didn’t say much. So when he did, you damn sure better listen.

Not seeing any threats, she lifted her insulated tumbler of hot tea from the cupholder, shoved the door open, and climbed out of the car. She hummed as she made her way the few feet to the back door of her shop and jammed the key into the dead bolt. She stepped inside, shut and locked the door, then hurried to the touch pad to turn off the alarm.

“I’m coming. I’m coming.” She tapped in the five-digit code, and the beeping stopped.

Cole had arranged to have the company he worked for install a super-fancy security system at her home and the boutique. Of course, she’d protested, telling them there was no way she could afford it. Total BS. The real reason was, she couldn’t understand why they would want to help her. Whyanyonewould want to help her.

Another one of those times when the old self-doubts ingrained in her during her relationship with Cliff would creep into her thought process.You’re not good enough. You’re not smart enough. You’re not accomplished enough.

Cliff had stolen her ability to trust herself or other people and take them at their word.

Beck O’Halleran, the owner of O’Halleran Security International, had insisted, said it was a gift and, with a smirk, told her he would be insulted if she didn’t accept it. Dulce convinced her there were no strings attached.

Marigold had finally agreed to accept the security system and thanked them profusely. In her mind, by accepting their help, that put her one step closer to regaining the life she deserved. The lifehe’dtried to deny her.

Caleb, Beck’s brother and the guy who created the high-tech system, actually flew to Georgetown from their base in California to oversee the installation himself. He was so kind and funny and immediately set her at ease enough that she would allow him access to her sanctuary. Something she rarely did.

Marigold’s insides heated as she thought back to the day the alarm was installed.

Golden Bailey had been there, hovering, watching her in that weird way only a six-foot-eight-inch deadly sniper could. It might sound crazy, but she was certain he picked up on the way her heart beat faster whenever he was near.

Threats had been made against Dulce’s life, and since they were best friends and roommates at the time, Cole had been worried Marigold could end up being collateral damage. Against her vehement protests, he’d assigned Paul Bunyan to protect her.

Okay, so maybe calling him names wasn’t very nice, but it was a quick and easy way to keep him at arm’s length. Because the way he looked at her did funny things to her tummy. Things that, quite frankly, freaked her out more than she would admit under threat of torture.

Viking—that’s what everyone called Golden because he actually looked like one—had been nothing but kind to her and treated her with the utmost respect. But he was big and strong and she was done with big, strong guys, thank you very much. Actually, she was done with guys in general—too much misery came with them.

Then why can’t you stop thinking about him?

“Oh, shut up,” Marigold scolded herself.

She reached out and, one by one, flipped up a row of switches. A series of overhead lights flickered on until the entire boutique was well-lit.No dark corners for this girl.She set her travel mug on her desk with athunk,settled onto her plush desk chair, and slipped her phone from her purse before securing the bag in the bottom drawer of the beautiful, secondhand desk she’d accepted as a gift from a customer.

The boutique didn’t open for another thirty minutes, which would give her time to get a few things done before it got busy. She spent part of that time going through consignment sales slips, reconciling them against the owner list in the computer, then processing payments.

Done with paperwork, she strolled around the store turning on the cute accent lamps set up here and there and made sure the clothing racks were organized by size and designer.

Timeless Designs—her store—was her life.

She’d spent countless hours and dropped every penny she’d hidden away during her time with Cliff—what she calledthe dark period—to build this business after it was passed on to her by the previous owner. By no means was she a millionaire, but she’d purchased Dulce’s townhouse, albeit at a deep discount, a decent car, and was financially independent.

Marigold had worked her ass off to ensure no one, especially a man, would ever have control over her again.

Like a metaphorical phoenix, she’d risen from the ashes of his abuse and was beginning to see herself as a stronger woman than the one who’d existed before him.

There was a softbing-bongfrom the doorbell at the back door, and she hurried to her office to glance at the monitor on the credenza behind her desk. Shayna McCutcheon, her youngest and most enthusiastic employee, waved and smiled up at the camera. Draped across her arms were a couple of garment bags so full they looked as if they might burst the seams.

The nineteen-year-old worked at the boutique part-time while attending a local fashion institute. The teenager loved Timeless Designs almost as much as Marigold did.

Marigold had started working at the boutique after high school, when Genevieve Turley was the owner. Two years ago, Genevieve decided to retire and gave Marigold the option to make monthly payments to buy her out. They devised a payment structure that worked for both of them, and Marigold sent her the last payment six months ago. The boutique was now one hundred percent hers, an achievement she was very proud of, and one that wouldn’t have happened had she stayed with Cliff.

She rushed to let Shayna in, and, after a last look at the small monitor by the door, flipped the dead bolt and swung the door open.

“Good morning.” She held the door for her. “You’re early.”

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