Page 64 of Crave Me

“You’ve been reading that poetry shit again, haven’t you?”

He laughs and pulls me to him, making me smile. Damn, I have it bad for him. “I’m not trying to seduce you.” I think about it. “Never mind, I am. But I know you have a company to save. So if you have to go, go. Just promise to make it up to me later.”

“I promise,” he says, speaking as if he’s gifting his soul in that simple statement.

My mouth is capable of three things: loud, louder, and non-stop. But nothing I say will carry as much emotion as I sensed in those two words, except maybe three words I’m not ready to tell him.

I back away and slip into my truck. “Try not to be too long, okay?”

“I’ll be with you soon,” he assures me.

But it won’t be soon enough.

It’s not until I pull out and round the corner that he heads back into the building. I let out a sigh, wondering exactly when I fell as hard as I have.

The steering wheel slides along my fingers as I straighten my truck. With the exception of a few random cars, the three-level lot is almost completely empty.

I wave to the security guard as he opens the heavy metal gate to let me out. Every evening at six, all entrances are sealed tight. Access in and out is only permitted following a thorough clearance by armed guards. But I won’t complain. I like feeling safe.

Yet when I pull onto the main road that sense of security immediately vanishes.

Last night, I left close to ten, something I do fairly frequently when I’m rushing to finish a project or brainstorming with Evan. Normally, it’s no big deal. But from the moment I left the building, I couldn’t shake the feeling I was being watched.

I didn’t notice anyone tailing me and thought the lack of sleep was getting to me, until I turned onto my street. Finn jogged toward me when I pulled into our driveway and hopped out, having just completed his evening run. I started toward him when screeching tires had us looking up the block.

“What was that?” I asked.

“Some asshole in an old Jeep.” It’s what he claimed, but then he pressed his hand against my back, frowning as he led me inside.

He didn’t have a good feeling, and neither did I. But when nothing else happened we brushed it aside.

I was so busy today, I didn’t even bother mentioning it to Evan. But now . . .

I switch on the radio when that awful sense returns. “Relax,” I say aloud, forcing myself to take a few breaths.

The song finishes playing and the DJ announces more snow for the weekend when bright headlights flash across my rearview mirror, overtaking the expanse and closing in. I can’t make out the car. I only know it’s as big as my truck.

I push on the gas, he follows, staying close enough to blind me with his lights and keep me from getting a make on the vehicle. I try to convince myself I’m just being paranoid—that it’s not Bryant. He doesn’t know where I work and—

The car withdraws. It’s only then I start to breathe again.

It’s not him. . .

I shrug out of my coat when I realize how badly I’m sweating. What’s wrong with me? It’s only eight-thirty and this isn’t the first time I’ve been out after dark.

I roll my shoulders, trying to shake the tension that remains when I just make the next light and think I’ve lost him. Two streets down, I make a right, but as I reach the next block those same damn headlights appear.

Paranoid or not, I’m done. “Alfred, call Evan.”

“Calling Evan, Wren,” Alfred announces.

I almost smile. Evan had his tech heads install Alfred’s software in my ride shortly after I started working for him. They tailored it, and my new phone, to respond to my voice and needs.

But the smile that wants to come dissolves when I change lanes and the car follows.

The call goes to voicemail. “Evan is not available, Wren,” Alfred’s responds. “Leave message?”

I don’t answer, too busy watching the car edge closer.

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