Page 11 of Hunted Obsession

First, it was just because Emmie walked into the club like she owned the place. Now I want to know who is hiding the fact that they own said club and why. Willow Club is one of the hottest clubs in town. At least, that’s what I’ve discovered from my research.

If you don’t have a reservation for one of the upstairs VIP rooms, which cost more than I make in six months, then you have to stand in line for hours. Their social media is full of information, comments, and shares of people who have stood in line for hours just to get a glimpse of the inside before they’re turned away.

It’s fascinating to me that people would spend hours upon hours attempting entry to a club like this with no guarantee of success. I would definitely not be someone who was let inside. I am not someone who dresses overly sexily. I don’t wear high heels, and my makeup isn’t something that I spend much time on.

However, if I can’t get the information I need from this research, then I may have to play dress-up and figure out how to get inside that club. I figure that as long as my skirt is short enough, I should be able to slide right in.

Touching the arrow to go to the next search page, I tilt my head to the side as a website comes up that causes me to pause. It claims to be an LLC information page. I’ve never seen anything like it before, although I’m not an expert, so what the hell do I even know?

There are three names listed as owners of the LLC.

Callan Drake.

Ron Vale.

Asher Grant.

Grant.

There it is.

Taking a screenshot of the names for a later date, I decide to focus on Asher Grant. That is no coincidence. This man is related to Emmie. Now, I just need to figure out how. And I am going to do that.

After I finish work, I take a nap because I am starting to see double. I am so exhausted. Although at the same time, I feeleuphoric, because I’ve had a break of sorts. And if this Asher is single, I may just need to do some groundwork.

I am beyond dedicated to this—to Theron. And I am willing to do anything to have and keep him. We’ve been apart for far too long. I am ready to keep him and never let him go again, no matter what it takes.

I will do anything.

And I meananything.

Chapter Five

THERON

Nothingmuch of anything happens for the full twelve hours that I sit and stare at the computer screen. I want so many things to happen. I want this shit to be done immediately. But I also know that it takes time.

The most exciting thing that happened was the guy coming into the office at the beginning of the shift and taking an invoice from the desk. How do you run a business without stepping into your office at all?

Even here, I couldn’t go a full day without at least coming by and checking in. That makes me even more curious about what is going on and who is running the Willow Club. Because it’s not the man who signed the contract for service; I haven’t seen him once since this started.

Hale opens the door as soon as I glance down at my watch to check if it’s time for a shift change. He moves through the room, a coffee in his hand from a local drive-through place, his eyes scanning the screen in front of me, his brow arched in question.

“We got video feed of the office along with sound, but nothing happened last night. Not a goddamn thing. I’m leaving my notebook here. Started making notes of things I observed in the office, but that’s all I got.”

He jerks his chin, lowering his coffee to the table. “If I see anything worthy of a note, I’ll make it and time-stamp it. It’ll be easier to find it again that way.”

He’s right. It will. He’s done plenty of stakeouts over the years, so he’s better at data collecting than I am. I’m more of the front man. Meetings, contracts, and sales are where I’m usually better suited. But this is an all-hands-on-deck mission, and I’m proud as fuck to be part of it.

Standing, I give him all the information that Boden gave me, then leave him for his twelve-hour shift. Yawning, I move through the office, my computer bag in hand. I’m only a few steps down the hallway when my phone buzzes in my pocket. I reach for the device and stop to look at who is contacting me.

It’s a text from Emmie. Sliding my thumb across the screen, I open the message and smirk at the sight of the photograph that meets my eyes. She’s naked, although her hair is covering her tits, so I can’t see everything. It’s a hot picture, but I wouldn’t ever send something like this over the phone.

Before I can respond, she sends another message. This time, just a text with no photo attached.

EMMIE: Come over. I miss you.

My initial response is to halt. It hasn’t even been thirty-six hours since I’ve seen her. Hell, I’d have to think and count, but I would venture to guess it hasn’t even been twenty-four hours. I’m not sure how I feel about this.

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