Page 10 of Sweet and Salty

The man fills up my doorway as he casually leans against it, the slightest smile on those full lips of his. He looks at me like I'm the most important thing in the world, and it sends warm tendrils rushing over my skin.

A ridiculous notion, since I am technically his priority. Of course he's going to look at me like that.

“I appreciate you doing that,” I say, clearing my throat and trying to get some semblance of a grip.

“Absolutely,” he says. “Your other one, I'm sorry to say, was an ancient piece of shit.” He jerks a thumb over his shoulder as if to indicate the lone camera that’d been here when I purchased the place. “I'm sure I won't be able to glean anything from the footage you gathered from it, but we need to set a time to have a meeting where we go over all the evidence you've collected.”

The reality of that statement has a whole other kind of tension replacing what’d been there seconds before. Every time I think about Spencer, it’s hard to dig myself out of the hole of anxiety it puts me in.

“I’m available right now,” I say. “My three o’clock had to cancel. Do you have time?”

His small smile turns into a full-fledged one, sending a bolt of lightning straight through me.

“All the time I have is yours, Kitten,” he teases, only calling me Dr. Casson when there’s another person near us.

I've never told him to stop with the nickname, despite both of us assuring each other on day one that we could be professional. I’ve done my fair share of teasing him too, but always when it’s just the two of us. After all, this is the man that I've been texting every day for the last two months, the man I’ve been flirting with and dreaming about. It’s kind of hard to turn that all off just because he’s now working for me.

“Then go ahead and sit, Silver. I promise I won't treat you like a patient just because you’re in the hot seat,” I tease rightback, motioning to the chair on the other side of my desk before leaning down and rifling through the bottom drawer. I grab all of the letters and lay them out on the desk in front of him before clicking away on my keyboard and pulling up the lone video footage I have on my screen before turning it to him.

His eyes narrow on the grainy footage, his nose crinkling as if the quality has personally offended him. He shakes his head, leaning back in the chair with the letters in tow. “Can't believe you were using that camera.”

“To be fair, it came with the building. I also never entertained the idea that I’d need high quality footage regarding my safety.”

“I'm sorry you had to learn it this way,” he says, eyes on the first letter.

I can't help but watch him as those blue eyes move back and forth over the paper, one after the other until he's read them in their entirety. Every so often he gives a smallhmmorgrunt, and I flush when I see his features harden, his strong jaw going taut.

He puts all the letters back and sets them on my desk. “Fuck,” he says, his voice low and gravelly. “This is more intense than I initially thought.”

“My father wouldn't have hired you if it wasn't.” I blow out a breath. My emotions are all over the place, hopping from excitement and desire being near Owen, only to leap to anxiety and fear as he reacts to the evidence I’ve gathered.

“How long did you treat him?” Owen asks, his eyes on me. “I think your father said a year?”

“Close to it,” I answer. “He started making me uncomfortable the last few months before we parted ways. I honestly interpreted it as an overzealous attempt for my romantic affections, but...” I glance down at the letters, shrugging. “Clearly that interpretation was wrong.”

Owen murmurs under his breath again, a low contemplative sound that I swear I can feel in my bones.

“From the tone of his letters, he's escalating in his infatuation with you. I've had cases like this before, and I don't like where his head is at.”

My chest tightens. “So you don't think this is about to fizzle out?”

Owen presses his lips together, his eyes battling something, almost like he wants to tell me what Iwantto hear instead of the truth. I've seen the look plenty of times over the years of treating patients.

“You don't need to sugarcoat things with me,” I say before he can answer. “I've been treating people for a long time, and it's given me this unique ability to spot bullshit from a mile away.”

His eyebrows raise, and I give him a soft smile.

“Just thought you should know,” I continue.

Owen falls silent, and I wonder if he's going to bring up the fact that now he knows my profession and I know his, something we've always kept secret from our daily texts. He hasn't brought up anything about those texts, or that night two months ago, the entire week he's been here. If it weren't for him occasionally calling meKitten, I might think I imagined everything.

“It's definitely not about to fizzle out,” he finally says. “But I have your entire practice covered and I get alerts when someone comes within a five-yard radius. He may be escalating, but so am I. You're safe with me, okay?”

“Except for when I’m not with you,” I say, mostly to myself as my mind spirals down a catastrophizing path—spinning images of worst-case scenarios, with Spencer showing up to my home in the middle of the night, breaking in and doing…God knows what.

“If you’re worried, I can stay outside your place all night too.”

I blink out of the thoughts racing through my mind. “Seriously?”

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