Page 14 of Wolfish Player
He gestures for me to step onto the car. “I’ll have Theresa meet you in the café on the fifth floor.”
“Can you give me a kind of timeline of when you’ll make your decision at least?” I don’t think his attraction to me would blur his decision in the end. “My next interview is at a pet store and the one after that is at Taco Bell…”
He doesn’t answer me, and his expression gives away nothing as the doors glide shut.
THE CEO
ADRIAN
That night
My penthouse is quiet, but my thoughts are roaring loudly with vivid scenes of the bartender I was just starting to forget…
I’ve been looking at “Heather Barrett’s” social media profile for several nights in a row, tempted to message her, but the last update on her profile was years ago.
A photo-less status:“Moving in with my mom for a bit so I can chase my dreams. Wish me luck!”
Alas, she left plenty of other photos up though, and it’s completely different from her “Allyson Harmony” online persona.
I’ve gazed at them far longer than I care to admit. And I swore last night would be the last night I looked, but seeing her in my building today ruined all of that.
I pour a drink in the kitchen, letting the heat settle low in my chest before sinking into my living room chair and pulling her up on my screen again.
I click on a beach album that features her in various dresses that cling to her curves, a bikini that bares the generous swell of her breasts, and tight shorts that leave little to the imagination.
I’m definitely not hiring this woman…
Scrolling to an album titled “Writing Retreat,” I stare at images of her posing with various colored notebooks. I’m so caught up clicking through them that I almost miss the text flashing across my screen.
George (main security)
Urgent issue. Please call when you see this, sir.
I sigh and call him. “Yes, George?”
“Sorry to bother you this late,” he says, voice crackling over the line. “I was reviewing all of today’s footage from earlier and… I found something. I sent you a screenshot.”
The image pings through a second later: Heather is standing in the corner of my café. Her hands are deep into a basket of new-release books she clearly has no intention of paying for.
The shot is blurred, but I can still make out the curve of her smirk, the tilt of her head like she knows the camera is watching and doesn’t give a damn.
“You want me to track her down and make her pay?” he asks. “She stole about ninety dollars’ worth of merch.”
“That’s okay.” I roll my eyes at her audacity. “I know who she is.”
“Next time she shows up, want me to trespass her?”
“No, I’ll handle it. Thank you, George.”
I end the call and set the phone down. I try to leave it there, to break my routine of staring at this woman I can’t have.
I last five seconds before picking it back up.
THE CEO
ADRIAN
Marcia
