Page 6 of Shadowing Charlotte
"Princess, do you have any idea how long I've been watching you?" I found myself asking. I had no control over myself; that's what she did to me. Every word, every reaction, poured out of me instinctively.
"Yes…" she replied tightly, the muscled in her jaw flexing as she clenched her teeth.
"Then you and I both fucking know that you're not telling anyone anything." My smirk widened, victory shining in my eyes.
"You're a fucking psycho," Charlotte sneered. If looks could kill, I might have dropped dead right there on the sidewalk.
"You think I don't know that?" I asked, pulling another smoke from my pack and lighting it. Charlotte grimaced before turning and storming past me, shaking her headand muttering under her breath. I watched her cross the street and disappear around the corner toward her house, the smile never falling from my face.
Chapter seven
Charlotte
Imuttered under my breath as I walked away, unable to fathom the sheer audacity he had. He wasn't going to stop, and some disturbed part of me relished the thought.
Maybe I was sick. I'd become as obsessed with being watched as he was with watching me. The crosswalk light began to blink; as I crossed the road, I realized I still didn't know his name. But it was only a matter of time until I figured it out…
I spent the rest of the day unpacking, feeling almost disappointed when I realized I hadn't felt his eyes on me since I'd left the smoothie shop. Glancing at the clock, I found myself wondering what he was doing. What sort of job could someone hold that would leave them with enough time to stalk a stranger?
Did he have any friends? Maybe he did. Perhaps they were a bunch of sickos like him that followed young girls around. And yet… I didn't think there were many sickos that drove drunk girls home and saw them safely back inside. He hadn't touched me that night at the quarry, and he could have, given the state I had been in.
I found myself imagining that he had: imagined that he had reclined the seat back and slipped his hand into my jeans. I moaned, raking my bottom lip through my teeth, wondering if he would whisper filthy things in my ear as he rubbed my clit. Fuck, what was wrong with me? How could I get off on such twisted thoughts? Maybe I was no better than him.
Sunday night, two days after our encounter, was the first time I heard the familiar rumble again. I sat up in my bed, glancing at my phone. It was just after midnight, and I had to be at work at eight. Still, the knowledge that I had to be up early didn't stop mefrom climbing out of bed and padding through the house. The curtains split an inch as I peeked out the window.
The Camaro was there, parked in on the curb. All of the windows were tinted, but I knew he was sitting inside. I could feel his blue eyes watching. Did he know I was watching him, too?
Motionless, I stood there, waiting for something to happen. I imagined him sitting there, his dark hair falling over his brow, as it had when I'd caught him outside the smoothie shop.
Suddenly, the light in the car flicked on as he opened the door and I pulled back a few inches. He climbed out, leaning against the hood. A small flame flick to life as he lit the end of another cigarette, the light illuminating his face for a brief moment. He smoked the entire thing, his gaze never leaving the house. When he finished, he dropped the butt in the street and returned to the car, slowly driving away.
Some part of me had hoped for more, that he would slip through the back door again and find me awake. I pictured the shocked look on his face as he found me standing there, watching him the same way he was watching me.
Disappointment settled in my gut as I tiptoed back to bed, still listening for the rumble of the Camaro. I didn't know how long I lay awake, only that I woke a few hours later, feeling exhausted; the space behind my eyes throbbed from lack of sleep. There was an emptiness in my chest, a hollow ache of longing for something I couldn't quite name.
In the morning, my alarm greeted my exhausted form, jarring me awake. I dressed sluggishly, pulling on my new trousers and a pretty cream-colored blouse. It took me an hour to get ready, tying my hair back into a messy bun and putting on enough makeup to look like I hadn't risen from the grave that morning. I slipped on black flats and grabbed my purse, practically running out the door. Tired or not, it wouldn't look good to be late on my first day.
I arrived at Hewart Press, latte in hand, with four minutes to spare. I would have preferred to have been early, but I knew I wouldn't be able to function without caffeine.
"You must be Charlotte?" A tall, pretty brunette in a black dress greeted me with a handshake.
"You can call me Lottie," I replied with a genuine smile.
"Lottie," she repeated kindly. "I'm Saydiah."
"Nice to meet you," I released her hand and shifted anxiously.
"Today will be easy," she stated, "We have some more paperwork for you to fill out and then we can go through what a normal day will look like for you." I nodded and followed behind her, glancing out the window, half hoping to see the Camaro sitting outside.
Saydiah walked me through my daily tasks, dropping a stack of manuscripts on my desk. "Most of your time will be spent reading through author submissions. Anything that sparks your interest should be brought to me. Occasionally, I'll have articles and manuscripts for you to edit. Sometimes I might have you leave the office to run errands. Do you have your own car?"
"Of course," I replied with a nod.
"Good. You can start combing through these. Lunch is at noon, so make sure you clock out with the keycard. I'm not a stickler about breaks. If you want to run to the lounge and grab coffee or food, feel free to at any time. Just don't spill anything on the papers." With that, she left me alone in the tiny office adjacent to hers. The job seemed simple enough, especially for someone who enjoyed reading as much as I did.
Sinking into my chair, I pulled the case from my purse and slipped on the glasses I rarely used. I preferred contact lenses, but I needed to find another optometrist closer to my new home to get a refill.
Picking up the first stack, I rolled my eyes.In the beginning…Terrible opening. No hook…
