Page 5 of My Masked Savior
My friend’s mouth curls into a lopsided smile.
“More embarrassing than having to be wheeled out of the office Christmas party?”
I wipe all expression from my face, look her dead in the eyes, and stuff my entire cupcake in my mouth, not leaving even a crumb for her.
Back at my desk, the overhead lights feel too sharp, buzzing faintly like they’re mocking me. My chest is still sore, every inhale just a little too tight. I hope it’s leftover irritation from the attack, not the start of another one. I suspect having to book a bus ticket home last night didn’t help with my anxiety. I can’t keep making my parents visit me here in New York, finding excuses not to go back to Madison. I’ll have to spend this Christmas with them in Connecticut.
I keep telling myself it’ll be alright. But my hands won’t stop fidgeting with my pen, clicking it open and closed until I realize Basia is glaring at me from two cubicles away.
Hastily, I put down the pen. As I do, the side of my handknocks over my coffee mug. It tips over with a loud clunk, the remains of the life-giving substance spilling under my keyboard. I roll back instinctively, not wanting to stain my work clothes.
“Cole,” Todd’s voice barks from behind me, smooth with just the right touch of derision. My boss doesn’t believe in lowering his voice. Or maybe he wants the whole office to hear him. “You already put on a show at the party. If you need to get noticed around here, there are better ways than drama.”
Heat flushes up my neck, burning worse than the residual tightness in my lungs. I want to sink through the carpet, disappear between the gray cubicle walls.
“Won’t happen again,” I mumble, wishing I could snatch the words back, make them stronger.
Todd hums, unconvinced, and strolls off, already focused on bigger fish. But the shame he leaves behind clings like smoke. My fingers tremble as I mop up the spill, my eyes darting to the glass doors that lead to the lobby. For one stupid second, I think I see Marco’s shadow there, broad shoulders, a stance I know too well. My pulse spikes, heart hammering against my ribs.
No. No! Not again. He’s not here. He can’t be here.
I squeeze my eyes shut, force air in and out of my lungs. In. Out. Still too fast, too shallow.
And then—like someone’s flipped a switch—the memory of a low, commanding voice cuts through the panic.
Good girl. Now breathe.
My chest loosens a fraction. I hear it again, steady, grounding.
You’re safe. Just breathe for me.
By the time I open my eyes, the phantom in thedoorway is gone, and the only sound is the faint hum of the office printer. I release a shaky laugh under my breath. I don’t know if it’s terrifying or comforting that the EMT’s voice lingers louder than my own thoughts.
I can’t help myself. I start picturing scenarios where he’d give me praise under different circumstances. Our bodies tangled under the sheets. Him moving above me, inside me, looking down at me with those piercing eyes.
That’s it. You’re taking me so well, princess.
I bite back a moan. Fuck, fuckity, fuck!
Maybe this is a sign. Maybe I need to start dating again. Because there’s no way in hell that spicy specimen could really be interested in plain old me. Is there?
4
DAMIEN
Ican’t get her out of my head. It’s been four days since I felt her pulse beneath my fingers, watched those terrified eyes lock onto mine—and I still can’t stop thinking about her.
My finger taps against the steering wheel as I sit parked three cars down from her apartment building. This is the second night I’ve been here.
The background check was disappointingly clean. No restraining orders. Just a woman who moved here five years ago and kept her head down. The only interesting thing was her sudden relocation from two states away. People don’t just pick up and move without reason.
No boyfriend. No male visitors at all.
I want to believe this is about protection, not obsession. But I’m not sure I know the difference anymore.
The building’s door swings open at six thirty-two PM. Morgan steps out in black leggings and a fitted athletic jacket, hair pulled back in a high ponytail. My pulse quickens.
She turns left and out of my sight. Without thinking,I’m out of the car, pulling up my hood. I shadow her from fifty feet, the evening crowd providing me the perfect cover.
