Page 44 of Obsession
Istop typing on my laptop when there’s a soft knock behind me. Writing this weekly column about Robbie is getting more and more difficult by the day. How do I stay impartial when I’m anything but? How do I stick to simple facts and keep my own emotions from bleeding through the sentences on the screen?
Shutting the laptop, I roll my chair around. Jeanine looks like the cat who got the canary, dressed to the nines in a pantsuit and a pair of rimmed glasses that are for fashion. Jeanine had laser eye surgery last year.
“You going on a date?”
“In a business suit?” Her red lipstick contrasts her pearly white teeth when she smiles. She pats her tied-back hair to ensure no strands have defied gravity yet. “Do I look presentable?”
“Presentable?” I gesture to her clothes. “You look like you’re running for president. What’s the occasion?”
She cackles like the question is the funniest thing all year. “Oh, Savannah. I’m sure you live under a rock.”
“We established that a long time ago,” I mumble, reaching for my coffee cup only to find it empty. Story of my life.
“I’m serious, Savannah. You’re covering the most coveted story around here, but you’re still clueless.”
“So?” I tip my cup upside down. Not even a single drop. “Are you going to enlighten me?” I place the cup back down and offer her my best fake ‘I’m interested’ face. I’m definitely not curious.
“Derek Richard Jameson’s execution is scheduled today. Guess who assigned me to attend as press?”
“I hate when they do that,” I mutter.
“Do what?” she asks.
“Use their full names. No one talks like that. I didn’t walk into my interview with James and say,I’m Savannah Claire Campbell.”
“Your middle name is Claire?”
My eyes roll, and I turn around to fire my laptop back up. I really need to finish the weekly column before I have James breathing down my neck. He’s already on my case enough as it is.
“It will be you when it’s Robbie’s turn.”
Frowning, I whip back around.
“James will want you to cover Robbie’s execution…” She hesitates when my eyes grow wide as saucers. She must see how stricken I am. “I mean, it makes sense, right? Robbie’s story is yours. James will want you there to document Robbie’s last statement.”
I can’t speak. My throat has closed up completely. What did Robbie say the other day? Ninety-three sleeps? That means it’s now, what? Eighty-nine? I’m two seconds away from hyperventilating when Jeanine laughs awkwardly. I bet I look like I’m on the verge of tears.
“Anyway,” she says, hooking a thumb over her shoulder. “I should go. I can’t be late for Derek’s date with death.”
Waving her off, I brace my elbows on my knees and let my head hang between my legs. My nails dig into my scalp. I’m going to be sick. I can’t watch Robbie die—the same man who held my hand beneath the table and made me feel things no other man has ever made me feel. Those fucking eyes can hold me captive for hours. His smile…and that charming dimple in his cheek.
What did I sign up for when I agreed to write this story? I was so fucking naive, thinking I wouldn’t fall beneath the spell of a man whose enigmatic personality is his weapon of choice to lure his victims closer. He’s a master manipulator. No woman would willingly help him look for things in his car if he portrayed himself as some creepy stalker in the dead of night.
In the space of ten minutes, he can convince a woman that they’re safe. Or, at the very least, make them ignore their own fight-or-flight instinct.
I know firsthand how true it is. I’ve trusted him from the first moment I sat down across from him on that rickety chair and looked him in the eye.
“Naive,” I whisper. “So fucking naive.”
“Yes, you are.”
I scream, jumping ten feet into the air.
Elliot laughs, entering my space.
“What the hell!” I all but shout. “Don’t scare me like that.”
“I’m sorry,” he chuckles, holding his hands up in a gesture of surrender, but there’s not an ounce of remorse in his twinkling eyes.
