Page 111 of Love Me Stalk Me
"Not full-scale yet," he says. "But yeah. I think someone’s testing the waters. Patterns in movement, item targeting, timing. It’s just too clean."
A chill runs through me despite the warmth of the room. I cross one leg over the other and scan the latest analytics. "So, what’s our play?"
"For now, I keep watching. Track repeat foot traffic, analyze purchase habits, isolate blind spots. Build a net before they realize we’re onto them."
I bite the inside of my cheek, thinking. "Sounds like we’re not dealing with amateurs."
"We’re not," he says, straightening. "You ready for Christmas in hell?"
I groan, slumping forward. "Kill me now."
He chuckles, shaking his head. "It'll be fine."
I scoff, feeling the pressure of responsibility settle across my shoulders. "I'm not so sure about that."
His attention is unwavering, focused entirely on me as he waits for me to elaborate.
I sigh, the sound heavy in the quiet apartment. "It's my first Christmas as the store manager."
That makes him pause.
I chew on my lip, suddenly anxious. My teeth worry the sensitive skin there, a nervous habit I've never been able to break. "It's all on me. The sales, the staffing, the freaking window displays. And if things go wrong?—"
"They won't."
But I shake my head, looking away. “I don’t know. There’s so much I wasn’t told before. Corporate never looped me in on any of this when I was assistant manager,” I say, trying to keep my voice even. “And the last store manager… he kept things need-to-know, and apparently I never needed to know.”
“I’ve read the reports now. I’ve gone through the shrink logs, tracked the patterns, built out a response plan—but I’m still playing catch-up. And if you hadn’t filled me in about the theft rings, I’d still be flying blind.”
Something tightens in my chest. Not panic. Not incompetence. Just that cold, persistent pressure of responsibility pressing down.
“I can handle it. Iwillhandle it. But it’s a lot. Coordinating staff, covering for gaps, prepping for the Christmas rush—which is always chaos even without the looming possibility of organized crime in the building?”
I rub my temples, feeling the early warning flare of a headache pulsing behind my eyes. “It’s just… a lot to hold all at once.”
Callahan is silent, and then he leans forward, resting his forearms on his knees. The mattress shifts beneath his weight, bringing us closer together.
"You're not alone in this, Izzy."
I’m startled by the way he says it—so steady, so sure. His eyes hold mine, unwavering.
"I know it feels like all of this is on you, but it's not. You have me."
A lump forms in my throat. I look away, unable to meet his stare. The warmth of his words settles somewhere deep inside me.
"I don't know if that's enough," I admit, voice quieter.
The muscles in his face visibly tense.
"It is," he says. "Because I know what I'm doing. And you? You're smart as hell, and you give a damn about this store more than anyone else does."
I let out a shaky breath, the compliment catching me off guard.
Callahan tilts his head, watching me. "The old manager—he was an ass, wasn't he?"
I let out a half-laugh, half-scoff. "You have no idea."
He waits, so I continue, finding the words coming easier now.
