Page 11 of Blurred Lines

“Who the fuck sent you this? Not your boyfriend?”

“Eew, no.”

“An ex?”

“I don’t know who he is or how he got my number. He usually messages me via social media.”

“This has happened more than once?”

“I’ve lost count of the number of times.”

“All the same guy?”

“Mostly.”

“Mostly? Lauren, this isn’t okay. How long has he been messaging you?”

“For months.”

“Have you reported it?”

“To who? The police? My friend got stalked by some weirdo, and they didn’t take it seriously until the situation escalated drastically.”

“Escalated drastically? Could it be the same guy?”

“No, it definitely isn’t.”

“What’s your security like at home? Do you live with your boyfriend?”

I shook my head. “No. I mean, I stay at his place sometimes, but I live alone. I have an alarm, though, and security lights, and two good friends live right next door. Except they’re away in the Caribbean at the moment because Vi has to work, and Dawson always goes with her.”

Aaaaand I was rambling again. Cristian Garza scrambled my thoughts, but my mouth just kept going and going of its own accord.

“Make sure the alarm’s set every night, and if you feel worried, call the cops. Or me.”

“I don’t have your number.”

“Give me your phone.”

Was he always this bossy? And was it bad that I liked it? Immediately after I’d had that thought, the guilt hit. Cristian was…well, not even a friend. He was a guy I’d shared two conversations with, one of which was about a pervert. If I called anyone, it should be Theo.

But now I had Cristian’s number, and even though I never planned to make use of it, I couldn’t bring myself to delete it either.

CHAPTER 5

LAUREN

Where had all the pens gone? The stacks of paper? The “Like a Boss” coffee mug that always sat beside Mr. Hotly’s laptop? Ever since he’d taken over the company, his desk had been a hotbed of clutter, but this morning, the polished wood surface was clear apart from his phone.

“You wanted to see me, sir?”

“Take a seat, Ms. Rossi.”

“Of course.”

But when I began to lower my ass into the visitor’s chair, Mr. Hotly shook his head.

“Not there.” He tapped the desk with one authoritative finger. “Here. Did you get my memo about the change in dress code?”

---