Page 28 of Blurred Lines

Violet: OMG! Cristian?

Me

;)

Violet

Go you! Everyone thinks Theo’s the asshole, by the way. And a bunch of women want to know what happens next in the story of Mr. Hotly.

Me

My lips are sealed.

Violet

Are they really?

Me

No :)

Next, I messaged Brax, Kane, Lucas, Charlotte, and Macie to let them know I was okay, just terrible at timekeeping, and then I sagged onto the couch in Cristian’s office. I still had ninety-nine problems, but for once, a boyfriend wasn’t one of them. A challenge, yes, but a problem, no.

Cristian had pulled on jeans—commando—and a T-shirt and headed out to speak with his staff. He’d be back in an hour, max, he’d promised. Make myself at home. He kept his space neat, the colour scheme monochromatic. Spare clothes lived in a closet beside the bathroom, and he had a mini-fridge filled with drinks, but there were no personal touches. No photos, no vacay souvenirs, no calendar filled with notes. The few pieces of artwork were modern and abstract, the rest of the walls bare. He said he’d been married once. Was the tidiness a defence mechanism? Or had he always guarded his personality so fiercely?

I deleted a bunch of messages, and then when exhaustion crept up on me, I closed my eyes. I’d just rest for a moment. Or possibly two…

CHAPTER 11

CRISTIAN

Lauren looked like a goddess lying there on the couch. His couch, his woman. It hadn’t taken long for the boyfriend to fuck up, and when he’d played his final hand, he’d done so with the foolish confidence of a drunk poker player. Was he the asshole? Of course he was the fucking asshole.

Everyone in the whole damn world thought he was the asshole.

But who cared about him anymore?

Cris caressed Lauren’s cheek softly and waited for her to wake. It took a full thirty seconds, but then her eyes flickered open, her face registering first confusion and then a soft smile when she realised where she was.

“Hi,” he said.

“Hi.”

“My schedule’s completely clear for the next week. After that, it’s flexible.”

“You did that for me?”

“Until we identify Mario, I’m your shadow.”

Cris didn’t like the direction the messages were heading in. He liked it even less that Lauren was still receiving them after his warning. But he knew one thing about Mario: he was close. Lauren was a magnet, and once a man got caught in her field, there was no escape. All Cris had to do was hang around with her for long enough to identify the enemy.

He’d studied every photo Lauren had kept, and the human body was his area of expertise. In both his former and current careers, he’d learned to analyse a physique and pick out the strengths and weaknesses. Mario was white, thirty to forty-five, and slightly overweight. Probably an introvert. A loner. His pale skin showed he didn’t spend much time outdoors, and if he worked, his pudgy middle suggested he probably sat behind a desk all day. There was a distinctive mole just above his dick, and his pubic hair was dark brown with flecks of grey. In terms of body hair, he had greater than average coverage on his arms and legs. The hair on his head might be solid brown or even a different colour—plenty of men used dye these days, especially in this town.

That description could match a thousand men, but the hands, those were the tell. On his left hand, Mario had a distinctive pattern of three moles near the base of his thumb, and he also chewed his nails.

The hands would be his downfall.

What would happen to Mario when they identified him? Cris still hadn’t decided. On the one hand, they could go the legal route and let the cops deal with the issue. On the other hand, Cris really wanted to break that motherfucker’s nose.

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