Page 2 of Masked March

He bats away the balled-up napkin I throw at him. “I have to get back to the emails, but I’ll make you some soon. I promise.”

As I walk past him, his finger snags my hand for a moment as he pulls out his phone, wiggling it in the air for me. “Don’t be a stranger. Take some time off. Maybe join me at a restaurant this weekend or something.”

My back stiffens. His friendship is getting a bit toofamiliar. “Okay, Mateo. See you.”

On paper, he’s probably the man Ishouldpursue. He’s handsome, a professional architect, and kind. He even knows what my favorite dish is. He’d treat me so well.

But he’s just my friend.

In all honesty, I’m so stupid that I fantasize about Jake’s tongue in my pussy when I masturbate. My rude, arrogant prick of a boss. The one who has multiple women on the side that I have to hear about through the break room gossip every day. Sure, I’ve neverseenhim with any of these supposed snow bunnies, but they do flock to him like ditzy moths to a flame.

It’s dark when I get in my car and head home. Too late to go grocery shopping. Or really, I’m too exhausted. And there’s still work left to do from my bed on my laptop. Hopefully, I have something frozen I could microwave.

My oversized penthouse is in the same building as Jake’s. But he also has a chateau on the mountainside. And a cabin in the woods. Oh, and there’s the island getawaycottagethat’s more of an eight-bedroom mansion.

Whereas Jake’s is professionally decorated, my apartment is bare and lonely. The doorman nods as I pass the front desk, then head to the private elevator. When I approach, however, there’s a man with an open laptop squatting in front of the keypad. Wires connect it to his computer as he types away hurriedly, then slams the top closed.

My stomach flips as he pulls his black hoodie over his head and stands, then departs down the hall, ignoring my presence.

“Hey! Who are you?” I yell after him.

The man half turns his head, but I can’t make out his appearance. My heels won’t let me keep up.

Roy, the guard, stops me by calling out, “Miss Locke, that was just our new cybersecurity man. Jake hired him to redo the security in the building and I think he was updating the codes for the locks. It should work fine now.”

“Oh.” Despite the reassurance, my heart beats hard in my chest from the strange encounter. “He’s not very sociable.”

Roy shrugs and continues crunching on his apple while I tap my code and step inside the elevator. When I reach my door on the top floor, I pause before pressing in the numbers. Was the man also here? Why am I being so paranoid?

Shaking my head to get rid of the thoughts, I step inside. Nothing’s amiss, but I wouldn’t expect it to be. White walls, lots of glass, and stark furniture. We’ll say I’m a minimalist. That seems trendy and like I’ve set up my place like this intentionally.

My shoes go flying as I kick them toward the sunken living room while I rip my button-up shirt off and undo the front clasp of my bra. Relief at letting the girls breathe makes my shoulders ease their tension. As I wander toward the kitchen, I unzip my skirt and let it fall off while I wrestle the rest of my pantyhose off, then toss them in the trash.

Gripping the fridge door, I gasp and stiffen with shock. I throw open the freezer. With a bang, I slam it shut, then try the pantry, the cabinets…

Someone filled my kitchen with food. Not justanyfood, but every food I crave.

The package of my favorite chocolates from the little chocolatier’s shop downtown crinkle when I run my fingers over it. Even the desperate fruit bowl on the island overflows with my brand of organic Granny Smith apples. Are they poisoned?

I slide a butcher knife from the block and hold it in front of me as I wander down the hall and check out the other rooms of my apartment, throwing on lights and scavenging corners. Fortunately, there’s not much for an intruder to hide behind.

No one is here. I wander back into the kitchen while tugging my bathrobe around my waist. The food all seems freshly packaged and untampered with… Maybe it will be okay to eat it.

Getting to work, I pull out everything for chicken and dumplings with a smile on my face. What if this is Mateo’s way of saying he wants me to make him some? Did he have groceries delivered?

He must have. Roy knows him, so he probably let him up to bring them inside.

I’m relaxed and happy with a second glass of wine by the time I finish the dish, scooping up a big batch to take in to work tomorrow. As I take a heaping spoonful of the hearty chicken, I text Mateo to thank him.

Me

You’re amazing. Just what I needed!

Mateo

No, you’re amazing! And you’re welcome!

I set my phone down completely at ease, take a sip of my red, and sit back in my chair with a belly full of my grandmother’s recipe. My phone buzzes with another text from Mateo.

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