Page 113 of Fixation
Our future children, though, they’d need both their mother and sunlight.
Since getting rid of her friend is out of the question, I do the next best thing.
I turn up the volume and eavesdrop on their conversation.
“God, that was awkward.” Harper’s nose twitches. Her hand rises to her hair. I raise mine in the car, pretending to be the one tucking the wayward lock behind her ear. “The email he sent me. He demanded that I go out on a date with him. Demanded! Like I didn’t have any other choice.”
The phone was in danger of splitting in half before.
Now?He?
Hearing Harper talk about some other man demanding her to date him, it’s about to be crushed into a million tiny pieces.
I haven’t noticed anything unusual happening over the past two days.
No men leaving flowers on her doorstep. No phone calls to disturb her.
The emails, though. I haven’t taken those into account.
I’ll be smarter next time.
Needing to hear her better, I shove my earbuds into my ears.
“Seriously?” Darla pauses mid-sip, brows pinching. “I don’t take that crap from my boss, and he could fire me on the spot. Just like that.” She snaps her fingers. “I’ll be damned if I’m putting up with it from someone under me. Werner’s a creep. You need to fire him, at the very least.”
Snap. That’s how easily I’d snap the neck of the man who dared to send Harper that email.
It’s really not that bad. Besides…” Harper gives a weak smile that slips almost immediately. “If he shows up here like he said he would, I’ll just stay inside. Maybe then he’ll get the hint then and drop it.”
My mind goes images of me murdering Werner. Then to my father’s notebook. To the vilest poisons he concocted.
There’s this one that can make a person throw up and choke on his puke simultaneously.
Another one that will make his insides cave in on themselves and have blood come out of his eyes.
Both will draw too much attention to Werner.
Law enforcement expects the people I kill to die in gruesome ways. They’re criminals. It’s possible.
Plus, the more creative I get, the less likely it is that they’ll think they’re dealing with a serial killer. There’s no pattern.
Your average, law-abiding man dying from a strange cause will raise red flags. Everyday people aren’t usually killed.
Frustrated, I slam the dashboard. Curse under my breath. The potassium chloride I keep in my car—just in case—will have to do.
“Harper. It sounded like a threat.” Darla rests her hand on Harper’s shoulder, a loving gesture. “I’d call the police if I were you.”
That hand shouldn’t be there. She’s mine to comfort. Mine to hold.
My molars grind. I’m like a bull and Darla just waved a red flag right in my fucking face.
“He’s harassing you, it’s all there, in the email,” she continues while I’m about to lose my mind. “They’d have to listen. And I mean…it doesn’t hurt that you’re famous, either. My guess? You could have a restraining order by tomorrow.”
“Pfft, I’d hardly call myself famous.” The lips I want to bite and kiss pinch together.
“What would you call a woman who owns a jewelry empire, then?”
“Now you’re really overdoing it.” This isn’t faux modesty. Harper is successful and strong. She could’ve joined her family’s business, but look at her—holding her own. At only twenty-two. She doesn’t see what a queen she is, and that’s a problem. “Besides, it wasn’t that bad.Have dinner with me. I’ll be outside your home this Friday, and I won’t take no for an answer. Pajamas or a dress, I don’t care. I’m taking you out.I doubt it’d be enough to even call him in for questioning.”
