Page 89 of Fraud
After watching her every movement on my phone for the last week, I’d realized I wasn’t infatuated with Katelyn O’Malley because of what she could offer me, but because of what I could give to her.
For a guy who’d only thought of himself most his life, it was a deep revelation.
One I’d been grappling with for days, but my brother was right. I couldn’t sit around any longer and let her slip between my fingers.
I needed to win her back.
Starting now.
Or at least, sometime in the next few minutes.
I’d been parked outside her apartment for what seemed like an eternity. In reality, it was probably close to fifteen minutes. What I wouldn’t give for one of my brother’s high-tech apps now, so I could see what was going on in that apartment.
Was she alone?
Was the asswipe Brian there?
“Fuck,” I cursed out loud, finally pulling the keys from the ignition. Pushing open the door, I stepped out and took one last deep breath.
Here goes nothing.
It didn’t take long for me to reach the front door. I didn’t even have to ring up to have her let me in. Some kind old lady was walking in with her groceries, and after taking several bags to her first-floor apartment, it was an easy elevator ride to Kate’s floor.
Now, all I had to do was knock.
I raised my hand to the door just as it opened.
“Killian!” Kate said, slightly startled.
I was also taken aback, but it swiftly subsided when I saw the tear stains on her cheeks and the redness around her eyes.
“What’s wrong? Did someone hurt you?”
“No. I mean, not really. I don’t know,” she blurted out all at once.
I took her hand, pulling her inside.
“But, wait, I need cat food. For my cat,” she said quietly, fresh tears spilling from her eyelids.
“I’ll take care of it. Now, sit down. Tell me what happened.”
She did as I’d said, taking a seat next to me on her blue paisley sofa. She hunched over as I rubbed her back, her hands cupping her swollen face.
“I can’t talk about this with you,” she said, peeking out from between her fingers. “Especially not you.”
I shook my head. “That’s not going to do. See, when I show up here and find you crying and upset, I want to kill someone…so unless you tell me what’s going on, I’m just going to figure it out myself. Starting with that jackass writing teacher.”
Her head rose, a wide-eyed look of fear.
“Are you going to start talking?”
She grumbled, her head falling back to her hands. “We went on a date,” she explained. “We went on several dates—something you obviously already know.” She looked up, her red eyes squinting at mine. “How do you know that by the way?”
“Never mind that. We’re talking about you.”
“Anyway,” she continued, “we went out to a club tonight and were dancing. Drinking.”
“I don’t like the direction this is taking,” I growled.
