Page 44 of The Taskmaster
“Does it work?” she asked.
“I don’t know. You tell me.”
The barista came over at that moment with our drinks, placed them down on the table and then sloped away, unable to look either of us in the eye. But Abigail didn’t take her eyes off me, and when he left, she leaned over the table and in a low voice asked, “Are you stalking me?”
I stared back at her, holding her gaze, knowing she was trying to read me right now.
“Why?” I replied, lifting my coffee cup and taking a sip before placing it down, then narrowing my eyes in a playful way. “Do you have a stalker?”
She swallowed. I knew she wouldn’t tell the truth.
“No, not that I know of. But you being here, out of the blue, after we met the other day is a little suspicious...” She cocked her head. “Don’t you think?”
“Maybe you’re the one stalking me?” I said, trying to keep the smile off my face. I knew my eyes would be shining at her right now. But they didn’t make her relax.
“I came in here first,” she shot back, picking up her spoon and stirring the froth on top of her coffee.
Then she put the spoon in her mouth and licked the froth, pulling the spoon out slowly, and I was the one left swallowing and feeling uneasy.
Why was that so fucking sexy?
And why did it make me want to reach across this table and grab the back of her head, force her to me, and kiss her like she’d never been kissed before?
I cleared my throat.
“Then it must be fate,” I said, and trying to regain the upper hand, I lifted my coffee cup and stared at her over the rim. “You did say you wanted to meet up with me after I saw you at work.”
“And then I said no,” she replied, and her cheeks flushed as she realised what she’d said. “Not that I was being rude by doing that, I just have a lot on.”
“You don’t have a lot on now.” She didn’t respond right away, so I went on. “Do you like working as a registrar?”
“It’s better than the job I used to do.”
“What did you used to do?”
“Customer services manager.” She cocked her head. “Why aren’tyouat work, by the way?” Accusation and mistrust glowed in her eyes as she watched me. “I heard they found one of your colleagues unconscious in our car park last night. He got taken to hospital. Surely, it’s all hands on deck this morning?”
At that moment, I noticed a black Mercedes pull up outside the café, parking on the opposite side of the road. The windowswere blacked out, and I waited for someone to get out, but no one did. It was him, from the other night. It had to be. I was sure of it.
“Are you okay?” Abigail asked, as I ignored her, my focus solely on the car now.
This could be my only chance. The best chance to find out who it was.
“Isaiah, are you all right? I didn’t mean to upset you by mentioning your colleague,” she added as I stood up.
“Just give me a minute,” I said, walking away from the table to the door of the café.
I wrenched it open and marched outside, running across the road, not caring if the traffic hit me. But I didn’t even make it halfway across the road when the car started to rev its engine and then sped off, the wheels screeching as they spun on the tarmac. I stood in the middle of the road, staring at the tailgate as it raced out of sight, and I thrust my hands into my hair and gripped hard as I growled to myself, “Fuck.”
I should’ve had my bike close by. I should’ve followed them. This was a golden opportunity. And yet, I didn’t want to abandon Abigail.
Regret and irritation burned in my gut, but I fought it down. There would be another opportunity to find them. I’d make sure of it.
I turned and headed back into the café, inwardly cursing that I hadn’t been better prepared. When I got back inside, I looked across the café at the table where we’d sat, and Abigail had gone.
“Where did she go?” I asked the barista frantically.
He looked startled that I’d spoken to him, then said, “She left, just a couple of seconds ago. If you go back out onto the street, you’ll probably see her.”
