Page 16 of Love Me Stalk Me
I should stop.
I don't.
I turn back to her home screen, closing out the app, my chest tight with possessiveness. The screen fades to black, reflecting my own face back at me—stern, focused, determined.
She doesn't need Obsess AI.
Because she already has me.
The light in her office is still on when I walk in. She looks up, surprised, her eyes dropping to the takeout bag in my hand.
"I told you I wasn't hungry," she says, but there's no bite to her words.
I set it on the desk. "You said that, but I didn’t believe you."
She exhales through her nose, shaking her head. "You're a little bossy for a security guy."
"Head of loss prevention,” I correct her. “And you're bad at taking care of yourself."
Her mouth opens, probably to argue, but she stops. Her fingers brush the edge of the takeout bag, hesitating. I notice the chipped polish on her nails, a small imperfection in her otherwise put-together appearance. A sign she needs more time for herself.
She swallows. "I probably wouldn't have eaten if you didn't bring food."
I nod. "I know."
Her ears flush pink. "That's...not normal, you know."
I pull out my own food, sitting across from her like it's the most natural conversation in the world. "Then let's make it normal. Sit. Eat."
She hesitates. I can see it—the self-consciousness about eating in front of me makes her wary. Her hands hover over the container, uncertain.
So I open the bag, pull out one of the containers, and set it in front of her. The aroma of teriyaki chicken and steamed vegetables wafts up as I remove the lid. I roll up my sleeves, just enough to keep them out of the way. Izzy’s eyes catch on my wrist and the bit of ink I exposed. Her gaze lingers there for a beat too long, enough to tell me she’s curious. “Eat.”
She exhales a short laugh, shaking her head. "You don't give up, do you?"
"No."
She blushes, but shepicks up the fork.
Good girl.
As she stabs a bite of teriyaki chicken, I reach into my pocket, pulling out her phone and setting it beside her plate. The screen lights up briefly with a notification before fading to black again.
"All set," I say casually. "Your work email's secure now."
She glances at it, then back at me. "That was fast."
I shrug. "It's what I do."
She doesn't ask questions. Just picks up the phone, checks her messages quickly, and sets it aside. No hesitation, no suspicion.
She trusts me.
We eat in silence for a few minutes. The only sounds are the gentle scrape of plastic utensils against containers and the occasional clink of takeout boxes being shifted.
Then, once she's had a few bites, I reach into the bag again and slide a small dessert box across the desk.
Her brows lift. "Oh, I shouldn't eat that."
