Page 61 of Love Me Stalk Me
I pause. "...Shut up."
He doesn’t smile, but he looks amused with himself.
I mutter something under my breath about regretting ever speaking to him.
“Relax,” he says, as if my discomfort is almost entertaining for him. “We can watch the security feed from your office, then.”
"Oh, that's really not necessary?—"
"Shouldn't be a problem," he continues, like I didn’t just try to stop him. "Better than reviewing on the floor with distractions."
I scramble for an excuse. "That's really okay?—"
"It makes sense." His voice is final. "I'll walk with you."
I stare at him. Because now I have no way out. Which means I'm about to be locked in my office with him.
With a desk.
A very sturdy desk.
And desks are very similar to tables.
I need to stop.
I force a tight-lipped smile, turning toward my office. "Great. Let's do that."
I move ahead quickly, hoping he won't notice the fact that I'm actively trying to put distance between us. It doesn't help. Because he follows—long, steady strides, completely unbothered, moving like he owns the damn space. His presence fills the hallway, making it feel smaller somehow.
I tell myself not to look. But of course, I do. Because how could I not? He walks with that quiet, commanding energy, like a man who doesn't justexistin a room—he dominates it. His sleeves are rolled up just enough to be a problem. Because I can see his forearms—tan, strong, laced with muscle. And the edges of his tattoos, peeking out from beneath the crisp fabric of his button-down, ink curling up his skin.
I never see them fully—he usually keeps them covered, hidden away, like they're only meant for certain people to know.
And now? Now I want to be one of those people.
I swallow hard, looking straight ahead. I try not to think about last night. Or how I might come again tonight.
Imagining his hands on my body, rough and steady.
Picturing him shoving everything off my desk and bending me over it.
Fantasizing about how his voice might sound when he loses control.
Oh God.
I really,reallyneed to stop.
HE CALLS HER A PROJECT. I CALL HIM A CORPSE.
CAL
Izzy is tense.
I can see it in the tightness of her shoulders, the way she hurries her steps, like she's trying to outrun something.
Or maybe trying to outrun me.
Was it last night?
