Page 75 of Arranged Addiction
“Can you blame her?” Mother smiles at me sweetly. “You are kind of a freak.”
“I’m in love with her.”
“Loveis one word for it, anyway.” She sighs and shakes her head. “You have to talk to her.”
“I will. But not yet.” Even though I desperately want to make her understand. Casey wasn’t supposed to find out about our connection like that. I wanted to slowly reveal everything to her in a way that wouldn’t overwhelm or terrify her. Instead, she got it all dumped on her head, and now she thinks I’m some kind of monster.
But I meant what I said to my mother. I’ve been insanely in love with Casey since the moment I saw that photograph of her back when she was eighteen. That love’s only grown deeper and more intense over the years until now it fuels me like a nuclear reaction exploding in my core. Every second of every day, I burn bright because of her.
She’ll come around.
She has to.
Mother talks more business. I suspect she’s as invested in this transition as I am, mostly because it keeps her from thinking about her grief. She lost her beloved husband when my father passed, and it’s pretty obvious she doesn’t know what to do with herself now.
When she leaves, I click through another website of high-end jewelry, trying to imagine what Casey might look like in nothing but a string of pearls and a massive diamond ring. My phone buzzes, and I’m forced to close the tab without buying anything. Seamus’s voice drags me from my fantasies.
“Casey’s tail just reported a problem.”
“Why are they calling you?”
“Because you aren’t answering.”
I get to my feet and start walking to the door. “Tell me what’s wrong.”
“She went to lunch with some old-timer. But they haven’t been able to listen in. Apparently, there’s some kind of jamming signal.”
“Jamming signal? Seriously?”
“I know. It’s spy shit.”
“Where is she?”
“Diner on the Upper West Side. Want the address?”
“Send it now. I’m going to her.”
A bad feeling shivers through me as I get behind the wheel of my BMW. I pull out toward Amsterdam Avenue, my teeth gritted together.
This is probably nothing. Old diners get terrible reception. Whatever listening device her guards are using probably just can’t penetrate its old stone walls.
But I don’t know why she’s meeting with an old guy anyway. There are no old men in her life. Sheila never married, and she didn’t know her grandparents.
This is someone new. Someone she met recently.
I press down on the gas, driving recklessly. Worry fills my stomach. Something is deeply wrong here, but I can’t say what exactly.
I’ve been watching Casey intensely for seven years. Before that, I got occasional reports from Sheila on her upbringing.
I know this girl better than anyone else in the world.
I’ve studied her. Obsessed over her. Thought about her endlessly. I made her my assistant just so I could keep her close.
This isn’t something she’d normally do.
I speed through the city streets, swerving to avoid pedestrians, blowing past Uber drivers, and completely ignoring lights andstop signs. It’s a minor miracle I don’t have a cop on my tail. As I get close to the diner, my phone rings again.
“I haven’t heard from her guards,” Seamus says, sounding a little panicked. “They were supposed to check in again.”
