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I chuckle before turning my attention back to my window, watching as she tosses her phone on the bed next to her before she gets up and disappears from view. When she doesn’t return for a few moments, I place the binoculars in the passenger seat before retrieving my phone once again. In order to do proper surveillance, I need to get the right equipment. Watching her is nice, but I need to hear her conversations. I need to know who she’s talking to and what they’re talking about. I have to find out her relationship with her father and whether he’s involved. I have to get to the bottom of this confusing hit to truly make sure we have the right target.
Pulling up the website I need, I order a few pieces of surveillance equipment to be prepared the next time I need to stake out in her vicinity. I lift my gaze back up to the window, my mouth going dry as Morgan begins to undress. It’s wrong to watch her as she pulls off her shirt and jeans, yet I can’t bring myself to avert my gaze when her bare breast comes into view. My lips tingle with the need to wrap around her pink nipples, my cock stirring in my jeans at the thought of tasting her warm skin. She moves around her bedroom in only a thong for a few moments before she’s no longer visible.
I blow out a long breath and close my eyes to gather myself. I have to keep reminding myself that this is business and that I’m not allowed to touch my target.
But something tells me that the lines of professionalism I’m trying hard to follow are bound to eventually be crossed.
4
MORGAN
Imake my way down the stairs as quietly as possible the following morning, hoping my father is tucked away in his office so he doesn't see me leaving. I stop at the bottom of the stairs and listen closely. My shoulders sag with slight relief when I'm met with silence and the faint scent of his usual French roast coffee. My body relaxes as I step off the last step and make a mad dash to the front door, only for his deep voice to stop me in my tracks.
"Morgan," he calls out. I don't even bother turning around. My hand tightens on the doorknob, every muscle in my body wanting to just rip the door open and run out of the house before he has the chance to say what I already know he's going to. But I'm not brave enough to do something like that. No matter how many times I think about running away from my father, I always remain where I am like the scared little girl I truly was inside.
"Yes?" I respond instead.
His dress shoes click along the marble flooring as he approaches me until he's finally in my line of sight. He runs his hand along my silky hair and gives me a small smile as he tucks a lock of hair behind my ear.
"Be sure to post a video today. You didn't do one yesterday as I asked, so you need to upload one today," he says. I cringe inwardly. I hate having to upload videos all the time, especially when my father wants me to. I'd started my Instagram page when I was fifteen just for fun, having no idea it would take off the way it did. At first, it was exciting. All the attention, the money I made from the brand deals was nice, and what teenager with a rich parent didn't love posting their life for the world to see? But everything changed when my father took over as my "manager," claiming that I needed someone to handle the business side since I didn't understand it well.
Now, my social media feels like a burden, with my dad constantly hovering over my shoulder. I don't even know how much money I make these days ever since he took over, and he hardly talks about the deals he gets for me. I mean, there have been a few deals that he's very insistent on me doing—like the company I need to make a video for that he's reminding me about yet again now—but I never know the true ins and outs for why they're important and how much they pay me. I know he has my best interest at heart and is only trying to look out for me, but sometimes I wish he could just be my dad instead of my manager.
I force a small smile and nod, ducking away from his hands as he continues to mess with my hair. "I will, Dad. Things just got a little hectic yesterday with homework, so it slipped my mind. I'll do it after class. Promise."
"Good girl." He leans forward and presses a kiss against my forehead. "Well, you may want to get going. You don't want to be late."
I give him a short nod, quickly making my way out of the house. As soon as I'm in the safe confines of my car, I release a long breath. I look up to see my father watching me from the window as he usually does when I'm leaving, his face neutraland clear of any kind of emotion. After a brief stare off, I start my car, back out of the driveway, and head to my first class.
Even though beingat home isn't where I want to be, school isn't any better. The minute I step on campus, I'm bombarded with multiple people talking to me, wanting pictures, requesting shout-outs on Instagram or one thing or another. I keep my head down and walk quickly toward the English building, just barely missing running into someone.
"I'm starting to believe that you just like running into me," an amused voice says when they grab my arms to stabilize me. I look up to see Trent smirking at me, a grin slipping onto my face as I gather my composure.
"And I'm starting to believe that you like being in my way," I reply. "But honestly, sorry about that. I guess I was in too much of a hurry."
"Are you late or something?" He looks at his watch, then back to me with a raised brow. "It's not even eight yet."
I glance around at the passing people, a couple of people speaking to me while giving Trent odd looks. I drop my eyes to the concrete sidewalk and shake my head.
"No, I just...wanted to get away from all the noise," I murmur, just as another small group of girls pass and wave at me. Trent waits until they're far enough away before he turns his attention back to me.
"I can understand that. Having a million people trying to talk to me before I've had coffee would set me off, too."
My gaze moves back up to his handsome face. Today, he's wearing a graphic T-shirt with an unfamiliar band on it and a pair of dark denim jeans that hint at the muscles in his legs. Hismessy hair flutters in the light wind, his cologne notes trailing on the breeze that envelops me and fills me with warmth. I hardly know this guy, but he's so comfortable to be around, so...normal.
"Mind if I walk you to class?" he says, breaking the trance I seem to have fallen into.
I blink, my cheeks warming when I meet his knowing grin. "Um, yeah. That's fine," I stammer. We fall in step together along the sidewalk, and I rack my brain for something useful to say.
"Um...so what class do you have this morning?" I finally ask.
"No class this morning. I was actually heading to the library to study for a few hours before my afternoon class."
"This early in the morning?" I scoff. "There's no way I'd be up this early just to study, especially if it requires me to leave the house."
He chuckles. "Not a morning person?"
"Not if I don't have to be," I respond with a shrug. "But it shows your commitment to your studies, which is actually pretty cool. Not many people have that discipline."
