Suppose Archer Graves never makes it to Moriton? Suppose something terrible happens to him, and a more fortunate man takes his place?
He’s from another country and has likely never met the company's executives face-to-face. If I’m correct, then no one knows what he looks like—and so, no one will realize I’ve replaced him.
Without another thought, I jump out of my chair and snatch my go-bag from the closet and one of my many passports, then race out the door.
I’m going to pay Archer Graves a visit.
CHAPTER FIVE
GRACE
2 weeks later…
The repetitive drone of my alarm pulls me from a deep sleep and back into reality—extremely reluctantly, given the wonderful dream I was having.
Groaning, I thrust my arm out of the covers, searching for my phone to stop the awful sound. The memories of my dream fade further from my mind as I sit up, rubbing my eyes and releasing a massive yawn. It feels just like any other Monday morning, except…
I shift, rubbing against the now-healed tattoo on my ass. Though it doesn’t hurt anymore, the reminder has me bolting out of bed and racing to the mirror. I need to see it, to make sure it wasn’t just some horrible, vivid dream.
But when I pull the waistband of my pajama bottoms down, his mark is still there. I brush a fingertip over the peeling skin, tracing the outline of the red heart, then the number seven placed in the middle to look like a break.
For the past two weeks, I’ve been jumping out of bed to check on it, praying that it was a hallucination instead of reality. And every morning, I’m reminded of the awful truth.
Red 7 did this. He’s still out there. Waiting. Plotting.A shiver runs through me at the thought of the masked killer. I haven’t had any contact with him since that night he saved me, but that doesn’t mean he’ll stay away forever.
My second alarm blares, breaking me out of my thoughts and reminding me I need to get ready for work. Pushing my worries down, I take a deep breath and head into the bathroom to take a swift shower and wash the fresh sheen of sweat from my skin.
After a quick wash, I dress in a pair of black slacks and a cream-colored blouse, then sit down to work on my makeup. The cuts on my face have completely healed, and the only evidence of that horrible night is some faint bruising around my eye—which is easy enough to cover with a second layer of concealer.
Strange… I wonder if Red 7 had anything to do with it…
I don’t have time to think about it, because my third and final alarm is going off, warning me I’ll be late if I’m not out the door in the next two minutes. I swipe some mascara on and slip into my favorite worn-out tennis shoes—stuffing a pair of heels into my purse for when I arrive at the office—then rush out the door.
With the sun high in the sky, I’m brave enough to take my normal walking route to work, and in twenty minutes, I step through the doors of LoveBytten HQ, waving hello to the building's receptionist, Sherry, on my way to the elevators. Once inside, I press the button for level 4, then hurry to switch into my heels as the little metal box lifts me into the sky.
The doors slide open, and I step out onto the main office floor, adjusting the strap of my purse on my shoulder as I make my way to my cubicle. I keep my head lowered and movements slow, trying to avoid any unwanted attention. What I needis a nice, quiet day of work alone with my spreadsheets. No distractions. No strange interactions.
Of course, it seems the universe has other plans.
“Good morning Grace!”
I cringe as Corey Pembrook’s voice sounds out behind me, overly chipper and tinged with a hint of desperation. I gaze longingly at my cubicle—not two feet from me—before schooling my expression and turning to face Corey.
“Good morning.” I tip my chin in a polite nod. “Hope you had a good weekend.”
He gives me a bright smile, his bicep flexing as he pushes his wavy blond hair back from his forehead.
“It was great! I went axe throwing and then to a microbrewery with the guys. How was yours? Did you do anything fun?”
I fight the urge to groan as I fix my face into a sickly sweet smile, giving him my full attention. “Just rested.”
“That’s great!”
I nod, hoping that’s the end of this interaction. I turn back to my cubicle when his voice breaks out again, dashing my hopes.
“IwishI was able to rest,” he continues. “I was too busy taking shots with the super-hot bartender and going apeshit with my buddies.”
My eye twitches with the struggle to keep my smile in place. “So fun.”
