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“Get it together, Eden,” I mumble under my breath. “Get your mind out of the gutter.”
Chapter 6
Tip #6: There are more stalkers in Hollywood than celebrities.
HUNTER
Iturn the red envelope over and over in my hands. Common sense tells me to toss it. There’s no writing on its surface, no postage stamp, which tells me that whoever snuck this into Renee’s work did so in person. This isn’t the first time my stalker’s managed to get a letter to me, but I’m determined to make it the last.
My reasoning for sending Eden to get lunch was two-fold. One, she needs to eat. Two, I don’t want her wrapped up in this mess. This is my problem alone.
I’ve been getting cryptic messages from this wacko for a while now. Given my level of success in Hollywood, it’s to be expected. Fanatic fanboys, overzealous fangirls —the advent of parasocial relationships in this day and age of social media. Most of the time, it’s harmless. Small gifts every now and then, letters of gratitude for my hard work.
And then there are the creeps. The ones who don’t understand the concept of boundaries.
The letter is short and to the point, the handwriting surprisingly neat for someone I assume is unhinged.
We’ll be together forever one day, my love.
I started getting these messages a year ago. I’ve increased security around the studio, and I make sure that my mail is screened thoroughly before it even gets to me, but every now and then, these little red envelopes find their way to me. I don’t know if my stalker is a man or a woman, I don’t know what they want, and I quite frankly don’t care. I refuse to react or respond in any way.
The validation, the attention —it’ll only encourage them.
So, I give them nothing.
I haven’t even gone to the police because I have so little to work on. I can’t file a complaint against someone I’m not sure even exists. If my stalker started sending me threats, then at least that’s something actionable. All I’ve received are love notes, sometimes random letters about how lovely the weather’s been lately. I’d only be wasting the LAPD’s time if I went to them about these red envelopes. All I can do is wait for my stalker to lose interest or take things too far.
Eden pushes the door to my office open, a brown bag clutched to her chest. The room fills with the scent of roasted garlic, thyme, and various other spices. I’m immediately hungry —and not for the food.
There’s nothing wrong about the way she’s dressed. She looks comfortable, ready to work. She’s the total opposite of her mother. Annabeth was always flashy, wore chunky jewelry and obnoxiously bright colors. Eden, on the other hand, seems to prefer blacks and dull grays. She’s a sensible young lady, from her comfortable flats to her high ponytail.
Perfect for pulling.
I grit my teeth and mentally berate myself. I need to get it together. She’s here to do a job, and I refuse to do anything that will make her uncomfortable.
“Sorry that took so long,” she says as she places the bag on her desk. I’ve given her the corner of the office closest to the door. “Traffic was terrible. Got stuck behind a group of TikTokers.”
I arch a brow. “Do I dare ask?”
“TikTok,” she says. “It’s an app?”
“I know what it is. I was curious how you managed to get stuck behind them.”
Eden rolls her eyes, shifting through the bag fromEl Blanco. “A bunch of them were running out onto the street trying to record stupid dances. Anything for the clout, am I right?”
“A public nuisance.”
“I couldn’t agree more.” She brings my food over. It’s packed neatly in a couple of containers along with a separate set of cutlery.
She doesn’t leave right away, looking at me expectantly.
“Was there anything else?” I ask.
“Aren’t you going to say thank you? You know, for a job well done.”
“Why would I thank you for doing your job?”
“Because it’s polite. Sir.”
