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I was still trying to figure out what the hell had happened tonight—how the hell a simple one-night stand had turned into an encounter with a modern day Goldilocks. The second she left, I’d walked through every room of my apartment again, trying to see how the hell I’d missed all the signs. How the hell I’d blamed everything on a team of people instead of one.
The first time I saw my Coke tins overturned months ago, I assumed it was me who’d done it in a rare bout of fidgeting. But when I returned from an international flight a week later, I noticed that the tins had been arranged into the shapes of small pyramids, something I would never have the patience to do.
I even installed a small-interior system right after that—a series of motion sensors that were supposed to send notices to my phone if someone ever entered when I was away, but all I ever saw was a quiet, still apartment. It wasn’t until hours ago that I realized that the “intruder” had managed to rig my system to run on a loop.
Just this morning, I’d found white cotton slippers tucked under my sink, a black and lace thong entangled on the rung of my dryer, and a pink coffee mug hidden at the rear of my cabinet. The second I’d spotted that terribly hidden bottle of shampoo in my bathroom, I vowed to bring the manager up next week to see this shit for himself.
Until tonight, that is.
After seeing Gillian, fucking her and grabbing fistfuls of her hair while I held her against my bookcase, that strawberry scent that often pervaded my space made perfect sense.
It was the one and only thing that lingered, no matter how well the staff attempted to clean. Airy and intoxicating, it clung to all of my pillows and sheets, so deeply ingrained in the fabric that I smelled hints of it for weeks.
I wasn’t sure whether to be relieved that the intruder wasn’t an annoying neighbor who preferred my views of the city over her own, or pissed that it was a sexy-ass employee who thought she was doing something worthy of my gratitude.
I couldn’t help but picture her perfect, pink lips pressed into an angry line for a “Thank you,” couldn’t help but see the way her deep, green eyes gazed into mine when we damn near fucked inside the rooftop party’s elevator.
The way she screamed when I had her pinned against the floor...
Before I could call the housekeeping manager and tell him that I wanted to change my mind about canceling, my automated voicemail system made a loud beeping sound.
“Welcome home,” it said. “You have three new messages. Please say the password.”
“No.”
“Please repeat the password.”
“I said no.”
“I’m sorry. That’s not the password. Please repeat the password.”
Jesus... “One. Eight. Seven. Four.”
“Password accepted. Message one.” There was a beep and a long moment of silence.
“Good evening, Mr. Weston.” It was a female voice. “This is Alyssa Hart in Elite’s Human Resources Department. I was calling to discuss the salary form you submitted. I’m not sure if you know the actual salary maximum for a senior captain, but you’re going to have to redraft this and ask for something a lot more reasonable, if you want to continue—”
“Next,” I said, and the automated message came to an abrupt halt.
“Next message. Playing now.”
“Jake...” A deep male voice. “Jake, why do I have to hire a private investigator just to get your home number? And why do you keep changing it every month while continuing to ignore my calls to your cell phone? We’ve been trying to reach out to you for years. Years, Jake. Please let us—”
“Next.” I clenched my jaw.
“Final new message. Playing now.”
“Hello, this is Charlotte.” It was a throaty, female voice. “I’m not sure if I have the right number or not, but I’m simply calling to see if this is Blanket Manufacturing? I’d like someone to call me back so I can place an order, if so.”
I sighed and made a mental note to change my number once again at the end of the month.
“No more new messages,” the system said proudly. “Would you like to hear them again?”
“No.”
“Okay. I will play them again. Message one.”
“Good evening, Mr. Weston. This is Alyssa Hart in Elite’s Human Resources Department.”
I groaned and walked into my library, shutting the door. I picked up the books that fell while Gillian was here and stuffed her tattered lace panties into my pocket.
I pushed the desk away from the wall and unlocked a hidden panel, waiting for the walls to slide open.
As always, they took several minutes to slide apart—a safety precaution to convince a stranger that this was simply a wall and nothing more. When they finally made a beeping sound and gave way, I unlocked another panel that revealed all the things I hardly ever wanted to face.
