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I pull the paper free and scan it, my heart in my throat as I realize what it is. A stock register. But why… why would Atlas buy stocks in an environmental company? My head spins, and I shake it, trying to clear the jumbled thoughts all trying to come through at once.
Holy shit. Not only does he have stock in the company, he’s a majority shareholder. He may as well own the damn thing.
The paper falls from my hand and floats onto the desk. I stare at it, trying to make sense of this, but I can’t figure it out. I press my hands against the desk calendar and frown at its unevenness. I lift the calendar and find a file folder. Pulling it out, I flip it open and gasp, the air leaving my lungs in a viciouswhoosh. I’m staring at a photo of Brighton and me at brunch, but my hair is significantly shorter. This picture was from last year.
My heart pounds as I flip to the next page. And the next. More photos of Brighton and me. Then some with just Brighton.Surveillance photos, I realize after a handful of them, and my stomach roils. Her class and work schedules are next, along with call and text logs, email chains, and bank statements dating back before I even met her. But why would they be tracking Brighton before she was even part of my life? It doesn’t make sense.
I press my fist against my mouth, my vision blurring with hot tears as my head spins with so many questions I can’t think. Pushing the chair back, I stand on shaky legs, and the folder slips out of my hand, the papers spilling onto the floor. I don’t bother picking them up. I’m already heading for the door.
18
Ipace the length of my bedroom, gripping my phone in my hand so tight my knuckles are white. I rake my fingers through my hair, messing up the already frizzy waves.
I’ve texted Brighton five times in the last thirty seconds.
Brighton, we need to talk.
I have to tell you some crazy things that won’t make much sense, but I promise I’m telling the truth.
Please answer me. I’m freaking out over here.
Where are you? I’ll come to you.
Brighton?!?!
My heart lurches when the text bubbles appear in our conversation, and I chew my thumbnail as I wait for her reply.
Jesus, Cal. What the fuck is going on? I’m at home.
I let out a relieved breath.
Stay there,I type,I’m on my way.
Pocketing my phone, I stop in the kitchen and leave a quick note that will hopefully, if nothing else, buy some time.
Studying on campus with friends. Please don’t be creepy and show up uninvited. Be back later. xx, C
My chin trembles as I drop the pen beside the notepad and walk toward the front door, slipping out and closing it quietly behind me. I couldn’t hear Kade on the phone when I rushed back to my room after discovering the stalker folder Atlas had on Brighton, so I can only hope he’s passed out in his bedroom.
I desperately want to pack a bag and hightail it out of town with Brighton, but I can’t. That would lead the guys right to her, and I couldn’t do that. I have no idea why they’re interested in Brighton or her family, but my gut tells me I need to warn her. They haven’t done anything yet that I know of, but that doesn’t mean they aren’t planning something.
I can’t help but wonder what Brighton knows. She’s never expressed interest in her family’s company before—or in politics. How is the Ellis family connected to Atlas? Do they know one of their shareholders is a vampire? In my search for answers, I only ended up with more head-spinning questions.
My stomach twists into knots as I order an Uber and jog down the street to the main road to catch it. I can’t risk waiting at the house for Sylvie—who has a 5-star driver rating and can’t wait to help me to my destination, apparently—to pick me up there.
Once I’m in the back of the car heading toward Brighton’s apartment, I finally take a deep breath, letting it out slowly in an attempt to calm my racing heart. I have no idea how Brighton will react to what I’m going to tell her, though if her response to me telling her about vampires almost a month ago is any indication, it’s going to take a while to get through to her.
“How’s the temperature back there, sweetie?” Sylvie asks, glancing at me through the rearview mirror.
“Fine, thanks,” I say, staring out the window as my knee bounces.
“Oh, good! There’s a bottle of water in the cup holder if you’re thirsty.”
I force a smile as my response, and when she opens her mouth again, I add, “Sorry, I’m just not really in the mood to chat.”
She nods and says nothing for the rest of the drive. I feel bad, but I can’t think about anything else right now. I’ll be sure to tip her generously and leave a good rating when I get out.
When we pull up outside Brighton’s building, I unbuckle my belt and thank her for the ride. I get out, shutting the door as I step onto the sidewalk. The cold air whips through my hair, chilling my cheeks and making me shiver and tug my jacket tighter.
