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She pins me with a look that saysdon’t be ridiculous. “Then I’ll kick his ass myself.” She shoves the last bite of her sandwich in her mouth.
“Wow. Someone worked up one hell of an appetite this weekend.” I grin, and she flips me off.
NINETEEN
MAKAYLA
The scent of mahogany and spice still lingers on my skin as I step inside my apartment. I toss my clutch and keys onto the table before locking up and heading down the hall to my bedroom. Inside my walk-in closet, I kick off my heels and strip out of my dress, tossing it into the basket meant for dry cleaning, then make my way into the bathroom, ready for a long hot bath.
Every inch of my body is deliciously sore as I sink into the lavender-scented water. Leaning my head back, I inhale a deep, calming breath. As I come down from the euphoric high I’ve been riding, reality settles in the pit of my stomach, and suddenly I’m exhausted.
Before I fall asleep in the tub, I climb out and dry off. After slipping into a thin tank and a pair of sleep shorts, I turn off the lights and fall into bed, only to realize I forgot to close the blinds.
Rolling from the bed, I move to the window when something across the street catches my eye. A shadowy figure stands under a streetlight, looking into my apartment. My breath catches in my throat, and I quickly step away from the window. Heart pounding, I hurry back to the living room to grab my phone, ready to call Heather.
How long have they been out there?
A shiver of fear rolls down my spine at the thought of someone lurking in those dark spaces untouched by the soft glow of the streetlights.
Phone clutched in my shaky hands, I move back to the window and peek through the blinds, but the figure is gone.
* * *
Heather standsat my door holding two coffees. “You didn’t call me when you got home last night,” she chides as she brushes past me.
Closing the door, I follow her into the living room. “Your light was off and I didn’t want to wake you.”
“I’d rather you wake me with a phone call than a scream,” she teases, and I wince. Her smile falls. “What?”
“I have to tell you something, and I don’t want to freak you out.”
“Tell me,” she cuts in, worry etched on her face.
“Last night, I went to close the blinds in my bedroom, I saw someone standing outside looking up at my bedroom.”
“What?” she practically shrieks.
“I couldn’t see their face, but they were definitely looking up at my window. I was going to call you, but I left my phone in the living room. I went to grab it and when I got back to the window they were gone so I figured maybe it was just some guy walking home and he just happened to look up at the same time.”
“Or a perve.” She’s freaking out. “Show me where you saw them.”
I lead her into my bedroom and over to the window. “Right there.” I point to the streetlight.
“I’ll call my brother,” she says, turning away from the window and heading back to the living room. “We have cameras around the property. So, maybe he can figure out what that creep was doing.” She spins around, pointing a finger at me. “This is why you have to call me when you come home late.”
I raise my hands in defense. “I promise I will.”
TWENTY
CANNON
It's been over a week since Makayla and I were formally introduced. She’s been working for my company for almost a month, and meeting for the first time in the elevator wasn’t exactly what I’d planned. But after seeing her flirting with that kid at the coffee bar and giving him her number, jealousy had me practically sprinting to catch the elevator.
Standing in the doorway of the break room, I watch Makayla leaning against the countertop, staring off at nothing while heating her coffee in the microwave. Her blonde hair is pulled back and twisted into a bun at the base of her long, slender neck. The neck I kissed, sucked, and licked just a few days ago.
My gaze drops to her pert, round ass in the fitted dress. Makayla is on the taller side, probably five-eight, and even taller in those expensive-looking red-soled heels. I wonder if that fucker Victor bought them for her.
Taking a few steps inside the break room, I clear my throat, reminding myself to use my regular voice and not the soft whisper I normally do when I’m with her. “Good morning, Makayla,” I say just as she’s turning away from the counter, hot mug in hand.
