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Fun.
I grimace at that word. This isn’t supposed to be fun. I’m here for a reason, and so far, I’ve gotten jack shit. I’m busting my ass and Cash hasn’t even shown.
Which is why when Stella asks me to stay after closing to meet a distributor behind on his runs, I don’t even hesitate to say yes. All alone in the restaurant after hours? It’s the snooping opportunity I’ve been waiting for.
“I’m sorry to leave this on you, but it’s my Nan’s weekly family dinner—”
“Don’t even worry.” I try to reassure her without seeming overly eager. “The only plans I had were with a pint of Ben and Jerry’s.”
“Well, in that case…” She shuffles backward with a grin, and I shoo her out. I lock the main door behind her and take one last sweep of the place to make sure I’m truly the only one here.
I return to the locker room and stare down the office door with the blinds drawn, like a cowboy showdown in those old Wild West movies. My adrenaline is pumping, like the time I went skydiving—that moment your feet are hanging over the edge of the plane before you jump. In some ways, what I’m about to do is even more dangerous.
Before I can change my mind, I drop to my knees in front of the door and pull a bobby pin from my hair. I watched some tutorials online on how to pick a lock with one and have been wearing them every day since. Just in case.
My hands are shaking and the pin scrapes on the metal handle. The faint scratches sound seismic in the silent room. My forehead beads with sweat, and the longer I take, the more my hands shake.
At last, I hear the telltale click of the lock disengaging.
Cash
5 days earlier
Amanda Jones.
I read the name off the fake ID again and again. Even if the fake wasn’t total crap—she should have come to me if she wanted one worth her money—I would never believe such an ordinary name for such an extraordinary girl.
And her social security number came back belonging to a Lawrence Wellington. And while Amanda fits better than Lawrence, she certainly isn’t seventy-five like good ol’ Larry.
Whatever her name is, she took my bait.
Good girl.
Her hair is darker in the photo, and I pinch my brows at the change. A strand is slightly out of place like always, and I can’t help but swipe my finger along the shiny plastic as if I were really tucking it behind her ear.
“So, you want me to hire her or what?” Stella asks. I almost forgot she was in the room. I nod, not taking my eyes off the object of my obsession finally in the palm of my hand.
“I’m going to need to give that back to her.” She sounds like a mom telling her kid to give the toy he stole back. I huff a laugh because it’s amusing. What she—Amanda—has reduced me to. A boy in the playground, so enamored that he steals things that don’t belong to him.
Only that isn’t really true, though, is it?
I can’t steal something that’s already mine.
It’s torture. Exquisite, addicting torture. Watching her from my office on the security feeds for three whole days. Knowing she is so close, that some old geezer gets to look at her peachy ass as she walks away after taking his order. Knowing that someone out there is learning how she smells, what her laugh sounds like, and which exact shades of blue make up her soul-wrenching eyes.
But I’ve learned that delayed gratification is always,always,better than immediate satisfaction. I want to watch her, study her. Learn the difference between her fake and genuine smile, find out her tells when she’s stressed, see how she holds herself when she thinks no one is watching.
I want to find out what makes her tick, so I can make her scream.Preferably my name.
“Christ, are you even listening to me?” Roan whines from my office couch.
“No. So why don’t you do both of us a favor and leave.” I look at him for the first time in ten minutes, and he scowls back like a spoiled brat. “Oh, and give those flowers to Stella for her mom and grandma on your way out.” I point to bouquets on the filing cabinet but already have my eyes back on the screens.
“Fucking asshole,”Roan mutters as he slams my office door shut.
I grab a beer from the mini fridge and settle in for a few more hours of prime-time television starring Amanda Jones.
The restaurant has emptied out, and I haven’t yet decided how I want to spend this time alone together. Half of me wants to sneak up behind her, cover her screams with my hand, pin her down, and take what’s mine, not caring if she puts up a fight. My balls physically ache with the need to fill her. Claim her. Mark her as mine. Make her walk around with my cum dripping down her legs so everyone can see.
