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“But the best relationships are the ones where you can be yourself. Because that’s who the other person wants. The real you.”
“I couldn’t agree more.” I tilt my head back to catch his eye and feel another flash of gratitude. Even given everything that’s gone wrong, all the drama we’ve been through, I don’t regret meeting Zayne. Or, well, not meeting him—finally seeing him for the first time. This feels like a beginning. The start of something real. And as far as I can tell, he feels that too.
He leans in, and when we kiss this time, it’s slow, both of us savoring the moment. Our lips touch, part, and close again as we sink into one another. I could kiss him forever. His lips are so soft, his cheeks a tad scratchy with stubble, his hands strong yet gentle as he traces them up my back to pull my body against his.
I lose track of time, of everything else, while we kiss.
Until that faint tickle starts up at the back of my neck again. An uneasy sensation, like we’re being watched.
I pull back and can’t help stealing a glance around us. But like always, it’s just the two of us on this path, a few other people walking past, lost in their own conversations. Nearby, a woman is holding a leash while her dog pees. Up the road, another woman chats on a cell phone, oblivious.
Why do I feel like someone’s watching us? Like we’re being followed?
It has to be residual weird feelings from all of the problems we’ve been dealing with. The website, the hacked phones, the creepy messages from men who now have my phone number. That’s all. I’m just jumpy after dealing with all of that.
Still, Zayne notices the way I’m feeling, and leans in to kiss my cheek once more softly. “Are you okay?” he asks, brow knit in concern. “Maybe we should head home.”
“Yeah, maybe…” I shake my head, feeling stupid. I’m ruining the mood for no reason. I heave a sigh and cast a glance up the path, at the spot where a path leads off to the public restrooms. That’s what I need. Just a moment to collect myself, splash some water on my face, pull it together. “Can you give me a minute? I’m just going to run to the bathroom, then we can head back to the apartment.”
“Of course.” He squeezes my hand as I leave, and I cast a grin over my shoulder at him before I jog up the path toward the bathrooms.
Inside, it’s dingy and dark, away from the path and streetlamps. There’s a single bare bulb dangling from the ceiling but it’s burned out and I have to squint to see myself in the mirror as I splash cold water onto my cheeks.
That’s when I hear the door swing shut behind me.
Another woman steps inside. For a moment, I don’t recognize her, the way she’s holding her head—face down, eyes averted, hair falling across her forehead. She’s cute, shorter than me, with a pixie cut and dark eyes. Then she catches my eye in the mirror, and I smile in recognition.
“Hannah, hey, how’s it going?”
I only get a scowl in response, which makes my stomach tighten. Crap, did I get her name wrong? She works in my office, but she’s pretty new and she’s always so quiet. I think back to the last time I saw her, on the day the email with my photo circulated around the building. She’d been glaring at me something awful that day, but then again, who hadn’t?
“Sorry,” I say, when she doesn’t respond. “It is Hannah, right?”
She crosses her arms and stands in the doorway, weight on one hip. “So you remember one thing about someone besides yourself. Congratulations.”
I blink in confusion. “Um…” What the hell did I ever do to her? “Well, it was nice seeing you.” I move toward the door.
She sidesteps to block me. “Great to see you too. Really funny, running into you here of all places.”
“What do you—”
“Here in Central Park. Here where he took me to break up with me on the anniversary of our first date. Did he tell you about that?”
My stomach sinks even farther now, knotting in sudden realization. Oh my god.
No wonder she knew where to find me. No wonder she was able to circulate my image to everyone at work and use our own company servers to do it. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I lie, even as I try to ease past her again.
She steps in front of me once more and uncrosses her arms now. When I try to walk around her, she reaches out and shoves me, hard, in the shoulders.
“What the hell are you doing?” I ask, my voice going loud. Why didn’t Zayne tell me, why didn’t he tell me her name?
“I know all about you, Clove Walker. I know what kind of whore you are. Marketing manager at your big fancy publisher, just another boring New York transplant, another country-bred slut who came to the big city to chase other women’s men.”
Fire flares in my veins. “You don’t know anything about me.”
“I know what our boss thinks about your performance on that camera.” She smirks.
“That photo wasn’t for anyone else to see. That was private. All of this is private—you need to leave Zayne alone. Let him live his life.”
