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As I was coming up with the plan, I made Amada call her office on Thursday and Friday with a bogus request both times at about 12.30p.m., and on both occasions, the secretary told us Marissa was out for her lunch break.
At 11.45, the day after her implantation, I station myself outside her office building and wait.
Marissa comes out at ten past twelve. My breath hitches in my throat as she walks past the glass sliding doors. She’s so beautiful it hurts.
Her unbuttoned coat is floating in the wind behind her, revealing a chic wool dress, fitted at the chest and short—oh so tortuously short. My mouth goes dry as I take in the few inches of skin visible between the hem of the skirt and her thigh-high boots.
She’s typing on her phone and doesn’t spot me right away. But when she lifts her head and her eyes finally meet mine, her face goes white, and the phone slips out of her fingers.
I pick it up from the ground, checking that the screen is intact, and hand it back to her.
Her eyes narrow. “What do you want?”
“To talk…”
I’m about to launch into my grand speech when a black SUV pulls up next to us and a tall dude comes out from the back seat.
He has dark hair, broad shoulders, and stylish clothes. His entire stance screams confidence and power, except maybe for the dark circles under his eyes that betray a hint of fatigue.
The man clocks Marissa and his jaw sets, his serious expression turning even more determined.
A rock sinks into my chest. Is he after her? An ex-lover? Current lover? Maybe the guy she was dating before deciding to have a baby on her own because he was one of those commitment-phobes who don’t want a family. But now he’s seen the error of his ways and he wants her back.
Before my mind can run away with even more absurd conspiracy theories, the man calmly walks toward us, and says, “Marissa.”
Her eyes widen, then narrow—so he’s in the doghouse as well. It remains to be determined why. “Gabriel! What are you doing here?”
“I need to talk to you.”
She scoffs, throwing me a side glance. “Join the line.”
The dude and I exchange an appraising stare until I break the silence. “I was here first.”
“And I don’t care,” he says, tone flat. “You’ll get your chance.”
Anger pricks down my spine. My chest inflates as I square up my shoulders to the newcomer.
The dude mimics my aggressive stance, taking a challenging step in my direction.
Marissa rolls her eyes. “While you two alpha dogs sort this, I’m going to go on my lunch break. Gentlemen, have a good day.”
She turns on her high heels and walks down the street.
The dude and I follow, looking more like two abandoned puppies than two alpha dogs.
“Marissa, please,” Gabriel calls out. “I really need to talk to you. Can I walk with you?”
Without stopping, or turning, she calls, “It’s a free country, I can’t stop you.”
We both follow her, but at the pace she’s going, and with the other people we have to dodge, neither of us can put two words in.
Marissa enters a taco bar and we follow her inside.
“Table for one,” she tells the hostess.
“For two,” the tall dude says.
“Make it for three.” I give the hostess my most dashing smile.
