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God, I’m off the rails.
Calming down, I hack into her Google Calendar for the week.
Gel Manicure- Wednesday 1 p.m.
She doesn’t have time to sit in my office, or on my face, but she can sit in a chair and let some stranger touch her hands?
But when I swing by the salon on Wednesday and spy on her through the window, seeing her with a woman, the two of them chatting, I calm down.
Her socials are filled with posts of her nails and the colors she picks.
She goes every three weeks. Never gets the same color twice. I’m oddly excited to see what color nails will be scratching down my back soon.
Gynecologist- Thursday 9 a.m.
This raises my hackles. Especially when I scroll back through her phone and see she tagged an appointment with this quack three months ago as Annual.
There’s no description for this visit.
This will take more maneuvering to see why she’s going back to her gyno so soon. I hope I didn’t do anything the other night to hurt her.
Exhaling, I call Balor.
“Yeeeees?” he answers, like he’s mocking me.
It ticks me off. “What the hell, Balor? Your job is to check out whatever we tell you.”
“You’re spying on a woman who has no further involvement with our family.”
“I’m spying on the prosecutor who, at any time, can initiate an extradition of our brother. I’m…working on her.”
“You’re fucking her.”
“I’m doing what is necessary to protect our family.”
A roar of laughter pierces my ear. “And do you think I’m not spying on you? I know you’re sitting in front of an office building and her car is a few feet away. I read your texts for fun now.”
Fuck.
“All right!” I swear under my breath. “Just do this one thing for me.”
When only silence echoes over the line, I say, “Please?”
“What do you need? And it’s only because I have Shane working with me, that I can spare extra time like this. Fuck, that guy’s got skills I’m blushing at.”
Good to know.
“Dr. Michael Paulson.” I don’t bother giving Balor the address, since he hacked a satellite to fucking find me. “Jillian has an appointment and—”
“He’s a gynecologist.”
“I know that,” I snap. “I need to know what she’s visiting him about. I’m worried about her.”
“Think she might have an STD?”
“She was a virgin when I fucked her, Balor.” My eyes hit the door to the office building, watching for her.
“Jesus,” he says, like he knows what that does to men like us. “According to the details in the appointment logs, she’s asking for birth control.”
