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I sip my coffee as I watch the door of her high-rise apartment. For the past three days, I’ve watched her. My negotiations with her father are still ongoing, but we’ve agreed to hold off our next meeting until next week. So in the meantime, I’ve been working… and watching.
“You sure you wouldn’t like anything else?” The barista walks past for the third time this morning, a coy smile on her lips.
“I’m fine, thank you.” I wave her away as politely as I can. I’m not here for her. I’m here for business.
“You sure? I get off in a couple of hours. We could–”
“I said I’m fine.” I give her a sharp glance.
Her eyebrows draw together as she steps back, then she turns and hurries back behind the counter. Good. One less distraction. I already have plenty.
I run through a few emails, mostly updates on Grant Fraser’s movements and bits of strategy from the finance and legal hotshots I’ve employed for this deal. They’re unnecessary, but I want every aspect of this transaction to stand up to scrutiny by the investors as well as the government. The last thing I need is more feds digging through my financials.
A look at the time sends my heart rate up a notch. Closing my laptop, I turn back toward the window and wait.
At ten, the front door opens. Cadence strolls out. She’s wearing a pink backpack with a clear plastic bubble in the center. I can’t see her cat from here, but I know it’s in there. Every morning, she walks that cat around the neighborhood for about half an hour, then they go for brunch.
I rise and toss some money on the table, then grab my things and head out. Keeping a low profile has never been one of my strong suits, but with Cadence, I don’t find it too difficult. The thing about her is that she notices details. She’s always people watching, but she reallywatches. So much so that she doesn’t appreciate her surroundings. That’s a good thing for me. But it also causes problems. So does her predictability. The main problem I’m referring to steps off the front stair of a brownstone just ahead of me and skulks along the sidewalk. I noticed him yesterday.
My hands fist, my jaw tightening as I watch him watch her. She walks along, her gaze ahead of her as she follows her familiar path.
The piece of shit ahead of me knows the way, too, shadowing her steps like a fucking creep. I’ve already decided to take care of him for her. I would’ve done it yesterday, but Grant Fraser decided to up the ante by calling a board meeting for next week, practically daring me to make a move and sweeten my offer before he tanks the deal. Not today, though. Today, Cadence is my sole focus.
When she reaches a French bistro with a pink awning, she slows and walks inside, disappearing from view.
The creep–Ethan Kant is his name–crosses the street and waits behind one of the cars parked along the curb. He’s talking to himself, bouncing on the balls of his feet like he’s pumping himself up. That’s when I realize he intends to speak to her.Motherfucker.
I speed up my pace.
Cadence walks out of the bistro and takes a seat at one of the small tables out front. Gently placing the backpack on the table, she unzips it and eases her cat out, then attaches a leash to its harness. Ethan hurries to her, making it to her side before I can cross the street.
She looks up, and in that split second, I see fear in her eyes.
Something splinters inside me, and I dart across the street, a car honking at me as it screeches to a halt. I ignore it, hurrying between two parked cars and gaining on the sidewalk as Cadence stands up and takes a step back.
I’m close enough to hear Ethan now. “—thinking maybe you made a mistake by not wanting to see me. I mean, that’s the only thing that makes sense. You aren’t one of those crazy feminazis always virtue-signaling about equality and all that, right? You didn’t strike me that way. I think you’ve red-pilled just like me. You know what I mean?”
“I-I don’t know–” Her cat hisses at him.
“Come on.” He steps toward her again.
“Ethan, please–”
“There you are.” I move to her side and slide my arm around her waist.
She looks up at me, her eyes going wide. “M-Mr. Fontaine?”
I smile down at her. “I thought we were going to meet at Madelina, but I must’ve gotten it wrong.” I kiss her hair, the scent sweet and citrusy. I inhale and force myself to turn back to Ethan. “This guy wasn’t bothering you, was he?”
She blinks, unsure of herself. “I, um, I–”
Ethan’s mouth twists in a grimace, then he glares at Cadence. “I thought you wanted a high value man, not some cuck like this guy.” He scoffs. “But I see I was wrong about you. You’re just a slut like all the–Hey!” He screams like a little bitch when I fist the front of his shirt, lift him off the ground, and slam him onto his back, the bistro table and chairs scattering.
“Don’t you ever speak to her that way, you piece of shit. Now apologize to the lady.”
“Mr. Fontaine, you don’t have to do–”
“Call me Vargas.”
