Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 87526 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 438(@200wpm)___ 350(@250wpm)___ 292(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87526 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 438(@200wpm)___ 350(@250wpm)___ 292(@300wpm)
There are a million things that could distract me, work being one of them, but there’s something about this girl that keeps me from staying away very long.
You’d think after several days of cyberstalking, I’d be tired of her already, but here I am watching the scowl on her face as she runs on the treadmill in our apartment complex gym.
“Loser!” the bird snaps. “Get a life!”
Her life seems as isolated as mine, and maybe some of that is the appeal. She hardly ever leaves the building, having her groceries delivered right to her door. I should be concerned with the amount of Taco Bell she has delivered since I’ve tapped into the apartment security system and have seen Taco Bell delivered four times—twice yesterday, by a girl in a Door Dash uniform—I’m well aware of her love of Mexican food.
I’m not a total creep. I haven’t accessed her credit card purchases, but I do know that she’s only eight months into her two-year lease in apartment 913. I’m also pretty certain that she has an animal hidden away inside because she always shuffles her feet when she opens the door as if she’s trying to prevent something from escaping.
Not only does she have kinky boxes of sex toys delivered, but she’s also a rule breaker of sorts. Considering what I do for a living and my penchant for kinky things myself, these things appeal to me greatly.
“Hey, I need—”
Flynn’s mouth snaps shut the second he walks in and my screens go black.
I’m falling down on my game, because I moved too slow this time. No one around here actually knocks on a closed door. I mean, why would any of us need privacy?
“What’s up, man?” I spin in my desk chair, trying my best to school my face, but my acting skills are horrible at best. I know I look guilty, but unless he brings it up, I plan to just keep my trap closed.
“What were you doing?”
Damn it.
“Nothing.”
“Didn’t look like nothing.”
“It was nothing.”
Flynn frowns, his eyes darting toward the still blacked-out screens at my back.
“Are you still hung up on that purple-haired girl?”
“What girl?”
“Jesus,” he huffs, holding out a manilla folder. “Never mind. I need you to look into this for me.”
Grateful he’s giving me an out, I reach for the folder, flipping it open to see what I’m going to be doing today.
It’s a basic research job on a client. We check their backgrounds before agreeing to help them. You’d be surprised how many people think they can pull the wool over our eyes. From angry spouses trying to cheat their soon-to-be ex-significant others out of their share of marital property to gold diggers trying to research potential love matches, we get a ton of shady people asking for our help.
“Cool. I’ll get on this right away.”
His eyes narrow, and I know he isn’t doubting my skills but rather doubting I’ll put a rush on getting him the information he needs.
“No rush,” he assures me.
Famous last words, especially spoken to someone with time management and procrastination issues.
“Deacon is going to be out of town for a few days.”
“So you’re in charge?” I salute him.
He just shakes his head, but I can tell he doesn’t want to walk away without warning me about stalking Whitney Nelson. He’s well aware of what I was doing when he walked in, and I already used the excuse that I’ve been hired on the side to ensure my apartment building’s camera system is up to snuff earlier this week.
“Do you want to come to brunch this we—”
“Nope. Got plans,” he interrupts before I can complete my invite.
“Plans?” Unless the guys are working, they never have plans.
“Personal plans,” he explains, and if I weren’t anxious to get him out of my office so I can go back to watching Whitney finish her workout, I’d grill him for more information.
I’m honestly certain he’s lying because he’s been with me once to Nana’s for brunch, and she spent the day trying to set him up with a nice girl she met at Target, although she’d only met the girl once and couldn’t remember her name. Nana is crafty like that, thinking everyone who doesn’t have a significant other is missing out on all the amazingness of being in a loving, healthy relationship. I’ve tried explaining to her more than once that not everyone will meet a person like my grandfather, and not every woman is as incredible as her. Usually she follows this up with a swat on the back of the head and a demand to quit trying to change the subject by buttering her up.
“You sure?”
He backs away, slowly leaving my office.
“Yep. Got plans.” The door snaps closed behind him.
“I should’ve led with that,” I grumble as I turn my computer monitors back on.