Was he for real? “To that place that’s private.”
“And where would that place be, exactly?”
I had a white-knuckled grip on my steering wheel. He was about to get my claws. “You know, that little shop on the corner of None-of-Your-Damn-Business Avenue and Go-to-Hell-Link Boulevard.”
He chuckled, but there was a hint of ice to his tone. “Next time I see you, I’m gonna put something in that smart mouth of yours. I’m not calling him off, darlin’, so I guess you’ll have to take him with you.”
Before I could argue, the line went dead.
I stared at my phone in shock. Thirty-one years old and now I had a babysitter? The biker still hadn’t taken his helmet off. For all I knew, Freddy Krueger could be hiding under that visor. Glancing around the shopping center, I homed in on an outdoor supply store. Parking in front of it, I hurried in and bought a set of binoculars before returning to my car. If Link was going to have someone keeping an eye on me, I was damn sure going to know what my bodyguard looked like.
I wasn’t about to lead some strange man to Grandma’s, so I headed to the gym. By the time I finished my workout, it was dark and raining. Hoping my babysitter was miserable out in the elements, I headed home.
Once in my townhouse, I kept the living room light off, pulled out the binoculars, and checked out the neighborhood. The blue Harley was parked across the street three houses down again. Scanning the area, I found the bike’s rider leaning up against a tree. He finally had his helmet off, so I got a good look at his face. Just a kid, he couldn’t have been much older than eighteen, good looking, too. And now he was out there getting rained on.
Served him right.
Content that I’d seen the face of the man following me, I headed to the kitchen to make dinner. Outside my window, the rainfall increased. The biker had to be cold and miserable out in it, but I refused to feel sorry for him as I threw together a spinach salad and waited for the raviolis to finish boiling. Really, it was a lot of food. Way more than I could eat alone. Glancing back out into the pouring rain, I wondered if the biker was hungry.
It wasn’t the kid’s fault Link had sent him to stalk me.
Irritated by both the situation and my stupid bleeding heart, I called Link again.
“Is this a booty call?” he asked. “Because I’m not usually that kind of man, but for you, doll, I could make an exception.”
I rolled my eyes, picked up the binoculars, and went back to the window. The kid was still leaning against the same tree, watching my house. When I was a kid, one of my friends had a giant guard dog that they’d have to kick out of the house whenever company would come over. The dog would sit in the back yard, staring at the door—his expression caught somewhere between sad and watchful—waiting for someone to let him in. The kid’s expression reminded me of that dog.
“Call off your guard dog.”
“No.”
“It’s cold and raining and he’s got sad droopy eyes like a bullmastiff.”
“What did you say?” Link asked.
I repeated myself.
He laughed. “You’re right. He does have sad eyes. Congratulations, babe, you just gave the kid a road name.”
“Is that like a nickname?”
“Sure. We’ll go with that.”
“You can’t name him after a dog. That’s demeaning.”
“I didn’t. You did. But if it makes you feel better, we’ll call him Bull.”
“I don’t care what you call him, as long as you let him go home.”
“No.”
“I can’t believe you’re making him stay out there in this weather. That’s a dick move, Link.”
“You know what’s a dick move?” he asked. “Presuming you know what’s best for my men.”
Frustrated, I tapped my forehead against the windowpane. I didn’t want Link to be an asshole. I wanted him to be the man I’d met in his office… a nostalgic philanthropist with a giant cock, an extraordinary tongue, and a penchant for sexual dominance, carrying on his father’s mission to help people. Was that too much to ask? “Then tell me why he’s out there. What’s going on with this kid?”
Link didn’t respond.
