Journalist from Massachusetts found in LA dumpster.
Young Massachusetts woman murdered by ex.
Holy fuck!
I knew I had to stay calm. By some miracle, I managed to.
“How did you find me, Derek?” There was no way my parents or Melody told him. They were aware of my discomfort with the way Derek had been hounding me. Allan, despite being a hardass, wouldn’t tell him either. I plunged into a sea of confusion.
He sighed. “You’ve always been so difficult, Ava.”
My molars snapped together. Seeing through his bullshit and demanding better treatment from my partner made me difficult… typical narcissist.
“I thought we could talk.”
My fingers curled around the edge of the door. “You followed me.” I’d have to find out how. “This has to stop, Derek.” There was a slight quiver of fear and desperation in my voice.
He tilted his head back and sighed. “Come on, Ava.” When he met my gaze again, I saw nothing but a monster lurking in his eyes. “I miss you. I thought we could talk,” he said, voice softening. “Maybe… see if there’s still something between us.”
I forced myself to breathe. To think. “Okay,” I said, nodding slowly. “We can talk.” If I could just get rid of him… He always backed down when I was agreeable.
A smug smile slithered across his face. “Good. What do you say about dinner?”
I gulped. “It’s late now. Tomorrow?”
He shrugged, his eyes fixed on my face as if searching for something. Maybe my lie? “Alright. Sounds good. I can meet you here.”
I nodded like a robot. “Are you staying at this hotel?”
“No. Close though.”
“Awesome. I’d invite you in, but I was heading to bed.” I prayed that my composure wouldn’t crack under the pressure… and boy, was I feeling the stress. I was even starting to sweat.
“It’s fine.” He seemed satisfied with our ‘talk.’ “I’ll text you the details tomorrow. Okay?”
“Okay, Derek,” I answered softly.
I almost pissed myself when he leaned forward and kissed my forehead. Nausea rolled through my stomach. I immediately wanted to scrub the area with bleach. “Good night, Derek.”
I kept it together long enough to gently close the door before I freaked out. I backed away from the door, heart racing and mind spinning. “Oh God... Oh God.”
Frantically rubbing the skin where his lips had touched, as if I could erase the contact, I wondered what to do. Run? Go to the police? My instincts were telling me not to take this lightly, and I’d listen to my gut. This was beyond disturbing.
“No police,” I whispered.
I couldn’t afford the drama. Not now. I couldn’t have my boss thinking I was problematic every time he sent me away to do a story. I had to be sharp and professional. Walt had never had his assignments hijacked by a stalker. I refused to develop a reputation before my career even properly took off.
The best thing to do was to find another hotel—no way would I stay here now. I’d dodge Derek until I finished my job and went home. I’d get that restraining order the minute I touched down in Springfield.
I sat in a posh lobby, observing my surroundings. I’d already gotten a good look at the place when I came home with Lincoln the other day, but there was nothing to do but take in the opulence again.
Every inch of the place screamed wealth. The marble floors gleamed like glass under the golden lighting from an elaboratechandelier. The thing was so massive it looked like it belonged in a palace. I sat on a sleek velvet armchair in front of a coffee table. Who had these nice-ass chairs in the lobby of an apartment building? Then again, Lincoln’s penthouse was doubly extravagant. I imagined all the apartments here were the shit.
When I got tired of admiring the ritzy lobby, I went back to feeling defeated and embarrassed. I was running to my ex for help because I was afraid of my other ex. What the actual fuck?
Holding my head, I groaned. The friendly concierge looked up from behind his counter.
“Are you okay, Miss Montgomery?”
