Many of our attendees tomorrow will be new-to-us clients; if they don’t meet someone special, we are hopeful that at least a chunk of them will stick around and work with us in the future.
A lot is hanging in the balance of tomorrow’s event, successful or not, my ego being one of them. I’ve poured so much of myself into this company and this event that if it does anything less than succeed, it’ll gut me.
The theme for the party is masked romance—partly inspired by my own masked man. All guests will be required to wear masks to attend. This will allow everyone to mingle and meet other singles without judging theirappearance upon first glance. We will have an abundance of them provided, or guests are welcome to bring their own. They can dress up in costumes to match or wear a pretty mask with comfortable clothes. This is their domain; we are simply facilitating it.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
I jump in my seat, shivers running down my back at the jarring sound of someone pounding on our front office door. My heart leaps into my throat, beating into overdrive.
God, why am I so on edge right now?
Maybe because every time I leave my house, I double-check my door for love notes from a man I know nothing about, the same one who easily accesses my home, has been watching me for at least half a month, and writes me sweet—and sometimes spicy—letters that always leave me desperate for more.
I stand from my desk and check our camera app simultaneously. “I got it.”
The video feed loads on my phone, and my heart sinks. It’s nothim. It looks like a deliveryman.
A tiny glimmer of hope returns when I see a vase of roses in his hand.
My heart immediately jumps into my throat. Could it be?
I unlock the door, my palms sweating, and pull it open to greet the man, carefully studying his face in case he could be my guy. But from the hours I’ve spent watching the footage from my front-door camera, seeing valentines and presents get delivered, I know this isn’t him. “How can I help you?”
The man reads the note card in his hand. “I have a delivery for … Serena Rafferty.”
“That would be me.” My blood hammers in my veins. I shouldn’t be this nervous right now. It’s honestly kind of pathetic the hold a stranger has over me.
Smiling, the delivery guy tucks the card into his pocket and hands me the large vase full of red roses and a gift bag. “Then these are for you. Have a good day!”
“You too!” I respond automatically, my full attention shifting to my surprise.
“Shut! Up!” Kerrigan shouts right behind me.
I jump out of my skin. I didn’t hear her walk over.
“Jesus Christ,” I gasp, instinctively pulling away from her with a chuckle. “How are you so goddamn quiet?”
She ignores my question completely, her eyes glued to the flowers. “There’s a card!”
Turning my head ever so slightly, I glare at her, fighting back my smile. “I know.”
She doesn’t care for an ounce of my privacy, which is fair because I don’t give her any in the slightest either. I mean, that’s what best friends do, right? We’ve never known any other way.
Walking over to my desk, I inhale the stunning red roses deeply, letting the scent drift through my entire body as I set them and the gift bag down before plucking the card from its holder.
I try not to get my hopes up as I remove it from the envelope. This could very well be from a company we’re collaborating with for tomorrow’s event or a past client showing their thanks. The likelihood of it being fromanyone other than my secret admirer is high … but a girl can dream.
The second the handwriting comes into view, I recognize it and damn near take flight from the spike of serotonin that floods my system. I can practically feel the burst of happiness instantaneously.
Staying calm is out of the question. He has become my drug, and I’ve been in withdrawal without him. I thought he was done with me, and here he is, delivering flowers to my job.
I’m not surprised he knows where I work—he’s stalking me after all. I should probably be concerned, yeah? I should call the police and tell them about this man.
But …
He hasn’t tried to hurt me. If anything, he’s been nothing but respectful and pleasant. Honestly, involving the authorities isn’t even a part of the equation anymore. Let’s just hope he doesn’t take a murderous turn that makes me regret that decision.
I would be the type of girl to run toward the man wielding a knife in a horror movie or toward one of those thirst traps on social media that features shirtless, ripped men, covered in fake blood, walking through a spooky amusement park. This is especially true if they’re tall and masked.
