After another silence, Wes’s voice comes through coldly, “You think you can?”
“We could find out. Or I’ll take his laptop. Either way, that fantasy belongs to me.”
Another silence. Then: “Where is he?”
“You don’t know?” I sneer.
“No, I don’t fucking know, because when someone’s fantasy has been fulfilled, they’re off my books. That’s how it’s supposed to work. That’s what you fucking agreed to, Andre.”
I keep pacing. “This is different.”
“Yeah, because it’s not a fantasy for you. It’s obviously way too fucking real.”
“I’ll fulfill my role—like I did before.ObviouslyI did, or he wouldn’t have made a second submission. So charge his goddamn card, take the fucking money, which is what you want, andgive me his submission.”
“Andre—”
“I will take it from you, Wes, if I have to.”
Another silence. Then: “Where is this gonna go, in the end?”
I don’t have an answer for that, and it chills me briefly. I glimpse things I don’t want to see, that I don’t accept. I look away from them.
“What did he ask for?” I demand.
Wes replies grimly, “Something that I think will turn into something more.”
“What?”
“Fuck,” Wes mutters half under his breath. Then he tells me, “He wants you to stalk him.”
I grin. I laugh. I hang up on Wes.
Then I get out my burner phone—and I send Elias a message.
FIFTEEN
Elias
I’m already stalking you, baby. I never stopped.
I stare at the message for the hundredth time. I shiver at my desk as though, against all reason, something could happen to me here in this office.
“Everything okay?”
I jolt. My eyes jump to Andre. His eyes, that striking blue, look almost amused, which means I probably have a dumb look on my face.
“Sorry. I got distracted.”
I probably shouldn’t have updated my phone number with ForbiddenX. I could have kept my interactions on my old phone, kept the fantasy separate from my real life. But … that’s not what I want.
Still, I put my phone in a drawer, trying to show that I’ll stay on track with my work, but Andre’s eyes narrow. Shit. He seemed to be in a better mood this morning, but maybe it was a mask. He does that sometimes. He did it last week for the meeting about the wedding.
It was almost eerie how, in the space of an elevator ride, he was able to so completely change his demeanor. All his edges were blunted, at least on the surface. His intensity and anger were buried under charm and composure. I could still see them, but I don’t think anyone else could.
After, he went cold. Then he vanished for the rest of the week.
I scramble to focus on my screen, but I hear Andre’s chair roll back. From the corner of my eye, I see him get up.
