Behind her, the man straightened. She heard the soft shift of leather shoes against the old, bare hardwood floor on either side of the nailed runner. Her shoulders tensed.
The phone rang again.
Kiki cursed under her breath. Same number.
She hit decline with more force than necessary.
“Are you going to answer it if it rings again?” the man asked.
His voice was deep. Smooth. Amused.
Kiki didn’t reply. Didn’t turn. She climbed another step. Another.
Then his voice came again—closer, this time. “YouareKiki Reese, I presume.”
She froze mid-step.
His tone wasn’t threatening. Just… certain. Like he knew her. Like he was used to being heard. And obeyed.
All the wrong things to sound like with me.
Kiki tipped her head back, stared at the water-stained ceiling, and counted to ten while she asked the universe why it hated her so much.
Her phone vibrated again.
With a dramatic groan, she powered it off, turned, and skirted past him to walk back down the stairs. A storm of nerves was beginning to boil low in her belly. She didn’t look at him. Didn’t want to look at him. But she could feel him—his presence as palpable as a lightning strike on her skin.
The door across from hers creaked open with the familiar squeak of misaligned hinges.
“Kiki!” Harvey’s cheerful voice bounced off the hallway walls like a rubber ball. “You’re home!”
No. No-no-no. Not now. Food. I need food—and quiet.
“Hey,” she mumbled, biting the inside of her cheek.
Harvey ignored her less than welcoming greeting, opened the door to his and Jim’s apartment wider, and stepped out.
He smiled and said a name that made her jaw clench.
“Mr. Aeto! I see you’ve met Kiki!”
“Not quite, but I’m hoping to,” Nikos replied in a dry voice laced with humor.
Kiki wanted to groan, curse, and maybe launch herself out the nearest window. Or better yet, launch Harvey and Jim out one. Why had she given in to their blackmail?
Because for the first time in a long time, you actually allowed yourself to talk to someone other than a cat!she admonished silently.
The man had been calling for three days. Repeatedly. With the tenacity of a debt collector. She’d hoped that he would get the message that she didn’t want to talk to him, butapparently, he was very dense.
She ignored him as she swiftly sidestepped to her door where she stabbed the key into the deadbolt like she was slaying a demon, unlocking it and the secondary one with ease before she shoved the door to her apartment open.
Then—because it was just that kind of day and he was just that kind of guy—he tried to follow her into her sanctuary. The one place no one—except on rare occasions Harvey or Jim—had ever entered.
She stepped inside and pivoted—stopping him short—and slammed the door in his face. The satisfying click of the deadbolt sliding into place echoed like a victory drumbeat.
Maybe he would take the hintnowand leave her alone.
Could seeing him be considered fulfilling her date requirement?
