“I see…” he says, and the car stops.
“Thank you for an amazing evening.”
“That’s sarcasm again, isn’t it?”
I open the door and step outside. “Oh, I don’t know. I’ll let you work that one out, Mr. Know-It-All.” Then I slam the door shut and stride up the walkway to my building. I don’t bother looking back to see if he’s watching me.
I’m emotionally exhausted right now.
I had a busy day at work, then followed it with a night where I didn’t even get to eat, and my stomach is grumbling so loudly it’s practically protesting. My whole body’s running on caffeine and irritation. And don’t even get me started on the woman who basically told me I’m not good enough for a man like Soren.The audacity.No one gets to say that to me,ever! I have worked too damn hard and pushed through too much to let some stranger decide my worth. I should be the one to judge that, not a stranger who doesn’t even know my story.
Slamming the front door, I storm straight to the kitchen. The sound echoes through the empty house, matching the thrum of frustration in my chest. I yank open the fridge, grab the first thing I see, and start shoving it into my mouth without even tasting it.
My fingers are already flying across the keyboard as I pull my laptop closer, searching for my ex-husband’s name, trying to find out if he really is engaged and just forgot to mention it.
And God, I hope Soren isn’t right about this.
EIGHT
SOREN
She’s pissed at me,and rightfully so.
I did take her in hopes Miranda would finally get the hint, and maybe to humiliate her and to get her off my back. But as she fumbles with her front door, I feel a twinge of guilt I don’t particularly want to acknowledge. I wait, watching, until she finally gets it open and disappears inside, slamming it hard enough to make her point clear. Yeah, she is pissed, and she has every right to be.
I exhale, alert the driver that he can go, and pull out my phone. A quick tap, and the listening device I slipped into her purse hours ago comes to life.
“What a fucking prick. Who does he think he is?”I hear her muttering.“Thinking he knows that my ex is engaged. He has no idea.”
There’s the sound of a keyboard clicking before the room goes silent.
I know for a fact that Noah is engaged. I know his fiancée. And now I guess I know his ex.
The car is pulling up at my condo when I hear her growl,“No fucking way.”And I know she has found what she was lookingfor. She’s an expert at research, so I’m amazed she didn’t know already.
Taylor, Noah’s fiancée, actually works for me. I’ve had a few interactions with her before, but I didn’t put the two together until I did some digging and found out that Taylor is with Miss Knight’s ex. It also came to my attention that the engagement is not public knowledge. When I asked Taylor about it, she said Noah has a child to consider, which basically means the father doesn’t want the ex to know. So, I took a stab in the dark that Cressida didn’t know, and I guess I was right.
I continue listening to her as I get out of the car. Something about her voice is soothing in a way, especially when she’s telling me off. I don’t have many people in my life who are ballsy enough to treat me that way.
“I hate him,”she says, and I hear the laptop slam closed.
I’m ninety-nine percent sure she’s talking about me.
Pulling the listening device out of my ear, I step into the elevator and push the button for the top floor. The ride is smooth, quiet, and just how I like it. When the doors slide open, I’m met with the familiar sight of my condo—a space as controlled and precise as I am.
The open floor plan stretches wide, anchored by floor-to-ceiling windows that showcase a million-dollar view of the city. At night, the skyline glows as if it’s on fire, with buildings and headlights blending into one another in a wash of gold and white. My living area is minimalist but not cold. There are two large gray sofas facing each other, cream-colored throw pillows positioned just so, a hand-carved wooden coffee table between them, and a textured rug that softens the space without adding clutter.
Everything has its place here. No mess. No chaos. Just order, and exactly the way I need it.
Unlike my previous apartments, I love it here. The views are spectacular, and it’s close to work. But it does get lonely at times, not that I would ever admit that to anyone.
I stand there, looking out over the city lights below, the world spread out beneath me as if it belongs to me. Yet all I can think about is a blue-eyed, sharp-tongued stalker who’s somehow managed to get under my skin.
NINE
CRESSIDA
Last week,I sent Soren an email asking when we could conduct the interview. He opened the email—I know that for a fact because I have read receipts turned on in my emails. But he has obviously chosen not to reply.
