He doesn’t rush to explain. He lets the word hang between us, watching me like he’s waiting to see what I’ll do with it.
“I’ll explain,” he says, tipping his head slightly, eyes catching the fluorescent hallway light. “Over dinner.”
I let out a sharp laugh. Is he actually serious?
“Dinner?” I repeat. “With the man who literally stalked me to my home?”
His jaw tenses, and he lets out a short, humorless breath. “You keep saying that like you didn’t rob me first.”
My mouth snaps shut.Okay, fair.
He shrugs, his smile fading into something sharper. “But sure. If you want to call me a stalker, go ahead.”
I narrow my eyes, tilting my head slightly. “How do I know you’re not planning to kill me?”
His grin is smug and annoyingly confident. “You don’t.”
I shouldn’t find that amusing. But somehow, I do.
I hesitate for a brief moment. Then, before I can overthink it, I whip the condo door open. “Don’t wait up!” I call over my shoulder.
From inside, Lexi gasps. There’s a beat of silence, then, “If you get kidnapped, I am not paying the ransom!” I close the door with a laugh.
Should I be laughing?
Locke watches the entire exchange with amusement glinting in his eyes. He steps aside, gesturing down the hall. “After you.”
I roll my eyes, but step ahead of him. I don’t know why.
I don’t know what the hell I’m doing.
All I know is that I want to see what happens next.
Chapter 8
LOCKE
I have to admit, it was amusing seeing the shock wash over her face when she realized I was there. Waiting in the stairwell like some kind of psycho.Am I some kind of psycho?
That’s something I’ve asked myself one too many times.
I push that thought aside as we approach the diner. Arden insisted we walk, not drive, as she led me to the nearest hole in the wall. I can’t blame her for not wanting to get in a car with me after that stunt. I’m still following her as she walks through the grimy double doors and straight to a corner booth near the back of the restaurant.Interesting, she wants us secluded.
We take our seats on opposite sides of the booth; she claims the side facing the door. Her eyes scan the small restaurant, alert to every movement. She’s on edge but calculated. She looks like a woman who knows what she’s doing. I get a sense that she’s noted where the exits are, and even with the diner’s hum around us, she’s ready to bolt if she needs to.
A server comes to the table with a coffeepot already in hand and the smell of stale cigarettes riding her clothes. She doesn’t smile as she asks, “Coffee?" We both nod as she pours two cups, drops two laminated menus, and disappears back toward the kitchen.
Neither of us is eager to break the silence. So, I stay quiet, studying Arden’s face.
She’s radiant. A few freckles scatter over her warm, honey-toned nose and cheeks. Her black hair flows in effortless waves past her shoulders, occasionally falling into her eyes. A minor distraction she casually brushes aside. And those eyes, a piercing shade of blue, stand out above all her other features. Every detail, even that slightly crooked grin that lifts her soft, full lips, works. She’s stunning, but not in a perfect, untouchable way. It’s effortless. Real.
Her brow furrows. “Why are you looking at me like that?” I realize I must look crazy. Again. I snap out of it, shaking my head, and finally find my voice. “I brought you here so we could chat about a minor problem I’m having with a client.”
“Oh?” She leans back in the booth, crossing her arms. “And which celebrity has fallen upon such misfortune that you need help from someone like me?”
That stops me mid-thought. “Wait, how do you know what I do for a living?”
“Let’s just say I know how to spot an easy mark,” she replies, examining her nails as if she’s already bored.
