Stole his passwords.
Made herself indispensable before he even knew she existed.
This woman is a fucking predator.
And I want to be her prey.
I flip to the next one. Elliot’s.
Sir. Refined. 10/10 table manners. Ties me up. Calls me baby doll. Probably into taxes. Would hide a body for me.
I’m hard.
I absolutely should not be.
But here we are.
The next notebook is Callum’s.
I laugh out loud.
Actually laugh.
Because Callum Anderson, career criminal and general menace, fucked up her entire process.
Didn’t let her stalk him properly.
Just... existed at her.
And she kept him anyway.
Dick and tattoos erased that flaw.
She’s deranged.
I need her to want me like this.
I open the next notebook.
No name.
Just notes.
Fuck.
Fuck.
“A sexy intense man at the mall.”
That’s me.
She’s talking about me.
My goddamn plate number is scribbled in the margin.
My coffee order is wrong, but she’s trying.
“Hands: capable, scarred. Want them on my throat.”
