“I’m thinking positive. It’s lunchtime—my favorite time of the day. Salinger’s occupied for a solid twenty-five minutes, and I get to eat my leftovers on the roof deck that no one else uses and pretend I’m at a fancy café in France with my wonderful husband.”
“You need to stop spending so much time at the office,” Jess scolds, “and more time looking for your dream man. What happened to that guy you met at the singles party who sent you all those roses?”
“Uh… I wasn’t really what he was looking for,” I squeak. “Better go pick up Salinger’s lunch before he throws the phone through the wall again.”
I admit it—I haven’t told Jess about the stalker. I haven’t told anyone.
My motto in life is that if you pretend it isn’t happening, you can survive anything. That’s how I’ve lasted so long with Salinger. And I’ve prayed, wished, and delusionally hoped that the stalker will lose interest if I just ignore him.
It… is not working.
“What am I going to do?” I ask the dog softly.
She whines and lumbers along behind me as we step off the elevator.
“Hi, Pepperoni!” the receptionist coos.
Pepper immediately runs to her, stubby tail wagging, and the receptionist lowers a piece of lunch meat from her sandwich to Pepper’s mouth.
“You could just have us order in the food for him,” the receptionist calls to me. “No need to go out.”
“You know how Salinger is about delivery. Plus, I like the exercise.”
The receptionist shrugs.
My toxic trait is believing I deserve a treat every time I leave my desk. I’ve earned a coffee after the morning I’ve had, right? Starbucks has a new white-chocolate-cheesecake mocha latte that has my name all over it.
Pausing at the door, I look around furtively.
The coast is clear.
Salinger doesn’t tell me where he wants me to order his lunch from. That would be beneath him. I am supposed to read his mind and guess.
As if.
Instead, I’d been choosing restaurants that are close to both the office and a Starbucks. Thankfully, in Seattle, you can sneeze and accidentally land in a Starbucks.
The close to the office bit? Ever since I met Jaxon at that singles party, I’ve felt like my world has shrunk smaller and smaller as I’m doing anything and everything possible to avoid a confrontation.
The only place I really feel safe is at the office—and only when Salinger is there. I have this superstition that the office is in a sphere of protection, that Salinger is such a horrible, awful man that he has his own force field that keeps other terrible men away and keeps me safe.
Yes, I also believe in horoscopes and healing crystals, but let me have this, okay?
Except my methods aren’t working. This morning was proof of that.
And my only other real plan is sticking my head in the sand.
“It’s going to be fine,” I lie to myself then immediately jump out of my skin when my phone rings.
It’s my sister Lauren. “Oof! Sending that one to voicemail.”
It rings again—this time, my mother’s name pops up on the screen. Is something wrong? Is it my dad?
Worried, I answer the call. “Hi, Mom—”
“Don’t sound so happy to answer the phone.”
Gritting my teeth, I say as pleasantly as I can, “How are you, Mom? I’ve been meaning to call you!”
