Page 5 of Auctioned to the Billionaire Stalker

I took a couple of moments to gather myself before I went over to the bike rack in front of one of the biggest trees on campus. The trunk was enormous. I pulled my key out of my pocket after shoving the folded receipt inside. I unlocked the bike chain, put my earbuds in, and was about to pull out to ride over to Dinardo’s in time for the lunch rush. Then I saw a note taped to my handlebars.

My hands started to tremble at the sight. I looked around quickly before ripping it from my bike. I didn’t want to read it. But I knew I had to. Whoever this was, their threats were getting worse. I cringed thinking back to my good friend Nadine’s recent wedding to our town’s mayor. Whoever was leaving these notes had actually gotten my phone number and called me. I’d looked down at my phone, breathless and happy from dancing at the wedding reception, only to see over one hundred missed calls.

A knot had formed in my stomach then. I’d known it was him. And it had been. I’d made the mistake of listening to afew of his filthy, scary messages telling me exactly what he wanted to do with me. Then I’d made an even worse mistake of answering and trying to talk sense into the man. At least I thought it was a man. He used a voice disguiser of some sort. Either way, the conversation… did not go well. I’d blocked his number.

Nadine and Reynolds had overheard me. Nadine eventually told her best friend, Ray Ann, whose nickname is Jelly, to look out for me, and I’d sworn her to secrecy. No one else knew. Yet. Things were escalating, and I didn’t know how to handle it.

Since then, I’d been getting an increasing number of notes and phone calls. He was calling me from different burner phones. I’d block each one, but it didn’t do much good. He’d just call me from another one a couple of days later.

I didn’t know who he was, but I did know he was someone who saw me daily. I didn’t know if that was because he was spying on me, or because he was part of my daily life. A monster disguised as a friend. It was making me suspicious of everyone, and I hated it.

I held the note in my hand and stared down at it. I knew I had to open it and see if he'd dropped some sort of clue, anything that would help me and Jelly, who’d been trying to help me, figure out who he was.

I opened it. And then I wished I hadn’t. I frowned as I read it, my lips parting in surprise and horror.

Pretty Girl,

I’ve seen you naked so many times. I know where you live. I know you don’t like yogurt. One day you’ll be only mine. Mine only.

I can’t wait to taste you. To hurt you. The pain will make you smile.

I love you.

What the fuck?

I balled it up, my breath coming faster. I did a slow turn looking for anyone I thought could

have left such a creepy note. Why did it freak me out more that he knew I didn’t like yogurt than that he’dseen me naked? I mean, that was horrible, too. Obviously. It’s just… any random guy could find out where you lived and peek in your window.

But it would take some actual research to know I hated yogurt.

I didn’t see a single person who looked like they might have left the note. Not that I knew what a creep who left something like that would look like. It could be a fucking professor in a three-piece suit for all I knew. I started to toss the note in the trashcan, wishing I’d done that in the first place. I’d rather have never read that shit. But I remembered Jelly thought I should keep all of them to show the police if I went back.

That was another point of contention. I’d thought victim blaming was a thing of the past thanks in part to the #MeToo movement. But it wasn’t. I’d gone to the cops once already, and the guy I’d talked to had been nice. Until I mentioned I worked at Salazar’s. Then he’d changed. He’d suggested I find a different line of work, one where I didn’t show off my body to a few hundred men each week.

I’d protested that I wasn’t even a stripper, but he’d just waved me off and said to come back if it got worse. Jelly thought I should go back and demand to speak with a different officer.

Especially after what happened to Candace Keys. I swallowed hard, trying to keep the fear from overwhelming me. Candace had been a stripper at Sugar, the Salazar club where I worked as a hostess. And someone had murdered her.

I couldn’t think about that right now. I had too many problems filling up my mind and poisoning the kind of beautiful, late summer day I usually loved. I tossed a leg over my bike and headed off. I pumped my legs fast trying to get as many miles between me and whoever had left that note as I could. Trying to leave all my negative thoughts and fears behind. “We’re Not Alike” by Tate McRae played through my ear buds, and I hummed along, trying to take my mind off things as I rode faster and faster, trying to leave the way the note had made me feel behind on campus.

***

“Oh God, really?” The day was just getting worse. “You’re makingmedeliver to the Lancaster building?”

“You’re too damn beautiful for him to get mad at,” Old Man Dinardo said. He wasn’t old at all, but that’s what everyone called him. He was thirty-five, tops. “You know how he is about those damn croutons.” His dark eyes moved over me, but not in a particularly pervy way. More like he was just observant. “There’s no way he’ll request anyone else if he sees you, Daze.”

I rolled my eyes. “Isn’t there time to make more?”

He gave me a look. “Seriously?” He shot a pointed look at the clock, pushed the delivery bag for Jack Lancaster towards me, and walked towards the back to get more orders out.

“But what about all the tips I’ll miss from the lunch rush?” I called after him. He ignored me.

“Flirt with him, Daisy,” Ivan, the head cook, suggested. “Maybe he’ll slip you a couple of hundos.” He winked at me. “That would do it for me.”

“Thanks, Ivan,” I said absently. He was my age, went to West Bay U., was overly flirty, and perfectly harmless.

“Hey,” he called as I grabbed the bag and hurried towards the door, “Sorry I burned the damn croutons.”