Page 33 of Kaine

“Um, there’s a, um, a Miss Sinclair on the phone for you, and it sounds urgent.”

Stalking Jade through my own apartment security cameras is one thing, speaking to her is another. But after a morning of watching her, the need for more interaction is undeniable. I want more. Need more.

“Put her through, Jemima.”

My secretary falters for a moment but knows better to ask questions. She closes the office door behind her and I brace myself.

The phone on my desk rings and I answer it with a push of a button.

“Hello?” She’s in stereo now, I reach over and mute the sound on my computer, but don’t take my eyes off it.

“Hello?” she says again. I watch as she sinks onto the couch and twirls a finger through her thick curly hair.

“Yes?” I say.

“Ah, he speaks,” she says, and I feel a flush at her taunting me. “Can you please tell the doormen to let me friend Harriet up to your apartment, please. She’s bringing me some work.”

“No.”

“No?”

“I don’t like people in my apartment,” I tell her, which is true. Except for you, I want you there.

“Well, you brought me here.”

“And now that you have someone to take you home, you can leave.”

“I’m not leaving, Kaine,” she says.

Her use of my name is dizzying. I sit up from my reclining position for balance.

I want to hear it again.

“What?”

“You heard me. You heard me when I said it last night, and now I’m telling you again. Kaine, I’m not leaving until you come home.”

And I almost hurl myself through the window to get to her.

“I can call the police.”

“Fine. Tell them to bring my friend up with them when they come, so I can do some work while I wait.”

I watch as she sits up, her back straight, her hand waving emphatically in the air. She means it.

“You...”

“What?”

“You’re a very stubborn woman, Miss Sinclair.”

“Now that you’ve realized this, we can both move on. I’ll see you at home, your home, after work. Now please call your building people and tell them to let the crazy red head up to your apartment. I’ll take my work from her and send her along.”

There’s a click and she’s hung up the phone. My eyes back to the screen to see what she’s doing. She’s leaning back on the couch, her bare legs tucked under her, her face calm, not smiling.

I reach for the intercom.

“Jemima, get my apartment building on the phone. Now.”