Ms. Priest,
If you have special requests for Saturday, please let Zoe, my assistant manager, know. She can be reached via the number or email below. We’re looking forward to hosting you and your friends on Saturday night. Thank you for handling this discreetly. We’ve been watching.
—L
Oh. My. God.
It’s fromhim. Legend. And they’ve been watching?
Oh. My. Freaking. God.
The piece of paper almost falls from my hand, but I keep my wits together, along with my grip.
“Is everything okay?” Amy asks, concern in her tone. “It’s not something creepy, is it? Can I see?”
I refold the note, tuck it under a stack of correspondence on my desk, and turn around with what I hope is a decent impression of a cheery expression. “Nothing creepy at all. Just a reminder that I committed to an event tomorrow night, and they want to know if I have any special requests.”
Her brow furrows. “What event? You had me keep your Saturday open.”
“A club appearance. It’s time for me to get out and live a little. Kick the all-work-and-no-play persona for a night.”
The apprehension on Amy’s face fades and a smile takes its place. “Amen. You need a night out. It’s about damn time.”
Thankfully, her phone rings before she can ask any more questions.
“Do you need me? Because ...” She holds up her phone.
I wave her off. “Take the call. I’m good. I’ll be gone until at least ten. Back to help on the floor, and then gone again by 3:30. Talk later.”
Amy nods and then answers her cell, snatching her things off the bar, and is already speaking on her way out of my apartment. It’s not until the door shuts behind her that I run back to the desk, unearth the note, and read it again. And again. And again.
Then I lift it to my nose and sniff.He wrote this. He touched this paper.
Stunned at myself, I freeze.And what in the fresh hell am I doing right now?
I put it down, but my gaze stays locked on the handwriting. It’s neat enough to be legible, but there’s no elegance to it. No soft edges or lazy lines. It’s straight to the point. Each line and slash is confidently deliberate, just like the man himself.
Okay, so when did I become a handwriting analyst?
There’s one sentence on the page that keeps repeating in my head.“We’ve been watching you.”
I drift to the living area window and stare out at the street and the sidewalk across from me, and wishfully look for him before I can talk some sense into myself. He’s not there, and a shaft of disappointment chases me away from the glass and back to my desk to rearrange everything on my blotter as I try to pull myself together.
Of course they were watching.Why didn’t I think of that?
Oh, I don’t know, probably because this was my first kidnapping?
It’s a damn good thing I didn’t call the police, because if I had ... whoever was watching me would have seen the cops show up at Curated.
The subtle threat in the note hangs in my mind. But instead of it freaking me out, I can’t stop thinking about him standing out there in the dark of night, watching the light in my window, waiting for a glimpse of me.
What if he was out there while I was getting myself off to him?
Oh. My. Shit.
My nipples peak and moisture blooms between my legs, and the urge to go another round, ending with me moaning Gabriel Legend’s name, comes onstrong.
What in the actual fuck is wrong with me?