Chapter 2 – Amanda
Thankfully, the visceral edge pulsing in my veins cut dinner short. Steven sent me home in a cab, worrying about how pale I was. I blamed it on a bad deli sub from a catered lunch. My boyfriend didn’t catch the obvious slip-up that I never ate carbs.
Steven didn’t offer to see me home. And since that was the established boundary of our relationship, I didn’t let the detail sting.
It boded well for our relationship that even though we were now engaged, the space we established was still in place.
It was highly unlikely that he was going to interfere with that or my career.
But on that note, I didn’t know what being married to a nobleman was going to require of me. What did being the wife of an earl mean? How much time would I have to spend abroad? With a sigh, I locked my apartment. That was probably something I should have discussed with Steven before I said yes.
“Where was my head tonight?” I muttered as I uncorked a bottle of wine and kicked off my shoes.
Stretching and flexing my feet, I let the liquid glug into a glass.
I should be celebrate with a champagne toast at the Plaza, after summoning my friends.
The socialites I spent my precious free time with would curate gorgeous social media pictures.
I might even go viral. But the thought of announcing my impending marriage made me queasy.
“It’s not like they would know I’m being pragmatic.” I drummed my fingers against the counter. “I can fool them.”
The large social group would rejoice at the news. They would think it was utterly romantic that I’d been swept off my feet by the exciting, mysterious foreigner.
“And really, it was the smart choice.” I topped my glass off.
I swore long ago that I would never marry just for love. My parents split because they did that. I knew I needed a partner. If we were in love, that was a bonus. Now that I was older and wiser, I knew love didn’t really exist. What I had with Steven was sensible, even if it wasn’t magical.
Taking a healthy sip, I padded over to the couch and snatched the bottle of sleeping pills off the side table.
One plus the wine would ensure I got just enough sleep without missing my alarm.
I ignored the bold letters on the side of the bottle that warned me not to mix these with alcohol.
It wasn’t like I was taking a full dose. Two pills always made my head foggy.
Sinking deeper into the sofa, I tucked my sore feet under the blanket. My mind crackled to life as my body relaxed into mush.
He texted.
I shivered and took another sip of wine.
I couldn’t remember when the feeling of being watched started.
For over half the year, maybe longer, I had the distinct feeling that somewhere, in the distance, someone was there.
I told myself it was silly. But recently, shit got real.
The physical evidence had started with a book.
About four weeks ago, right after Steven left, I’d been browsing in my favorite little shop, looking at stories and wondering if I would have enough time to read over the weekend.
A call from work had me scooting out of the shop without purchasing the gothic, forbidden romance I’d been looking at.
It was delivered to the office before I left for the night.
Since I’d worked late, I was delighted to have the novel to take home, not allowing myself to wonder who’d made sure I had the copy. I honestly thought it was the shopkeeper, though when I’d called to thank her, she played dumb.
But then that Sunday night, a framed art print was delivered to my apartment.
That really set me on edge.
There was no note. The doorman didn’t know who’d sent it, other than it came in an unmarked delivery vehicle.
I’d been at the Met with some friends all morning, after a boozy brunch. The Romanticism painting of a maiden and a knight had caught my buzzed attention, and I’d stared at it for too long while my friends giggled at the naked statue behind us.
The fact that a copy of the art just showed up suggested someone was watching me. That the prickles at the back of my neck were real. That my awareness of the shadows was justified.
Those weren’t the only gifts that appeared.
Every Wednesday for the past four weeks, a bouquet of wildflowers arrived at the office for me.
The office girls gushed that Steven was the best boyfriend ever.
I didn’t correct them. Didn’t tell them that I hated cut flowers, something Steven had been told after our second date.
If the deliveries were from him, then he was forgetful or just didn’t care.
Neither of which was an ideal situation, but I could deal with it.
I had been dealing with it. I meant to tell him at dinner that I didn’t like them and request he quit sending them.
I forgot somewhere between the news of his brother’s death and the proposal.
But…if they weren’t from him?
Oh, lord, what if they weren’t?
That meant some unknown person had access to where I worked. Where I lived.
The text messages all but confirmed there might be another player. Someone watching me. Following me. I couldn’t explain away the appearance of the texts in the same way I tried with the flowers, the book, and the print of the famous art piece.
“Well, shit,” I breathed.
A full-bodied shudder rattled through me. Putting the glass to my lips, I chugged.
“I’m messed up!” Because that wasn’t a healthy reaction pulsing in my veins. I wasn’t scared, although if I guessed the tone of the messages correctly, I should be.
No…that tingle in my blood was excitement.
“Stop it,” I snapped. “Here’s what you’re going to do.”
Tomorrow was Friday. I would go to the police station first thing in the morning. They could track the number on my phone, figure out who the sick bastard was behind the message, and put a stop to the idiocy. I didn’t have time to deal with a stalker.
“Crap, it will have to be done over lunch,” I muttered. There were several depositions taking place in the morning, and the senior partner I worked with regularly was letting me take the lead on one of those.
Not even a threat on my phone would stop me from pursuing that opportunity.
With a plan in place, I began some deep breathing exercises to clear my mind. When that didn’t work, I poured and drank another glass of red.
The numbness creeping around the edges of my brain was the only excuse for my actions. My hands seemed to develop a mind of their own. The phone blinked to life in my lap. A finger swiped the screen, and the text message popped to life.
“‘Don’t say yes,’” I read. “Who the hell are you to tell me what to do?”
Shaking my head, I poured out the rest of the bottle and took a long sip. I shouldn’t respond. Shouldn’t feed the delusions of the sender. Whoever it was would be caught by the cops by this time tomorrow night. Case closed.
But a nagging voice in the back of my head wanted to fight. To resist being told what to do. I made my own choices.
Me: That’s a bold statement.
I groaned, dropping my head back on the cushion. Engaging was stupid. Now the police would see that, and someone would likely scold me.
The phone pinged a second later.
Unknown: You didn’t listen.
“Who are you to—” I shook my head, fuming.
Me: It’s my life, and I get to say what happens.
Me: PS, I did say yes.
There. That was the end of it. I looked at the empty bottle and the pitiful amount of red in my glass. I knew better than to get any more.
I also knew better than to taunt whoever was stalking me, but here I was, a basket of poor decisions.
Unknown: You’ve been a bad girl.
My legs clenched tight as my eyes scanned the words. Heat pulsed low in my belly.
“Oh, that did not just happen!” I muttered.
I shifted on the cushion, trying to erase the physical reaction.
Unknown: Actions have consequences, Amanda.
A shiver of fear lanced my heart.
The next message came in quickly on the heels of the first.
Unknown: PS, I can’t wait to see how you take your punishment.
I closed the screen and sat up straight. The fuzzy feeling in my head wasn’t strong enough to erase the obvious. My panties were damp.
“Oh, hell no,” I growled to myself. “You do not like this. It isn’t a book.”
Rising on shaking legs, I hurried to the front door and double-checked the locks. There would be no break-in tonight. Just for good measure, I placed a barstool against the door.
“There!”
Looking at it, I couldn’t help the manic laugh that clawed out my throat. What the hell was that piece of decorative metal going to do?
I pushed it to the side and went for the couch. Using my overly tired muscles, I heaved the thing across the open-concept and butted it against the door. I would hate myself in the morning on my rush to work, but for tonight there would be ample warning if anyone tried to enter the condo.
Just to be safe, I tucked myself on the cushions and added my weight to the barrier. This way, I would hear a disturbance and be able to call the police.
Or be bait waiting for some deranged soul to walk in on. With that unhappy thought, I shut off the light and closed my eyes. I strained to listen, hearing nothing but silence. That whisper of energy was all in my head.