Chapter 24 - Kate
The living room looks like a confetti cannon exploded with cardboard, packing tape, bubble wrap, clothing, and stickers.
Boxes teeter on the edge of my floor, sofa, coffee table, and TV unit.
Shipping labels coat the carpet like snow, and there’s glitter in places it shouldn’t be, like Josh’s coat.
This is the last remaining vestige of space after my office is crammed with packed boxes, and my kitchen table’s been usurped by stacks of bookish mugs, piles of sweaters, hoodies, and a new t-shirt Harper designed weeks ago.
We’ve got a factory assembly line happening.
Charlie’s perched on the floor, surrounded by a swarm of metallic gold envelopes, handwritten thank-you cards in her cute, curly script.
She tucks smutty stickers, sprinkles glitter like she’s a book fairy and drops a pamphlet for her wig company into the envelopes.
Glitter smears her forehead where she wipes it and dusts her fiery wig.
She hums to the Celine Dion soundtrack playing in the background.
Harper’s folding hoodies, sweaters, and shirts with brutal efficiency, wrapping them in tissue paper.
Earbuds pump death metal into her ears to cleanse her ears of emotional ballads.
Turns out, her new design, the Thick Thighs and Stalker Vibes hoodie, is our best seller, outperforming the rest by three hundred percent.
She twitches each time glitter leaks onto her. “If one more speck of glitter touches me, I’m suing you, cupcake.”
Charlie and I giggle.
“Blasphemous wench!” I throw a dick plushie at her. “I’m revoking three Lachlan Kane points!”
“I’m seriously reconsidering our friendship,” Harper mutters.
“Love you too,” I tease.
She makes dry retching sounds for saying the L word.
Josh steals the fallen plushie and pretends it’s his latest girlfriend.
I tug it from his mouth and chase him off. “I’m sorry, little man. This is for a customer. I’m pretty sure they didn’t order it pre-drooled and pre-humped.”
He glares at me, hops into an empty box, curling up with a huff, a tiny prince sulking on his throne. Dog training is coming along slowly, and I’m determined to show him I’m the queen in this relationship.
Packed orders mount on the floor beside me that I’ve sealed with tape and packing labels.
I get up and move them to the corner of the room, where the rest of the ready-to-ship pile sits.
It clears away part of the clutter, but we’ll be going all weekend to clear all the orders. Monday, I’ll get everything shipped.
Grumpy Daddy came through on the promise to bankroll my crusade, and it’s given me time to stockpile articles and cash before the Romans inevitably fire back revenge rockets.
Six weeks ago, his associate started running ads for our book merch line.
The result? An avalanche of orders. Five thousand dollars in the first week, seven the next, adding up to over forty in total.
Half of that figure went into purchasing stock, packaging materials, and a new printer.
Every week we’re growing, and I’m getting closer to my dream.
Instead of feeling a sense of triumph and freedom, I’m worried the Romans will ruin this for us.
Nope. Leave those doubts to Grumpy Daddy and his associates.
He’s on protection duty, along with Josh.
I’m on hard-hitting journalism duty, blended with sore, exhausted eyes, achy shoulder and back muscles, and lots of chocolate and massages from my sexy stalker to manage the stress of three jobs.
On my way back to the four-foot square patch of carpet I call mine, I bend down, wrap my arms around Charlie’s neck and kiss her on the top of the head. “You don’t know how grateful we are for you pitching in.”
“Any time, boo.” Charlie’s voice is soft and sweet, just like her pat on my forearm.
“Love you.” I sway her from side to side and let her go and get back to it.
“We need a goddamn warehouse.” Harper folds the box flaps like she’s sealing sunlight in a tomb forever.
“And an industrial label printer that won’t jam every six seconds.” I pick through the mess and narrowly avoid toppling stickers onto Prince Josh’s box.
None of the clothing would have been possible without the support of Harper’s father working overtime and roping in two friends to help him stitch and get us a fast turnaround time.
Sure, it’s a crapload of packages to ship, but we’d rather take our time than cut corners with print on demand.
Plus, each package is gift-wrapped with love, sparkle, and metallic tissue paper.
We also had a little help from Grumpy Daddy’s team ordering stock ahead of time to get the ball rolling, which reduced our delivery time from six to three weeks.
They started the ads off slowly to look legit, and built us up week by week.
Becca and Nicki helped out where they could spare time, but now we’ve got a new book girlie starting with us next week, which will take the pressure off us.
The faster we can expand, the quicker Charlie can get back to her life, Harper can hide in the dark like a vampire, and I can return to Operation Take Down.
“Is your dad on track with the next delivery?” I ask Harper. “It’s our largest to date at 10k of merch.”
“Yeah, Dad’s hired an additional ten new staff.” Her finger runs down the order inventory list, and she checks off items. She’s rocking black nails with moon, stars, and witchy symbols on them.
“Ten? Wow!” I clap.
“This isn’t slowing down, cupcake.” She folds the clothes and drops them in the shipping box.
“No, it isn’t.” Pretty sure I’m smiling from ear to ear at the masked vigilante I have to thank for this.
I love that our company is growing, getting our name out there, earning new fans, and exploding our subscriber counts on all our socials.
On paper, this whole thing started as a vengeance pact. Grumpy Daddy will protect me, and I’ll publish content that garners public pressure to eliminate the Romans’ corruption. A business arrangement rooted in shared justice, mutual survival, and lots of steamy encounters in between.
Every time I think of him, I catch a whiff of his woody cinnamon smell, feel his hand feathering over my cheek, or his voice dropping low when things turn spicy.
With every day that passes that we don’t talk about what we are, and he continues to hide his identity, the line between business and pleasure blurs into a dark spot.
Slowly, the masked biker fantasy has lost its novelty, and I fear becoming a pit stop on the highway to vengeance.
I’m confused and need to put my thoughts together in a pros and cons list, Gilmore Girls-style.
Pros:
· He’s sweet, solid, and unshakable. The weight of his hand on my back silences the noise in my head.
· His arms feel like the safest place I’ve ever been. This alone is a major pro.
· He notices the little things I like and surprises me with gifts. Book boyfriend material right there.
· He’s a dog person. We’re talking double points here.
· Delivers on the home invasion fantasies and morally gray cravings. Triple threat pro.
· Saved me from a hellspawn neighbor and boss. Hero-level pro.
· The sex? Twenty chili spice major pro. Let the record reflect I almost saw God.
Cons:
· No face, name, minimal history. He doesn’t trust me with the full picture.
· Keeps his cards too close. True intentions or feelings unknown.
That’s it. I hate that the cons—all whopping two of them—feel bigger than they are. They open old wounds. Remind me how promises turn into exits. How needing someone led to me being left behind.
But Grumpy Daddy didn’t leave. He stayed through the panic, the fight, the worst of me. Now my heart’s caught between hope and self-protection.
Harper breaks through my confusion and taps scissors on the box I’ve taped and labeled. “You’ve put four stickers on that box already.”
“Have I?” I check, and she’s right. “Damn. I’ll have to reprint these.”
Harper smirks. “Grumpy Dick must really like you to do this for you.”
I’m trying not to think about him when he confuses me. “Please. Book merchandise is not a long-term commitment. He just wants to bend me over a glittery book display and call it justice.”
Harper cocks her head. “I thought this was about banging your stalker, not falling for him, cupcake.”
Classic Harper, cutting to the bone with a single swipe and reducing my swirling cocktail of lust, doubt, and longing into a shot glass labeled horny.
Celine sings in the background. The Power of Love.
Hell, I'm really living the lyrics at the moment. Frightened to love but summoning the courage to fall. That’s what love does, doesn’t it?
Sneaks up on you and hits you in the dark.
The truth is, I don’t just want blindfolded nights and hot sex.
I want to know if the masked man will stay.
I’m starting to feel things that I can no longer bury.
And I don’t want to, if he won’t let me past the final wall.
Fuck. This shouldn’t be my theme song. I should blast Think Twice and slam the emotional brakes before I get hurt. I sink against the mountain of boxes, staring at the ceiling like it holds all the answers to the relationship.
“I didn’t mean to,” I reply to my housemate. “It just… happened. Between the stalking, rescues, meals, the cute little ornaments, my nickname, him giving me elements of control and holding me like I’m worth holding on to… my heart didn’t get the memo about casual.”
My eyes land on the rainbow pumpkin Grumpy Daddy sculpted for me in glass, which he calls my Cinderella carriage. The irony of it stings when he calls me out for dressing up in camouflage when he won’t take off his mask.
Harper snorts and licks at her lip ring. “Watch out, cupcake. That’s how you end up writing his name in glitter on your high school binder.”
“Too late,” I mutter. “It’s decorating my chest now, and I can’t peel it off without bleeding.”
Harper abandons the sharp blades and falls beside me. “You’re scared he’s going to vanish with your heart like that last dick. The cop. What’s his name? August fucking Kelly.”
Twenty-eight months on and she still has a blade with his name on it.
The name knocks the wind out of me, and I’m stunned, unable to breathe.
I scrubbed him from my phone, our household, and my vocabulary.
I told myself I was fine, that I didn’t need the closure or explanation for him leaving.
That I didn’t need him. But I cried. Hard.
Ugly. In the dark, with Josh curled at my feet.
With Celine Dion crooning about love moving mountains.
Old wounds tear open, and I’m not sure I’ll live through Grumpy Daddy saying goodbye.
The CD rolls into a duet, Tell Him, and Streisand and Dion tag-team slamming my heart.
Charlie gets up and tiptoes through the train wreck to sit cross-legged with me. Here comes the heart-to-heart portion of the girl talk, a velvet glove across my cheek compared with the brick Harper takes to my face.
“She’s right,” she adds gently, holding my hand. “It’s okay to be nervous and wonder where your relationship is going when it’s not… conventional.”
I never wanted conventional. Obsession, devotion, and danger call to me when I feel broken and unsafe.
“It’s okay to be scared,” she says. “You’ve been through hell and letting someone in who wears armor that thick feels like freefalling.”
My throat burns. “Freefalling with no parachute.”
She nods, giving me a slight squeeze. “Has your guy let you splat?”
“No,” I answer, barely a whisper.
Her eyes are fluffy and kind, the perfect antidote to Harper’s arctic smirk. “Has he ever let you down or lied to you?”
“Not that I know of.” I chew the inside of my cheek.
Loose curls fall into Charlie’s face when she tilts her head. “Don’t run from the past or his walls. Trust him until he gives you a reason not to. He’s showing you who he is in ways that counts.”
Harper removes a glitter sticker and posts it on the back of my hand. “Yeah, cupcake. Don’t let your fears steal your days. Take them back. You’re gold under all that glitter eye makeup, and the right person for you will see that.”
I blink, caught off guard by the hint of tenderness in her voice. She’s different. Softer and smiling more. I think it’s the mysterious late-night caller who makes her laugh and sands down the sharp corners.
The softness is gone with her evil grin. “If he turns out to be an idiot, we’ll bury him in these shipping boxes and dump him in Shadow Lake.”
I laugh, watery and shaky, loving the advice from my two friends, even when it’s at opposite ends of the spectrum. For a moment, the doubt eases, replaced by a warmth of being surrounded by my girls. My safe harbor in the storm.
Even Josh comes out of his box to wag his tail and get in on the Charlie cuddles, and Harper leaning her head on my shoulder.
Charlie lifts the rainbow pumpkin to the light coming through the window, creating a kaleidoscope. “You’re both cracked glass, but it doesn’t mean the light can’t shine through.”
“You’re right.” I toss a roll of bubble wrap at Harper. “Stop being deep and… colorful, Harper, you’re concerning me.”
Harper kisses my head for the first time ever. “That’s what friends are for. And I better earn that Lachlan Kane point back.”