Chapter Five
Tia
"You have a visitor," Lorna says, poking her head into my office a little after noon.
I blink at my screen and then at her, confused. "A visitor? I don't have anyone on my schedule today."
She just shrugs like that's not her problem. "You want me to send him back?"
"Who?"
"Lacy didn't give me his name," she says.
"She just told me to tell you that you have an important visitor.
Guess he's rich and wants to donate." Her eyes light up as soon as she says it, as if the prospect excites her.
Truthfully, it does me, too. It takes a fortune to keep a nonprofit running.
Even with Kingston and Evie's support, we don't have the resources to do nearly as much as we'd like for low-income students. "She said you'd take care of him."
I love my boss, really, I do. But a little heads up once in a while would be nice. My office is a natural disaster right now, not suitable for a meeting with a potential donor.
"Give me two minutes, and then bring him back," I mutter to Lorna, glancing at my messy desk. I quickly set about straightening it, shoving paperwork into drawers, dusting crumbs off the surface, and tucking the trash can out of sight. And then I run my hands through my hair, fluffing it a little.
There's nothing I can do about the Hearthstone t-shirt and faded jeans I wore today. Had I known I'd have a meeting with a potential donor, I would have dressed up, but today was supposed to be a data day, not a meeting day.
I'm almost finished applying a coat of lip gloss when Lorna appears in the doorway again. But it isn't her that my eyes lock on. It's the smug giant standing behind her in a faded blue Henley and jeans, grinning like the fucking devil.
The gloss clatters to the desk, my entire body surging with some unholy energy I don't even have a name for. It's some combination of desire, frustration, and excitement that's way, way too dangerous.
"You," I growl, glaring daggers at Briggs.
"Me," he says, that smirk growing. "Surprised to see me?"
As soon as he asks, I realize that I'm not all that surprised. I've spent most of the last few weeks looking over my shoulder, just waiting for him to appear. I think part of me hoped he would. The other part prayed he wouldn't.
The man has me in knots. Every damn time he texts me, I get all twisted up again.
At least once a day, I think about texting him back, just to tell him to quit texting me.
And then I think about texting him to ask why he's still texting me.
I should have blocked his number when I blocked him on social media, but some sick sense of curiosity stopped me. I wanted to know what he'd say next.
Turns out, he's a font of information. At least every other day, he texts me some random fact I'll absolutely never need to know—like what to do if a bear attacks, or how cheese was discovered, or where the first official hockey game was played.
Sometimes, when I least expect it, he texts the things that keep me up at night. Like his text yesterday telling me that he dreams about the sound I made when he kissed me at Sophie and Harlan's wedding. It's those texts that keep my mind spinning.
Surely there are thousands of women out there willing to play whatever game this is to him. So, why me?
I haven't come up with a good answer to that question yet, and that worries me. When I was the target back in college, it made some sort of sick, twisted sense.
Kingston had just been drafted. Of course a bunch of disgusting college boys latched onto his sister, like winning a bet to sleep with her would give them some sort of legendary status. I wasn't a person to them, not really. I was just the thing meant to connect them to their hero.
This is different. Briggs knows Kingston.
They aren't mortal enemies. They don't dislike each other.
Brigg isn't a fanboy. He isn't a jerk of a college boy, either.
And having spent time with Harlan, I can't imagine his brother being the kind of guy who'd turn anyone into a stupid bet.
Harlan would never tolerate that shit from either of his brothers.
So…why me? Has Briggs decided to turn me into some project because I don't date hockey players? Surely his ego isn't that fragile…right?
I don't know, and not knowing is making me feral. So is the fact that a big part of me doesn't believe that's it at all. I saw the look on his face at the wedding. Whatever he wants from me, it isn't a good time. He doesn't want to have his ego stroked. It's bigger…deeper.
And that makes less sense than anything else because he doesn't know me. But it makes more sense than anything else, too. Because I don't know him either…and I still can't get him out of my head.
I'm in so much fucking trouble I'd laugh if it were even remotely funny.
"Uh, you two know each other?" Lorna asks, glancing between us.
"No," I lie.
"Absolutely," Briggs says at the same exact moment.
"O-kay then…" Lorna's brows furrow before she shakes her head. "I'm just going to leave you two to figure that out, then…"
Briggs steps aside, allowing her to scurry off.
For a long moment, I just stare at him, completely at a loss for words. There's stalking, and then there's whatever this is. How did he find me? Why is he here?
I'm not even sure what question I want to ask first.
He doesn't give me time to ask either.
"You look beautiful, Tia," he murmurs, his big body filling the entire doorway as he steps into my office. "My dreams haven't done you justice."
"Mine were wrong about you too," I retort, glaring at him. "You do actually have devil's horns and a tail."
He throws his head back, his deep laugh hitting me right in the stomach. Damn. I missed that laugh.
"I almost forgot," he says.
"Forgot what?"
"The way my whole body goes haywire around you." He nudges the door closed, glancing around my office. "I like it."
I'm not sure if he's talking about my messy office or the other thing, so I decide not to engage on either subject. "Why are you here, Briggs?" I ask instead.
"Lacy didn't tell you?"
Why is he on a first-name basis with my boss? I'm missing entire volumes here, and they all feel ominous as hell.
"Tell me what?"
He sinks into a chair across from my desk, not speaking. Oh no, he doesn't say a word as he gets comfortable, casually crossing his legs, folding his hands together on top of my desk…drawing out the anticipation until I'm ready to strangle him just to make him tell me what he's hiding.
"I'm a big advocate for education," he finally says.
"Good for you."
"I'm also going to be the face of your organization."
"Come again?" I ask, convinced I heard him wrong. I had to have heard him wrong, right? There's no way he just—
"I'm going to be the face of your organization."
For a full minute, I stare at him, wishing we were back at the wedding, when he would say one thing, then pretend he didn't say it. I could deal with that right now. I absolutely cannot deal with this.
"Hell no," I finally say, pushing away from my desk as a surge of panic engulfs me. "Absolutely not."
"It's already done." He stares at me, his expression placid, serene almost. "Lacy and I worked out the details yesterday."
I think I'm going to throw up. Or pass out. Or level my office when my head explodes. All three sound like good options right now.
What the fuck does he mean, he and Lacy worked out the details?
"This is…it's…" I don't even have a word for what this is!
This is that level of stalking they make true crime shows about, the level where you don't need protection orders, but actual fucking bodyguards, witness protection, and a new identity.
He can't possibly think this is normal. "You've lost your mind. "
"Probably," he agrees, his expression still serene. "But that's on you."
Launching something at his head wouldn't really be assault, would it? Asking for a friend.
"My fault?" I ask instead, deciding to play it safe. I'd prefer not to go to jail for attacking a goalie in my own damn office, even if he does deserve it. "You do not get to blame your unhinged delusions and stalking tendencies on me, Briggs Ward. This is…it's…" Again, no words.
"Genius," he says.
"Unhinged," I retort.
"Brilliant."
I narrow my eyes. "Diabolical."
"Innovative."
"Insane."
"Inspired." His lips twitch. "I can throw out synonyms all day, baby."
If he calls me that one more time, I swear to God, I won't be responsible for the violence I unleash.
"Inspired?" I cross my arms, scowling at him. "Inspired by actual psychopaths, maybe."
"Look," he says, leaning forward, "you need funding, right?"
I hesitate, reluctant to answer because the truth is yes, obviously we need funding. But enough to sell my soul to this devil? I hate that the answer to that question is also yes, dammit.
"Maybe," I mutter, refusing to give him anything.
"You do," he says, completely confident, and I kind of want to strangle Lacy.
God only knows how much she's told him about our needs.
I don't have to wait long to find out. "You already serve thousands of students preparing for college, most of whom fall well below the federal poverty line.
But there simply aren't enough scholarships to send everyone deserving to college.
I have the resources and the reach to help. "
"Kingston and Evie already help. We don't need you."
"Liar," he says with an amused chuckle. "You do need me because you'll never ask your brother and sister-in-law for the kind of help you guys actually need around here."
I cock my head to the side. "And what kind of help do you think we need around here?"
"You need someone willing to hit up people with deep pockets and ask for cash," he says, point blank.
"And you need someone willing to stand in front of a camera or the press and do the same.
You'd never ask Kingston or Evie to do that because you value their privacy and your relationships too much to put them to work the way you need. "