Katie
Itwist slightly in the seat and look over at the driver. “So, what’s your name?”
Instead of answering right away, the driver glances up at the rearview mirror. I don’t understand why. Then I see it. He’s looking at Michael. Michael gives a small nod.
“Luca, ma’am,” the driver says.
I turn and stare at Michael.
“Did you really just give him permission to tell me his name?”
Michael looks completely unbothered by the accusation. In the driver’s seat, Luca raises his eyebrows and presses his lips together as if he’s trying very hard not to laugh.
I shake my head. “That’s gross.”
Michael watches me before a small smile spreads across his face.
“He’s my employee,” he says. “He’s not used to people talking to him in the car. Usually, they sit next to me. Not all the way up there in the front.”
I stare at him.
“Right,” I say. “Because getting into the back seat with a man who’s been staring at me in a bar for a week would have been a much better decision.”
Luca’s shoulders shift slightly. Michael, however, still looks entirely pleased with himself.
I turn back toward the windshield before he can say anything else, folding my arms. Because if I look at him any longer, I might start noticing things I really shouldn’t be noticing about a man I met tonight—like the way his voice drops when he talks or the fact that his smile should honestly come with a warning label.
When the SUV finally pulls into my driveway, I let out a small breath of relief and reach for the door handle.
It doesn’t open. I try it again. It’s still locked.
I glance over at Luca. He clears his throat but keeps both hands firmly on the steering wheel, staring straight ahead, suddenly finding the dashboard fascinating.
Suspicion creeps in, and I twist around in my seat to look at the back. Michael isn’t there.
“What—“
Before I can finish the thought, my door suddenly unlocks with a soft click. At the same moment, the door swings open, and there he is. Michael stands beside the SUV. He holds the door open and extends his hand toward me.
I stare at him.
“You can’t be serious.”
He doesn’t look at all embarrassed. I blink at him, shake my head, and slide out of the seat without touching him.
I step neatly around him instead. I barely make it three steps toward the house before I hear the car door shut behind me.
Footsteps follow, and I glance over my shoulder.
He’s walking across my driveway, hands in his pockets, suit jacket moving slightly with each step.
I stop and turn around. “Dude, what are you doing?”
“I’m making sure you get home safely.”
I glance at him and slowly look around my yard. The porch light is on. My house is yards away. My neighbor’s motion light flickers on across the street.
I wave a hand vaguely around the property.
“I’m home,” I say. “I’m safe.”
I turn and keep walking. Behind me, the footsteps continue. I reach the porch steps and glance back at him. He’s right there. I sigh and climb the steps.
“But seriously,” I say, digging my keys out of my purse, “you can go now.”
“Let me take you out tomorrow night.”
My hand freezes halfway to the lock.
I turn at the door. “Excuse me?”
Michael stands at the bottom of the steps, looking up at me.
“Go on a date with me.”
I stare at him before shaking my head. “You know that you’re basically a stalker, right?”
Michael laughs again, and the sound of it does something deeply unhelpful to my stomach. It’s warm, easy, and way too attractive.
“Come on,” he says once the laughter fades. “One date. If you don’t have fun, you never have to see me again.”
I study him, trying to decide if this man is dangerously confident or completely insane.
“If I say yes,” I say slowly, “will you finally leave so I can go to bed?”
“Scout’s honor.”
I close my eyes and let out a long sigh.
“Fine,” I mutter. “But don’t bring Luca. That would be weird.”
Michael’s mouth curves into a grin.
“Give me your number.”
I rattle it off. He stands there watching me. I wait. He keeps standing there.
“Are you going to put it in your phone, write it down, or something?”
He taps the side of his head. “It’s in here.”
“God, you’re weird.”
Michael raises one eyebrow, that smug little smirk returning as he steps down the porch steps backward, his hands sliding casually into the pockets of his suit pants.
It is, unfortunately, a very attractive exit.
It’s one that belongs at the end of a movie where the audience collectively sighs over the ridiculously charming male lead.
Which is extremely annoying considering twenty minutes ago I was fully convinced this man might be a serial killer.
“I’ll be here at seven tomorrow night.”
I shake my head and reach for the door behind me.
“Okay, stalker,” I say. “See you then.”
I step inside, close the door behind me, and drop my purse on the table by the entryway.
I just stand there, staring at the door.
Then, curiosity gets the better of me. I walk to the front window and push the curtain aside just enough to look out.
The black SUV is still sitting in my driveway.
The engine is running, headlights casting a glow across the yard, but the car doesn’t move.
I frown.
What the hell?
After another few seconds, my phone buzzes in my hand.
555-672-5902: Lock your doors.
My heart lurches. I sprint to the door and slam the deadbolt into place.