3. Casper
Iwonder if she noticed me today, hidden among the party as if I were focused on anything but her. Although, I’m sure if she had seen me, maskless like I was, she’d tell me to fuck off again like she did the first night we met at Moore’s.
I didn’t have to sneak into this group though since it’s all for the Ridleys and my parents’ foundation … or one of the many. I don’t keep track of that side of the family business like my sister does. This is her realm.
Thankfully, my parents are super understanding when it comes to my hockey career and my disliking anything that has to do with business. They’ve always encouraged us to follow our passions and dreams with abandon.
I’m well aware that I hit the parental lottery. They’re the reason I’m successful, that I was able to attend camps across the country when I was a kid, that I could focus on my game and not my next meal. Their love doesn’t pass me by.
Neither does the love of my two best friends, who are hell-bent on making this day miserable for me.
Bates leans over the picnic table toward me, which sits perpendicular to the face-painting booth. “Are you just going to stare at her all day or go get a butterfly on your face?”
“Why must you insist on being a pest?” I groan, not tearing my gaze from Mona, who’s currently swiping a brush with green paint across an ornery boy’s cheek who is not great at sitting still.
Her tapping toes are barely containing her frustration, and I wouldn’t be surprised if she held him still with a hand on his throat at any second.
Over the last few weeks of watching her every move inside the house, I’ve learned that she has quite the temper and attitude. She’s incredibly impatient and stubborn as a bull.
Yet she has consumed me completely and unabashedly. I can’t get enough of her, no matter how hard I try to distance myself for a few hours at a time. On the ice, scrimmaging with the guys. At Bates and Serena’s place for a movie night. Working out at the gym. Nothing takes my mind from her.
I’m fucking addicted.
Having constant surveillance in her room and around the house only fuels the fire burning inside of me.
Is it possible to go insane because of how much you like someone? Because I think they’d have to lock me up to get me away from her.
With each passing day, I’ve watched her walls soften. Soon enough, when I think she‘s ready, we’ll finally come face-to-face. She’s holding the throttle, and I’m at her mercy.
The cameras have not only given me access to every second of her day and night, but also a new perspective on The Schrader House, like the fact that there’s a hidden room in the east corridor that I don’t think even Veronica and Clara know about.
I’d have offered a better room, but knowing Mona, she would’ve declined it immediately and told me where to shove it. That’s just part of her charm.
Worst of all, I still don’t even know what she feels like. Cupping her face. Brushing my thumb along her collarbone. Her tongue dancing with mine, my hand buried in her silky hair. I’m desperate and pathetic, and I don’t fucking care.
Soon enough, I’ll know all of that and so much more. But there’s not a chance in hell that I’m going to risk scaring her off before she’s ready for the next step.
Which is exactly why I started with notes and gifts before letting her see me in person, which didn’t go great, given that she sprinted in the opposite direction when she saw my purple mask across the yard.
I don’t know whether she was just spooked by someone staring or if she knew it was me, but I didn’t push her.
It wasn’t hard to blend in and keep an eye on her with a bunch of scare actors always wandering the place, both for events and rehearsals for when we open for the season.
Right now, we’re only hosting one-off events and corporate parties. This is the first year the house has done this, but from Cambrie and Clara’s feedback, it’s been a killer success and a huge income boost for the business.
I think Mona’s probably less enthused about the added parties, especially last-minute ones. But it sure helps my cover. My real self gets me past security, but my mask gets me closer to her, to places only employees go.
When you act like you know where you’re going, people don’t often stop you.
But I haven’t gotten too close. I’ve kept my distance, watching and waiting for the perfect time to steal her away. Clearly, from our run-in at Moore’s Crafts, she can be a bit … volatile.
But there’s more to the sassy spitfire than meets the eyes, just as I suspected. She’s a loner; she keeps to herself. I’ve barely witnessed her speaking to anyone besides her management and coworkers when absolutely necessary.
She has many masks herself, ones that shift, given the environment she’s in. Soft-spoken and sweet. Professional and curt. Quiet and submissive. Giggly and outgoing. She’s a chameleon, and I know her past experiences have forced her into this role.
It was clear well before the background check I had one of my family’s assistants run, having grabbed her full name and date of birth from the database in HR. I can practically see the background check file open in my mind, and I click on the Childhood tab.
Raised only a few towns over, she grew up in an unstable house with even more unstable people. Her parents have quite the rap sheet and history together. DCYF—Department of Children, Youth, and Families—made countless visits to their home.
It took a little bribing and voluntary donations to get access to the sealed files, but once I found the price, I happily paid it.
The notes left from the agency staff emphasized messy living conditions, lack of food, drug use by the parents, and more horrendous things that should’ve given the agency ample opportunity to remove Mona from the home.
Yet she remained there years after the incredulous behavior was well documented.
Eventually, the agents stopped showing up, and the case was closed with regard to alleged improvement.
Her case is yet another horrible example of the way the system has failed the very people it was created to protect.
After that, the only indications she still lived in that town were the honor roll reports from her junior and senior years of high school. I can’t find any social media accounts under her name, not old ones or new ones. There’s barely any digital footprint when it comes to her.
I had to get especially creative to find pictures of her at her high school graduation, tracking down photos from her classmates and their families.
But in the background of some, I found her.
The same long black hair. The same chip on her shoulder.
A downward tip of her chin as she tried to shrink herself away.
At least she seems to have grown more confidence since then. Or she’s gotten really good at faking it. Regardless, I’ll be sure she knows exactly who she fucking is, even if I have to whisper it in her ear over and over as she comes undone.
I don’t know why I feel so drawn to her, but I have since the first time I saw her. At that moment, I knew she was the one I wanted. To protect. To care for. To cherish. It was that simple. And there’s no going back.
I’m not sure if it was the way she cursed at me or how she took me by complete surprise with so much sass coming out of such a short body. I just desperately wanted to know more about her. I still do.
Not just the information I can find, but the things she’s never admitted out loud. I want the whispered secrets she’s scared to share, but does it anyway, knowing they’re safe with me.
I might have forced my way into her life, but I made sure that she was accepting and eager for more before I crossed another line.
If she had pushed back in any way when I left the first note, I’d probably have tried once more, and if she’d turned me down again, I would’ve stopped altogether and severely struggled to leave her alone.
But in the end, I would have. If it was truly what she wanted.
But if anything, she’s leaned into my affection, and as each day ticks along, I’m only becoming more and more possessive.
And her adoration for me is growing all the same.
The tension has been building for weeks, and I’m going to burst at the fucking seams if I can’t get my hands on her soon.
Running them through her hair. Wrapping one around her neck.
Slipping a thumb into her mouth. Sliding my fingers between her legs.
Fucking hell, she’s my undoing, and I’m already ruined before ever touching her.
I’m desperate to know what she likes and hates, what she’s been dying to try, everything. I need to know everything about her, and I will. Soon enough, there won’t be a single thing about Mona Greer that I don’t know.
My hands twitch; I want to text her and tell her how happy I am like she likes our little game so far.
But that’s another door I haven’t walked through.
I’ve had her number since I discovered she was technically one of my employees.
But I want the moment when I text or call for the first time to be just right.
Perfection is the only standard I’ll accept when it comes to her. She’s had enough people fail her throughout her life, and I won’t ever be one of them.
She likes this dynamic we have. She likes … me, and I have no intention of ever stopping or letting her go. But I’m not showing her who I really am, not for a little while at least. It’s safer that way, for the both of us.
Once anyone catches wind that I’m seeing someone, her name will likely be plastered everywhere. They’ll dig up her past and lay it out like an exhibit. We’re not crossing that road until she’s ready, if that's what she wants.