19. Chapter 19 #2
Mike's expression shifts, subtle but noticeable.
There's a slight narrowing of his eyes. He weighs his words carefully before speaking.
"Sean's a private person. Doesn't like talking about himself.
" His fingers drum once against the table.
"I don't know much. After the Marines, he worked on some high-profile security details.
Then he had the same client for about eight years before you. "
He doesn't elaborate, and I sense a boundary being drawn. This is all I'm getting.
Mike studies me with a scrutiny that's not his usual warmth. "So," he says, "how was book club?" The way he says it makes me feel like I'm about to get scolded.
"Oh, uh, fine." The word comes out a little high-pitched.
"Just fine?"
There's an undercurrent to his tone that makes the hair on the back of my neck rise.
I look at him more carefully, noting how his posture has changed: shoulders squared, gaze more direct.
In an instant, I understand. The cameras.
I had hoped that, since Sean was in the apartment with me, Mike would be off chatting with his family.
Instead, he was watching us.
He saw how I looked at Sean. How I touched his arm. How the energy between us changed. Judging by his stern look now, he doesn't approve.
Is it really such a hard boundary? Sean's contract with me will end soon, so what does it matter if we flirt or take things to the next level?
Well, if Sean is even interested in that.
My face feels hot. What felt private was actually observed. And this man, with his fatherly energy and warmth, may have seen me grappling with feelings I barely understand myself.
"This place is still pretty empty," I say, glancing around desperately. We need a subject change.
Mike nods as my words fall flat. Then my eyes land on something hanging on the far wall: a watercolor painting. It's the only personal touch in this apartment.
I walk over, drawn by the stark imagery. There's a window painted on the canvas. Outside, colors swirl in an almost impressionistic landscape. Inside, shades of gray are dominant, casting the room in shadow and stillness.
"Sean brought that," Mike says, coming to stand beside me. "Picked it up at some art show."
My fingers hover near the canvas without touching. "It's beautiful," I whisper, recognizing the loneliness captured in each brushstroke. There's so much yearning. It resonates so deeply I feel exposed, like the painting has somehow revealed pieces of my soul I've kept hidden.
Sean chose this. Sean connected with this.
"Yeah," Mike agrees. "It is pretty good. Though a bit dark, don't you think?"
I don't say anything, but I disagree. It's simply life, which has darkness as much as it has light.
The painting actually holds a lot of hope.
The window could be closed. The sky could be cloudy and rainy.
But no, the window is open and the world outside is bright and colorful.
It's an invitation. Whatever darkness the viewer is experiencing doesn't have to last forever—there's a better world waiting just outside the window.
"I see hope," I finally tell Mike.
He gives me a long look, and I can feel him reassessing me, reframing whatever thoughts were forming in his mind. "You know," he begins, "Sean's been through a lot. More than he lets on."
The apartment door opens with a soft click, and my heart immediately leaps into my throat.
Sean stands frozen in the doorway with takeout bags dangling from one hand. Those intense eyes widen slightly at the sight of me. His blue hair seems even more electric under the hallway lights.
"Hey," he says, his voice neutral as his gaze shifts between Mike and me.
"Hi. I was just dropping this off." I cross the apartment and thrust the book forward like evidence in a trial. My voice sounds unnaturally high to my own ears. "I figured you'd finished your other dozen or so and might need something new. If we're still on for book club?"
Sean glances at Mike, who makes a small grumbling sound before returning to the monitoring station. Something passes between them, a wordless exchange that excludes me.
Sean steps fully inside the apartment and moves past me to set the bags in the kitchen. His subtle scent—plain soap with notes of citrus—washes over me, making my pulse quicken. Does he taste like citrus too?
When he's done in the kitchen, he stops beside me. He stuffs his hands in his pockets and rocks back slightly on his heels. There's a distance in his stance that wasn't there during book club. More space between us.
"Thanks," he says, nodding at the book I'm holding. "I've actually read that one."
"Oh." The single syllable falls from my lips like a stone. "I've read it too. I really love it. That's good that you…" I fade off awkwardly because I'm not sure where I'm trying to go.
I search his face for some sign of the connection I felt the other night, but his expression remains neutral. Professional. He doesn't mention book club. The message written in the white space between his words is clear: he wants me to leave.
This isn't what I imagined at all while staring at the camera all day. But… I accept it.
"Okay, I'll let you get to your food." I force a smile that feels fragile. "Um, bye."
I don't wait for a response, just slip past him and out the door, keeping my eyes trained on the floor.
Well, that was humiliating.
My attraction to Sean pulses just as strongly as before, an insistent ache beneath my skin that refuses to stop. Yet I can't force him to share the interest or feel the same connection.
And that heavy, assessing look from Mike? It would be better never to see that again.
I reach my door quickly and grab the knob. I'm starting to twist it when I hear my name from behind.
"Londyn."
His voice slides up my spine like a hot tongue. I turn slowly, my heart hammering with such force I'm certain he can hear it from where he stands.
Sean hovers a few feet away. With a slight tilt of his head, he motions for me to follow him around the corner, away from the line of sight of the hallway camera.
Air catches in my lungs as I understand. He wants privacy. He's pulling me into a hidden corner where we can't be seen or heard. Where it's just us.
I follow, drawn to him like the moon to the earth, unable to resist the gravitational pull.
Once we're around the corner, tucked into this pocket of privacy away from the all-seeing eye of the camera, I watch Sean's face like it's the final scene of a play I've been waiting all night to understand.
His tongue darts out, moistening his lips as his eyes search for words in the space between us. His gaze drops to the poetry book.
"That's a good one," he says.
I nod, not trusting my voice.
"I was thinking… I don't know if we should continue book club."
My heart plummets so fast I feel its impact in my stomach. Not what I was hoping for. "Oh… okay. I understand." I nod again, my gaze dropping to his combat boots. Then I study the outdated carpet. I count the stains. Trace the rips. Anything to avoid showing how much this rejection stings.
Maybe this is a relief because it's better he rejects me now instead of when we get farther and he sees… everything.
"I really liked it though." His voice is softer now, and somehow, that makes his rejection worse.
But I'm a big girl. I've been rejected before at plenty of auditions. Rejection is just part of being an actress. I got over it then and I'll get over it now.
I'll just need a little time to cry it out.
I give another nod and we fall into awkward silence. I'm a bobblehead doll with a vocabulary of gestures instead of words, apparently. My mind is already planning my retreat. I'll flee to my apartment, collapse on the couch, wrap myself in blankets, and mourn this false start before it even began.
I can at least give myself credit for trying. A little tiny step that means something.
I smile to myself, feeling proud, then I glance up at Sean. His brows crease slightly like he's wondering why I look happy. My little odd smile makes him relax and he smiles back.
"I liked spending that time with you," he says. "At book club."
God, he's so cute.
"I liked it too."
We observe each other in this moment of mutual confession, smiling softly to ourselves.
"I've already gone through ten of your books, you know," he adds. "I don't think you can catch up."
My smile widens as I feel some of the awkwardness between us crack. "Are you actually not working and just reading books?"
His laugh—god, his laugh—ripples through the air and into my body, settling low in my belly and stoking my desire. I feel a slight uneasiness because I forgot what it's like to feel, well, wet when a man is just a few inches away. But it's not like he knows about it.
Just my secret.
"I'm a fast reader," he says with a hint of pride.
I sway a little closer to him. "You should teach me then. So I can catch up."
"Teach you to speed read, huh?" His brown eyes, with so many layers of earth hues, crinkle at the corners and he also sways a little closer. "Are these private lessons?"
I'm one hundred percent certain he's flirting now, and I love it. Flirtation with chemistry. I've definitely missed this delicious energy. "We can turn off the cameras," I suggest, my voice surprisingly steady despite the rapid-fire pulsing of my heart.
Sean rubs his tongue along his teeth. His gaze drops briefly to my mouth. I move closer, drawn by the intoxicating hum between us. This feeling is pure nirvana.
I want more of this.
"I don't think teaching you to speed read was part of my contract," he says. "We'll have to amend it."
"Then let's amend it." My voice drops lower, more intimate. "All those books aren't going to read themselves, right?"
A daring impulse takes control, and before I can second-guess myself, I'm reaching up slowly toward his hair. I give him plenty of time to move away. He doesn't. He simply waits, eyes fixed on mine, as my fingers make contact with those electric blue spikes.
I smooth some of them down, revealing what his actual cut would be. "I wondered if you had bangs." My fingers float through surprisingly soft strands. "I like bangs. They look nice."
He smirks, and the expression does dangerous things to my stability. "That's how I used to style my hair."
"You should have it like that again," I say, fingers still lightly brushing his hair, marveling at my own boldness. I'm not panicking or shrinking away from being so close to a man.
Have I finally, finally, begun to reclaim myself?
There's a suspended moment between us. A fragile bubble of possibility where time seems to stretch and contract all at once.
Our eyes lock, and I check in with my body just like my therapist taught me.
No alarm bells. No cold sweat. No urge to flee.
Just this delicious, heated awareness that makes my skin feel more alive than ever.
What if he kisses me?
He's definitely flirting. Those subtle looks, that playful tone. But I need a final confirmation, some undeniable evidence that this isn't just my imagination running wild.
My palm moves from his hair to rest lightly against the center of his chest. I can feel the hard curve of his pecs and his heartbeat through the cotton of his t-shirt. His pulse is a steady, strong drum that somehow beats into me and fills me with a sense of peace.
I'm in control.
Everything is okay.
"I think bangs will make you look mysterious," I say.
"So you like mysterious men. Noted."
His hand begins to rise, reaching toward mine where it rests against his chest. My breath catches, anticipation coiling tight inside me as I wait for the contact, for his fingers to close over mine…
The sharp sound of a door opening and closing shatters the moment like glass.
Sean stiffens, stepping back so quickly my hand is left suspended in the empty space between us. He stuffs his hands in his pockets as his expression shifts. His neutral mask slides back into place just as Mike appears around the corner.
Mike's gaze bounces between us, eyes narrowed with the universal look of a dad who's just caught his teenage daughter alone in her bedroom with a boy.
"Food's getting cold," he says, looking directly at Sean. His words have bite. "Gonna come eat?"
"Yeah," Sean says. "Uh, we were just discussing this weekend."
I smile and nod at Mike, playing along even though I have no idea what Sean is talking about. "Exactly."
Suspicion flickers in Mike's expression. He's sensing whatever this is between me and Sean and clearly trying to police it.
In a twisted way, I'm thrilled. There must be something real here for Mike to notice and worry so much.
Mike retreats with one last pointed look, and we listen to the apartment door click shut.
"What about this weekend?" I ask once we're alone again.
Sean runs a hand through his hair, creating more of those bangs I really like.
He exhales a sigh that deflates him. "We'd like you to go out this weekend and walk around on the streets.
Go shopping. We'd like to follow behind and observe.
Just something standard when dealing with a stalker.
Just need to get you out to some different places so we can determine if anyone is tracking your routine. "
The mention of my possible stalker is a splash of cold water, reminding me that Sean isn't just a handsome man with blue hair who likes books. He's here for a job. A job I'm paying him to do.
The plan makes sense. "Sure. I can do that."
Sean motions down the hallway, and I follow, hyperaware of the careful distance he maintains. We stop outside my apartment door.
"You still have work?" he asks.
"I'm done for the day."
He nods, then his hand brushes mine unexpectedly.
I don't flinch. I don't freeze. And I don't feel that familiar wave of panic crash over me.
Instead, serenity spreads through my veins, slow and sweet and perfect.
His fingers linger against mine as he slides the book from my grasp.
The touch is deliberate and it sends my heart somersaulting.
"I did like this book," he says, holding my gaze. "So I think I'll read it again."
I bite my lip. "Show off."
He leaves me with a lopsided smile and, "Pick something for our next book club." Then he's gone.
I return to my apartment, exhaling like I just remembered I need to breathe. The moment my final lock slides into place, I dig my phone from my pocket and text Raven.
Me: Tested the waters. VERY GOOD. Will call later with details!
I press the phone to my chest, feeling like I might float right off the floor.
I feel alive again.