One of these days, I’d have to take care of Sentinel for good.
Should’ve wiped out their entire damn system like I’d wanted.
It’d take more work, but I could hide my tracks well enough that no one could pinpoint me as the culprit.
“Is everything okay?” Stella’s voice pulled me out of my musings. “That sounded intense.
“Yes.” I smoothed my expression into placidness before I turned. “Just a hiccup at work. Nothing important.”
If I were alone, I would’ve already put the pieces for Sentinel’s demise in motion. Since I wasn’t, and I was with Stella, I set those pieces aside.
For now.
“I hope you’re not planning a competitor’s ruin,” she said solemnly. “That would be a bit heavy for a Friday night.”
I almost smiled, both because she’d unerringly hit the nail on the head and because I spotted a glimmer of her usual sparkle in her eyes.
She’d regained her composure during my call. The rosiness had dissipated from her cheeks, and she was curled up on the couch next to that stupid purple unicorn with a faint curve of her lips.
“Don’t worry. I keep the destruction to business hours, Monday through Friday.” I raised a brow at the mischief in her growing smile. “Care to share the joke?”
The sparkle in her eyes brightened. “Check my Stories.”
“I don’t have social media.” The lie rolled off my tongue, though technically, it wasn’t a lie.
Christian Harper didn’t have social media; CP612 did.
“Seriously?” Stella shook her head. “We’ll have to fix that, but for now….” She typed something into her phone. “Check your texts.”
I opened her message, and I had to blink twice to make sure I was seeing correctly.
She’d sent a screenshot of a Stories poll. A picture of me, back turned and phone to my ear, took up the left side of the screen; a familiar purple unicorn dominated the right side.
The question was simple: Who would you rather cuddle with? Mr. Harper or Mr. Unicorn?
“You’re losing, by the way,” Stella said. “Mr. Unicorn is beating you fifty-three to forty-seven percent.”
I stared at her, sure I was hearing wrong and that she didn’t have the fucking audacity to pit me against a raggedy stuffed animal with a crooked eye in some absurd social media poll.
I was also sure I couldn’t be losing to said stuffed animal.
“The poll must be broken because that’s ridiculous.” I tried not to sound as insulted as I felt.
“It’s not, but you have twenty-three hours and fifty-one minutes to catch up.” Stella’s smile dimmed, and a touch of nerves resurfaced in her eyes. “Draw him out with more posts, right?”
Her stalker.
She may not be willing to admit the attraction between us, but she trusted me enough to take my recommendation implicitly.
I blamed the fleeting ache in my chest on heartburn. My doctor was going to have his hands full during our next checkup.
“That’s right. And for the record…” I tapped my phone screen. “You need followers with better taste if they’re choosing a unicorn over me. I’m wearing Brioni, for fuck’s sake.”
Stella’s laugh finally pulled a smile out of me.
Despite what happened two nights ago, her light still shone through, and she was more resilient than a lot of people, including myself, gave her credit for.
That’s my girl.
14
STELLA
March 25
It’s been a month since my dinner with Delamonte, and I haven’t heard a peep from them about the brand ambassador selection. Brady assures me they’ll choose soon, but he’s been saying that for weeks. At this point, I’m convinced I didn’t get it.
On the bright side, I’m still gaining followers, and I’ve gotten two new brand deals in the past week. They don’t pay as much as Delamonte would’ve, but every bit counts. Also, I’m almost at 930K followers, which is wild and a little depressing. It turns out all I needed to do was to get a boyfriend to be more interesting [insert sigh].
Speaking of which…I posted another photo of Christian the other day. The same one I snapped of him when he was on his call (he still hasn’t gotten over losing to a unicorn in my poll. I told him he would’ve won had he shown his face, which went over as well as you’d expect). Not my most creative work, but I’m still nervous about my stalker seeing a photo of us together and snapping.
I know Christian said we need to draw him out, which makes sense. And I trust him to keep me safe. I gave him the stalker’s old letters and his team is…doing whatever it is security people do with creepy anonymous notes.
Still, I have a bad feeling this could all go wrong VERY quickly.
I don’t want to let the stalker situation rule my life, and I WON’T.
But…I’m going to stay put in my apartment and work on my blog until I get an update from Christian. Just in case.
It’s better to be safe than sorry.
Daily Gratitude:
Food/grocery deliveries
Cute loungewear
Building security
“Get dressed. We’re leaving in an hour.”
I gaped at Christian, who stood in my doorway in a crisp black button-down and dark jeans. It was my first time seeing him in anything other than a suit, and the effect was equally devastating in a completely different way.
“Excuse me?” I tried not to stare at the way his shirt stretched over his broad shoulders and muscular arms.
“We’re leaving in an hour,” he repeated. “There’s an art gallery opening I need to attend. Dress code is dressy casual. I presume you own an appropriate outfit.”
I was wearing a crop sweatshirt and shorts. The chances of anyone dragging me out of my apartment when I’d already changed into my sleepwear were next to zero.
“This wasn’t on our calendar, and I’m busy.” I kept my hand on the doorknob, barring him from entering.
He couldn’t just show up and demand I go somewhere with him last minute. I needed time to mentally prepare for outings that involved extensive socialization with strangers.
Christian fixed me with a dubious stare. “Yes, you look positively swamped with…” His gaze coasted over my shoulder, and my skin warmed when I remembered what he’d find. A pint of Ben & Jerry’s, The Devil Wears Prada onscreen, and the remnants of a takeout salad. “Dairy and fashion magazine tyranny. Miss your old job already?”
“I watch it for the outfits.” I squeezed the doorknob for strength. “I’m sorry, but next time you want me to accompany you to an event, give me more than an hour’s notice.”
Christian appeared unfazed by my pointed suggestion. “I didn’t know Richard Wyatt would be at the opening until thirty minutes ago.”
Wyatt. The client he’d hoped to sign at the fundraiser. “I thought you already closed the deal.”
“Ninety percent. He came back with concerns after reviewing the contract, and I’d prefer to address them in person tonight.” His brows dipped with approval. “When was the last time you left your apartment? You’re wilting.”