“Consider it a gift.”
“I can’t accept it. I’ll pay you back.”
“The room is eleven hundred dollars a night.”
Her eyes bulge. “Griffin, that’s ridiculous. It’s half of my rent payment! I can’t let you do this.”
“I didn’t ask, and I’ve prepaid for the next week.” She sputters incoherently as I walk around her suite out of habit. “Nonrefundable.”
“This is too much.”
“No, it isn’t. It’s what you do to help your friends.”
“We aren’t friends.”
“Coworkers.”
“You’ve barely spoken to me before tonight.”
She isn’t wrong there. “Are you saying you don’t want the room?”
Phoebe sighs and dumps her bag on the bed. “I’m too tired to argue about this anymore. I’ll stay here until my place is fixed, but I want you to know I’m doing so under duress. I will pay you back, even if it takes me months.”
I won’t accept her money, so the point is moot. “Make sure to lock up behind me, Phoebe. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah. You sound worse than my father,” she grouses, but she says, “See you tomorrow, Griffin.”
When the door closes behind me, the lock clicks into place, followed by the rattle of the chain lock. I wish she had a couple of good deadbolts, but this is as safe as I’m going to get her without hiding her away in a bunker. The idea does hold a certain amount of appeal. At least I know she’d be safe there for certain.
All I can do for now is wait for an answer from Jackson to the email I sent. I know Phoebe works for his wife Catherine’s firm, so maybe if I give him a heads-up, he’ll let me know how to arrange security for Phoebe at CJJ and the studio during filming.
Chapter Seven
Phoebe
“Please let me know if there’s anything else we can do to help. I mean it.” Catherine takes my hand in hers and squeezes. “Jackson says he’ll take care of security on set. No one will be able to get to you there. I know Griffin, and he’ll keep an eye out for you, too. You can trust him.”
I really hit the jackpot when she offered me this job. I don’t want to let her down. “I will. I appreciate you being so accommodating. I want to apologize, but I have a feeling you’ll tell me I don’t have anything to apologize for.”
Catherine releases my hand with a warm smile and takes a seat behind her desk. “You’d be right. You’re doing excellent work so far. I’ve seen the stills and the proposal for the social media campaign. It’s compelling. I want to do whatever I can to keep you with us. And Jackson will do whatever he can to help the police find out who’s stalking you. Or else.”
Her glowing compliments erase some of the trauma of the past twenty-four hours. “Thank you. I hope you know this won’t affect my work in any way. I’m more determined than ever to make this launch a success.”
“That’s what I like to hear. Now, let’s talk about the launch.”
The first social media campaign for Arthur Oswald’s directorial debut takes off to a rousing success in the following days. After many sleepless nights, countless days on set, and hustling in the office, our hard work and dedication are finally starting to pay off.
“They are loving it,” Emily says excitedly as she thumbs through her shots on our Instagram page. The lights from the bar play over her animated face.
“You’re not eating it up at all,” I say good-naturedly.
“Chalk it up to my artist’s ego,” she answers.
“Worth every compliment,” I tell her. “You’ve done an incredible job. This wouldn’t have been possible without you.”
She raises her wine glass to clink with mine. “That’s why we’re celebrating. To badass, hardworking women.”
“Hear, hear.” I drink back the rest of the wine and allow myself to relax, if only for a little.
“How are things going with your apartment?” Emily asks over the din of music and shouted conversations. “Any other psycho messages?”
I shake my head and signal for another glass of wine. “Not since the night my apartment was broken into, thank goodness. Maybe their interest has died off.”
“More like Jackson Cole’s goons scared him off.”
We share a giggle. The addition of security on set hadn’t gone unnoticed by the crew—or the cast. Three hunky, former military types pulled their eye as much as Griffin did. To their credit, they didn’t do anything to encourage any attention and always remained strictly professional. Sometimes I even forgot they were there when I could tear myself away from the office to supervise events and shoots on set.
“I’m just glad I was finally able to move back in.”
“Wasn’t the hotel Griffin sprang for pretty lush, though?” Emily asks.
I think of the thick, fluffy towels, the bathtub the size of a small pool, and the California king bed I already miss. “Definitely lush. I may have shed a tear or two when I turned in my key, but it’ll be nice to go back to my own space. Besides, Griffin’s done more than enough for me already.”
“You aren’t afraid to go back there after what happened?” She shivers a little, the dangling earrings sparkling in the flashing lights of the club. “I would be. I mean, damn, you could have really been hurt.”
“I’m more afraid of what it’ll mean if I let something like this scare me away from living my life again. Going back to normal.”
She still looks a little skeptical, but she says, “I can see that. I still think you’re crazy. Damn brave, but crazy.”
We both finish off another glass of wine, then hit the dance floor. I lose myself in the music, letting it take over my body and clear my thoughts. Taking Emily up on the offer for drinks after work was the best decision I’ve made in weeks. It’s the perfect way to toast our success and celebrate moving back into my apartment.
From waiting for another text message that never arrived to coordinating with the police, apartment complex, and cleaners to get my apartment back in working order, the week seemed never-ending. For a while there, it seemed like moving back in would never happen, but today I received word from the management company that the cleaners were done, and I could move back in. The police still didn’t have much to go on, but at least I could go home again.
As the music moves through me, I close my eyes and let myself feel the relief and pride for all the work we’ve accomplished so far. Emily had really outdone herself with the stills she’d taken. Even the one she’d snapped of Griffin and me had made the final cut. When it had gone live on our accounts, I thought it may incite the stalker to escalate, but so far, there’s been nothing.
A part of me even convinced myself that the messages had nothing to do with the break-in, but those pictures were pretty damning. The only question is why? It’s a question that haunts me late at night and in the spare moments that I have to myself throughout the day. It’s a question that simply doesn’t have an answer.
Emily and I stay at the club until well after midnight. Since it’s a Friday night, I won’t have any work waiting for me in the office, and I’m not required on set. It’s the first real day I’ve had off since moving to L.A., and I plan to go home and sleep until I can’t sleep anymore. It’s funny how much you covet sleep when you become an adult when it was the last thing you wanted to do as a child.
“Thank you for sharing a ride with me. I know it’s out of your way,” I tell Emily as she walks me to my door.
“Don’t sweat it, girlie. I just want to make sure you’re safe so I can head back to the bar and flirt with that bartender without worrying about you here all alone.” She holds her breath while I fish out the key. “You figured out the alarm system, right?”
“Yes, Mom, I had the maintenance guys walk me through it until I could program the damn thing in my sleep. I promise I’ll set it as soon as I close the door.”
She clings tight to my side as we do a quick walk-through of the apartment, which is now in pri
stine condition. The cleaners did an excellent job of making it look as close to brand-new as possible again.
“Wow, it doesn’t look like there was ever a break-in.”
“They did an amazing job, right?”
“Well, I still think you should beg Griffin to let you stay at the hotel forever, but I’m a greedy bitch. That place was swanky with a capital S. But I guess if you wanted to risk your life and stay here, then I don’t see why you can’t. For now. Promise me you’ll call me if anything happens.”
“I promise,” I say, then shove her toward the front door. “Now go get your bartender. I’ll be fine.”
She leaves, but only after she hears me bolt the door and set the alarm. I’d be lying if I said I’m not nervous about being alone again, but I’m determined to get back to normal as soon as possible. Which means living in my own place and not letting some creep scare me away. I’ve been through worse before, and if I could survive that, I can deal with some nasty messages and broken glass.
I continue thinking that until a few hours later when I check my phone.
Funny how it only takes one simple action for all my careful progress to be blown to smithereens.
Chapter Eight
Griffin
My whole body aches. Hell, I swear even my hair aches.
Today’s shoot wasn’t anything incredibly important, but it was physical as hell, and now I’m paying for it. As soon as I got back to my apartment, I took a shower with the water as hot as I could stand. Now I’m icing my back and drinking a cold beer, but only one, and trying to make it last as long as possible.
And trying not to think about Phoebe. More like trying not to worry about her being back in her place all alone. I’d tried to convince her to let me have Jackson’s guys watch her twenty-four-seven, but she wasn’t hearing it. Stubborn. Plain and simple.
Against my better judgment, I pull up her contact info on my phone and tap out a quick text message.
Me: Everything okay?
I’d planned to give her a little space and let her handle her own problems. This doesn’t count as hovering. I’m just one friendly coworker, checking in on another after something traumatic. Totally normal. My gut tells me her stalker doesn’t want to physically harm her, at least not yet. The messages she’s received so far, and even the break-in afterward, seemed more like an attempt to frighten her, scare her away, maybe?
When I let myself think about it, what I really worried about, was what would happen when they realized their scare tactics weren’t working.
It was starting to drive me mad, worrying about who was targeting her. A girl like Phoebe— bright, bubbly, driven—doesn’t have enemies. Not the kind who’d want to run her out of town. She couldn’t even come up with a list of people nearby who’d want to harass her. She’s new to town, so unless someone followed her from Florida, it’s unlikely that it is a personal thing. There’s something I’m missing, and I know it. Hissing out a breath, I wish I hadn’t limited myself to that one beer.
As much as I wanted to avoid getting involved, I can’t turn a blind eye to the fact that someone is harassing her. I may be an asshole, but I’m not completely heartless. Maybe, if she gets to know me, she’ll let me help more. Even though both my heart and head know getting even closer to her is a terrible idea. I may come to regret it, but what the hell. I’ve risked far worse things than helping Phoebe Hart.
I’m just finishing the beer, already mourning its loss, when a knock comes at my door. Figuring it’s Seth coming to berate me again, I holler, “It’s open!” as I cross the living room to the kitchen to throw away the bottle.
The door opens, and a voice that’s definitely not Seth says, “Hello?”
I come around the corner and see Phoebe standing in my front entryway. My feet eat up the room in three strides. “What is it? Are you okay? Did something happen?”
She shakes her head, her odd-colored eyes wide. “No—I mean yes. But nothing bad. I mean, I’m fine . . . physically.”
She may be unhurt, but the girl I thought couldn’t be shaken is shook. “Come, sit down. Do you want some water or something to drink?”
“Thanks, but I’m fine. I didn’t know where else to go. You were the first person I thought of. I got your info from Seth. I hope you don’t mind.”
Waving away her concerns, I take a seat next to her on the couch. “What happened?”
Her hands flutter as she tells me about how she was at home—her first night back in her apartment no less—when she got another message. “Shit. Are you okay?”
“I’m fine. Pissed off but fine. This is it.” She digs in her bag and pulls out her phone to show me the message.
It’s another picture. One from the night I brought her to the hotel.
“Is this the first one you’ve gotten since the break-in?”
“Yeah. To be honest, I thought they were giving up. Stupid. It’s like they knew I was going to be back home trying to get back to normal and knew this would get under my skin.” She sniffles like she’s going to cry.
“Don’t cry. Shh. We’re going to figure this out. I promise. Shit, don’t cry.” I let myself give in to the temptation to hold her as she trembles against me. My arms go around her for one long moment. Then I force myself to let her go and give her enough space to talk. And me enough space to breathe.
Her blotchy red face and teary eyes turn up to mine. “I hate crying. I’m not sad. I’m pissed the fuck off. Tonight had been such a good night, and then this. Part of me thought this was over, but it was like he knew I was moving on, so he wanted to retraumatize me. Who would want to hurt me that much?”
“We’re going to find out. I promise you. Did you report this to the police?”
Her normally tan complexion is ghost white, making her eyes stand out even more. But her voice is strong and even when she answers. “Yes, I went there first. I mean, before I came here. They noted it down in the file, but there still isn’t much they can do. I’m just so fucking frustrated.”
“I know you are.”
Phoebe won’t hear of staying at my place, at least not yet, but I plan to wear her down. If there is someone out there stalking her, she’ll be safer with some protection. She says her gun is protection enough, but no matter how much you prepare, sometimes shit just goes sideways.
The police are of little help when we stop by the next day to speak with the lead detective on her case. They say there isn’t much they can do until they have more information. As if a break-in and stalking aren’t enough. Phoebe didn’t seem put out by it, and I was ready to demand answers until she pulled me away.
Fuck that.
I’m not the type of man to sit and wait until something bad happens. I’m a take-action sort of guy.
With that in mind, I decide to pay another visit to my old boss, Jackson Cole, at Cole Security Forces. If anyone knows what to do, it’ll be him.
Thankfully, Jackson is in town and in the office instead of out on an assignment. But he spends most of his time at home in California with his family these days. Lucky bastard.
He greets me with a clap on my shoulder when I walk into his office. “Hollywood, been a while, man. How are you?”
“Not bad, but I wish I were here under better circumstances.”
“Your message said it was urgent. I cleared my afternoon for you, assuming this is about Catherine’s publicist you emailed me about. How’s the security detail working?”
“They’re doing just fine. But the creep is messaging her again.” I forward him a copy of the latest messages. “He’s toying with her. Waiting until she’s nearly comfortable again before he starts messaging her. We’ve spoken to the police, but I keep getting the feeling their hands are tied until they either get more evidence or she winds up dead. I’d rather neither of those incidences took place.”
“Catherine would string me up by my balls if I let something happen to her. She’s taken a liking to her, but even if she didn’t, I don’t like it when m
en harass women. I’ll have one of my contacts run a background check on her, see what information kicks up. Maybe there’s someone from her past who wants to cause trouble.”
I can’t imagine someone wanting to hurt Phoebe, but you never know. There are some messed-up people in this world. “I appreciate it. I’m afraid whoever is stalking her is going to escalate. If you had seen her apartment, you’d understand. It was trashed. Whoever did it was pissed. It almost feels like they’re fixated on her.”
“Why don’t we also set you up with some more surveillance gear and a tracker for her phone?”
“I can’t tell you how grateful I’d be.”
“Don’t worry about it.”
Jackson shoots off a text, and within a half-hour, we’re loading the gear into my GT. Phoebe won’t be pleased, that’s for sure, but better pissed than dead.
Chapter Nine
Phoebe
My phone has a GPS tracker on it, sending information to a secure Cloud in case something happens to it or me. More cameras have been wired into my security system, and Griffin and his military friends are still doing a deep dive into my friends, family, and acquaintances. I have nothing to hide—well, almost nothing—but it makes me feel more vulnerable than ever.
I try to act as if everything is okay because I don’t want the son of a bitch after me to think they’re getting under my skin. Maybe it’s stupid of me, but I don’t want him to think he’s won.
Luckily, work keeps me busy enough. Filming has ramped up, which means the requests for interviews and press coverage have as well. This has the added benefit of keeping Griffin busy so he can’t hover over me every second he isn’t in a scene. To think there was a time when he kept his distance.
The truth is, I feel safer when he’s around.
I shouldn’t, and I don’t want to, but I do.
Reckless: A Salvation Society Novel Page 5
