Sticking to the Script: Cipher Office Book #2

by Romance, Smartypants

  “I’m just trying to do my job, Boss Man,” I defended.

  “Then do it. Make it work.” He strode to the door, and without looking back he said, “Figure it out, it’s what I pay you for.”

  This fucking guy.

  Chapter Seventeen

  *Steven*

  Not long after I’d walked into my apartment, my phone rang with a call from Kat.

  Without so much as a hello, I whined, “Honey, darling, love, I can’t bear to go out tonight, let’s stay in and watch something.” Kat and I often took in a movie on Fridays and we hadn’t seen each other in weeks. Truth be told, I didn’t relish company, but it was preferable to going out. It would have been perfectly fine with me if I didn’t step foot out of my apartment for the entire weekend—I was that drained.

  “I wasn’t thinking about a movie,” she said. “I’m coming to visit Janie for a while. Elizabeth said Quinn’s driving her crazy and that she’d enjoy some company and distraction.”

  “Oh, that’s a good idea,” I replied, relieved. I loved Kat and she was an easy companion. I never felt like she was here for mental gymnastics or energy vampirism. I didn’t have to be ‘on’ for her and I appreciated that. Even so, basic conversation felt too much for me. If she wanted to spend her Friday night up at the Peevish Penthouse with the Surly Sullivans, that was fine with me.

  “I’m on my way up, would you like to join me?”

  I’d rather stab myself in the eye with a rusty fork. “Thanks, but I’ve already had the pleasure of Quinn’s charming company today. I’m good.” An idea suddenly came to me so I asked, “Will you stop by here on your way up? I have something for you.”

  I still hadn’t given Kat or Janie the cheese I’d brought back from Germany last week. Not only was this the perfect moment to give Kat hers, but I was going to be a sneaky sneak and get Kat to deliver Janie’s.

  It was a slightly crappy thing to do to my poor angel. As soon as she walked in, Quinn would subject her to an interrogation and a parcel search. It was fine though, because A, Kat was a tough cookie, B, Quinn would be so much nicer to her than he would me, and C, everything in Janie’s box was up to the standards he had set, and had been double checked by Dan.

  So, no big deal, see? Kat would be fine.

  Even so, when I opened to find said angel, her big, gorgeous eyes blinking so trustingly at me, I felt a twinge of guilt.

  “You need a drink first,” I said quickly, taking her hand and leading her to the kitchen.

  “But—” she started to protest.

  “Believe me, you really, really do,” I insisted. I led her to the granite-topped island where the round, wooden gift boxes of cheese sat.

  “Oh!” she breathed. “Is this what I think it is?” She reached out and caressed the top, lovingly tracing the faux-burnt logo of the cheese shop.

  “It is,” I confirmed.

  With both arms, she pulled the stacked boxes toward her and embraced them in a hug.

  I laughed, enjoying her exaggerated worship, but I warned, “Only one is yours. The one on the bottom is Janie’s.”

  “That’s nice, she’ll love it.”

  “Your mission, should you choose to accept it, will be to deliver that cheese to Janie this evening.”

  She eyeballed me suspiciously and drummed her fingertips on the box. “Why don’t you do it?”

  “’Cause I don’t wanna!” Petulantly, I thrust my chin forward and stamped my foot. I could only hold the ridiculous expression a mere second before we both laughed.

  “That bad, huh?” she asked. I nodded slowly. “Okay, I’ll do it.”

  “God bless you, child,” I kissed her hand then proceeded to pull out two shot glasses from the cabinet.

  “I don’t need a drink, Steven.”

  “Yes, you do.” I poured two shots of tequila and slid one toward her. “Think of this like a Kamikaze pilot taking his meth right before flight.” I gave an inward wince at my wisecrack. Kat wasn’t a teetotaler by any means, I knew she and her knitting posse enjoyed their Tuesday cocktails, but Kat had a past with reckless drug use I knew she regretted. I didn’t want to bring up any painful memories for her or make her feel bad.

  Luckily for me, she laughed, unoffended. “Gotcha.” She tilted her head back and sucked the shot down. Her face screwed up into a grimace and she said, “Oh my.”

  Following suit, I said, “Yeah, that’s the stuff,” and banged my fist against the counter. “Care for another?”

  Once the heat of the tequila hit my insides, I felt keen for more. Maybe I’ll get shitfaced tonight. Maybe I’d put on some acoustic emo music and let myself wallow in maudlin longings. I’d eat macarons, shoot top-shelf liquor, and have a few hate-yanks in order to avoid dealing with Ken. Yeah, I wouldn’t deal with him, I’d just sit and obsess about him all night. Great plan, Steven.

  “No thanks,” she replied. “I’m headed to Boston in the morning for a meeting with the board. The last thing I need is a hangover.” Kat’s grooming for her eventual inheritance and responsibilities meant she had to prove to the powers that be within the company that she understood all aspects of the business. She had a lot on her shoulders, and I didn’t envy her one bit. “Besides,” she continued. “Janie’s expecting me, so I should probably head up.” She adjusted her purse on her shoulder and hefted the boxes up. “Thank you for the cheese, you are the best!”

  She held the boxes somewhat awkwardly and I worried they might be too heavy for her. “Do you need help?”

  “No, it’s fine. I got it.”

  “Are you sure? Because I bet Dan wouldn’t mind helping you carry them.” I winked. “I could call him…”

  She shook her head quickly, “Don’t do that! I’m fine. It’s one floor.” She sounded a little panicked by the idea. I hadn’t been serious, only trying to joke with her. The way those two acted when either one was mentioned was like they’d been zapped by a cattle prod, especially since Dan had broken things off with his girlfriend a few months before. I didn’t get it, but I held out hope they’d stop pussyfooting around.

  “Calm down, nervous Nellie, I’m just kidding with you.” I opened the door and said, “Give Janie my love and tell Quinn Dan inspected the cheese.”

  As we said our goodbyes, my phone chimed twice.

  UNKNOWN: stop blocking me i miss you lets have fun

  UNKNOWN: answer me when i call

  My heart kicked up, startled because just as I finished reading the second message, my phone rang. The same number from the texts flashed on the screen. This had to be King.

  “What do you want?” I answered angrily. I was angry. I was so pissed that he’d laid his hands on me and so livid that he’d made me afraid for myself, and for a few moments, my friends and coworkers. It didn’t matter that he’d had nothing to do with the prank, but just knowing that the real and palpable fear of that possibility wouldn’t be in my mind if he hadn’t started doing this—whatever this was—to me, was infuriating.

  “Please don’t be mad,” he said, his voice even. There was no hint of the menace and rage he’d been emanating when he’d been here. He sounded…jocular, and that was more enraging than if he’d answered with obscenities. Who the hell did he think he was, trying to be friendly? Fuck this guy.

  “Fuck. You.”

  “Give me another chance, okay?”

  Chance? Chance to what? Beat the shit out of me? Rape me? Kill me? “Call me, text me, or send me one more thing and I’ll go to the police,” I threatened.

  “But you didn’t even give me a shot. I know we’d be good together. I know I was too rough, but you had me so hard, baby.” He spoke low and rough, infusing intimacy into his voice, no doubt hoping to take this into obscene caller territory.

  “Not happening. Again,” I asserted, “if you contact me, I’m getting the authorities involved. Piss off.”

  “Don’t—” he began, tone angry. I disconnected the call and blocked this new number of his. How many times could he change
numbers? Or phones? I needed to change my number, that’s all there was to it.

  Standing in the quiet stillness of my apartment, with the echo of his voice in my head, I felt the memories of King flooding back to me. He’d kissed my neck as I’d unlocked the door, his hands digging into my quads, all the brimming impatience cresting. I’d hardly got the door shut before he’d pushed me against the wall and knocked the keys out of my hand. I hadn’t been alarmed by that point, just excited. But his kiss had been painful, almost a grinding of our faces and I hadn’t liked it, I turned my face to the side. “Whoa,” I cautioned, intent on slowing his roll. He stepped back a fraction, but immediately tore my shirt, causing the buttons to fly. The movement jerked me, angered me. “What the hell!”

  The disturbing memories were interrupted by the sound of a text alert.

  DKM: I’ve been thinking about you. I know you’ve been busy, but I’d like to see you. Maybe a few drinks and some jazz would be a great way to unwind. Are you free tomorrow?

  I felt a sharp pain behind my eye. Maybe I’m having an aneurysm, I thought. Ken was going to be the sweet and shiny cherry on the stroke sundae I was eating.

  This fucking guy. Those fucking macarons. That fucking jazz. Ken was like a damn mirage. Unicorn Level: Look But Don’t Touch Meets Completely Fictional. I’d done something extra heinous in a past life, I was sure. Karma was really bending me over this time around. Oh, you’re trying to escape man-troubles? Too bad sucker, we’re sending you a kind, smart, sexy heterosexual to torment your ass with artless benevolence and buns of steel.

  I downed two more shots, discarded my shoes and flopped down on the couch, letting the alcohol work its magic. Oh, magical agave, give me strength! I needed to call him. I had to tell him about King—at least, what was important for him to know. There was no getting around that. Maybe if I embellished, maybe if I made it sound like there was imminent danger to me, he’d bail. Then I wouldn’t have to try to extricate myself from him. If I did, I’d fail. Even now, I wanted to hear his voice and tell him that I’d love nothing more than dinner and jazz and drinks and conversation with him.

  With frustratingly sluggish movements, I dug my phone out of my hip pocket. My mind was clear, I knew what I needed to do, but my body felt like moving my weight to the side took herculean effort. So damn tired. All I had going for me right this moment was liquid courage and an obligation to be honest about potential dangers. I just hoped it would be enough to scare him off.

  Chapter Eighteen

  *DKM*

  I didn’t always shower at the gym, but when I did, I missed phone calls. It was just the way life worked. My phone could be silent all day long, but as soon as I step in for a five-minute shower, it blows up.

  I had four missed calls and three voicemails from Steven’s phone. My first thought was emergency. It wasn’t like Steven to repeatedly call when sent to voicemail. There was nothing about his personality that was anxious or demanding, so my instincts told me there was a problem.

  I wanted to dial him back immediately but decided it would be for the best if I listened to the voicemails. There was the possibility that he wasn’t in a position to talk and I needed information.

  Still wet and naked except for a towel around my waist, I stood in front of my open locker, intently listening to the first message.

  “DKM, I’m going to leave this as a message, which I suppose is really for the best. I mean, if I talk to you, I’m going to say all sorts of weird shit that I didn’t mean to say, so…”

  He trailed off, his voice subdued. His tone and his lead-in were a bad sign. This had all the markings of a break-up call. I lowered myself to the metal bench behind me. After a short pause, he continued.

  “Oh! I need to say thank you for the macarons. They’re soooo damn delicious, I’m eating one right now. It’s the one with the chocolate ganache in the middle. Those are my favorite.”

  The garbled way he said ‘favorite’ indicated that he was, in fact, eating. I smiled in spite of myself.

  “So, the thing is, you know how I told you about all the really bad dates I’ve had and how I was worried that the one crazy guy was at the restaurant with us?”

  “Sort of,” I said aloud, like an idiot. He’d briefly mentioned a couple of strange men but hadn’t gone into enough detail about them to suit me.

  “Yeah, well, he was and I—”

  The voicemail beeped and cut him off.

  “Shit,” I said softly, playing the second message. My takeaway from his slightly rambling message was that the red-haired, mentally disturbed man was at the restaurant with us, as he’d suspected. I didn’t feel good about that, and clearly Steven didn’t either.

  “Shit, sorry! I guess I need to speak faster. IHaveAVeryDangerousStalkerAndYouShouldn’tBeFriendsWithMeAnymoreBecauseHeCouldHurtYou.”

  He took a breath and continued.

  “He’s batshit crazy, muscular, and mean as hell. Run far! Run fast! You don’t want another Fancy Stalker situation, so shoo! I’m changing my number tomorrow. Have a nice life.”

  He clicked off, and I sat in stunned silence as the automated voice prompted me to delete the message or listen to the next. Numbly, I selected the last of his voicemails, my naked skin developing goosebumps despite the oppressively humid air of the locker room.

  “Wow, I’m such an asshole, I just realized how panicked you might be. Ugh, fine! I don’t really think you’re in danger. At least not yet. But it’s only a matter of time before he gets the wrong idea about us. God, Ken, I have the wrong idea about us! You need to find other straights to hang out with, because if you think you can hang with gays and not make all of us crazy for you, you’re out of your damn mind. Take your fun jazz nights and chiseled jaw and hit the bricks, mister.”

  There was a brief rustling sound, then his voice sounded far away. “There, that oughta do it,” and he disconnected.

  “What the hell?!” I boomed, my voice echoing through the room. Several men murmured and cast me annoyed glares, but I was too stunned to care.

  Other straights? I have the wrong idea about us?

  Everything about those messages was alarming. He wasn’t speaking with his normal ease, he’d been genuinely distressed. That he suspected he had a stalker, was chilling. That he thought he needed to push me away to spare me the danger, was both infuriating and sweet. That he thought I was straight, and we were just friends? That was the screwiest part of all of this.

  We were dating.

  I made a big, embarrassing, I’m ready for love speech on Sunday.

  I sent him fifty macarons for god’s sake!

  You should have kissed him, asshole. Youshouldhavekissedhim, youshouldhavekissedhim, youshouldhavekissedhim.

  Go! Kiss! Him!

  With haste, I put my shoes on, grabbed my bag, and made to leave, intent on going to Steven. At that moment, my loosened towel fell to the floor. I looked at it in astonishment, then huffed out a self-deprecating laugh.

  Show up buck naked, Ken, Steven will think he has two crazy stalkers.

  Given how I felt in that moment, how unhinged and fixated I was, one could think, maybe he does.

  Maybe he does.

  Chapter Nineteen

  *Steven*

  I woke to my phone emitting a low, irritating, clacking judder on the glass top of the table. My eyes popped open, glasses still on my face. It took a moment of disorientation before I comprehended that I’d dozed sitting up. The waning daylight in the apartment was proof I’d lost several minutes, but not much. From my laptop, the sounds of Foxing crooning, I swear I’m a good man, I swear I’m a good man, meant I was only a few songs into my playlist of heartache.

  I grabbed my phone and flailed a hand to my laptop beside me, slapping the space bar to cease the music.

  The front desk was calling.

  “Hello,” I rasped. My dry mouth tasted of cookie, tequila, and regret.

  “Mr. Thompson, this is Lawrence. I have Dr. Miles down here to see you, s
hould I send him up?”

  I opened my mouth to answer but stopped myself. Did I want him here? Did I want to have this conversation face-to-face? No and no. But did he deserve that much after the train-wreck of voice messages I left him? Yes, he did. I hadn’t handled it very well, said some mean, and downright embarrassing things, and I needed to be an adult about it. Still, I hesitated.

  “Mr. Thompson?” the concierge prompted.

  “Yeah, Larry, sure,” I replied. “Send him up.”

  “Will do. Have a good night.”

  I closed my laptop and switched on the lamp in the corner. I wasn’t ready for the glaring light of the overhead fixture and figured a little dimness for this conversation would serve me best. I estimated I had, at minimum, forty-five seconds until Ken showed up, so I busied myself by erasing the evidence of my pity party. I stowed away the macarons and laptop and chugged a glass of water so hurriedly, the liquid overflowed the cup and ran in rivulets down the sides of my chin and on to my button-up. “That’s just great,” I muttered, swiping at the dark spots.

  Expecting Ken to knock at any second, I stood in the entry. Resigned and determined. We’d talk honestly, no histrionics, no alcohol-fueled rambles, just the straight dope. I needed to keep my resolve when I was staring him in the eyes—in those hypnotic, glittering orbs of temptation. Dammit! Don’t be swayed by the sexy eyes, ignore the cleft in his chin, and whatever you do, do not get side-tracked by his Adam’s Apple.

  When the knock came, it was loud and impatient. As an indicator of his mood, it was accurate. He stood on the threshold just long enough to connect his eyes to mine, then barged past me into the living room.

  He had a gym bag slung on his shoulder, which he dropped with a thunk onto the floor. He was wearing black track pants, sneakers, and a white undershirt that fit over his muscles with obscene adhesion.