"Just go back into your apartment," I snap.
"Harsh."
"Yeah, well."
"Katie, take a chill pill."
"No." I check the time on my phone, wondering where the hell the locksmith is.
"Want to play a game?"
"No."
"How about would you rather?"
"No."
"I'll start," Dylan says, ignoring me. "Would you rather...fall off a cliff or be eaten by a tiger?"
"I'm not playing."
"Personally, I'd choose the cliff--"
"I don't care."
"--Because you won't necessarily die."
"Stop."
"Come on, Katie, why don't you want to play?"
"Because I hate you!" I shout, my annoyance bubbling over.
Dylan looks taken aback by my declaration. His eyes turn cold, his jaw clenching. "You really are so bitchy, you know that, Katie?" He says.
I glare at him. "Maybe if you weren't an annoying prick I wouldn't be so bitchy."
"Look, I was just trying to keep you company."
"No, you were looking for an excuse to annoy the shit out of me and make me upset. I know you by now, Dylan."
Dylan laughs dryly. "You know me by now? Guess again, Katie." He turns on his heel and walks back into his apartment, the door slamming behind him.
The locksmith comes a half hour later. I complain and end up getting a discount. I thank the man after he unlocks my door, practically falling onto the couch with exhaustion from work and fighting with Dylan. He has so much nerve. I hate him.
Chapter Twelve
Dylan eyes me from his desk, the green in his irises darker than usual. He chews on the end of his pen.
I focus on my work. I'm still mad at him for what he said to me last night. I suppose I may have been irritable as well, and I try to push the confrontation out of my head. I don't care what Dylan thinks of me.
Right?
It's two o'clock, lunch break has just ended. I ate with Sarah, Oliver, Lana and Jade as usual. I settle into my desk and begin my work for the afternoon.
A piece of paper coming from Lana's direction lands on my desk. I unfold it quietly.
Why does Wilson keep staring at you?
I look up at Lana, who raises her eyebrows. I shrug and toss the paper into the trash. I honestly don't know why he's staring at me. I had been trying my best to ignore it.
A phone rings from the HR section in the office, and the quiet hum of work carries through the environment. Of course, aside from Dylan, who continues to chew on his pen like his life depends on it.
I circle an error in my manuscript, sighing. Suddenly, a loud sound emits from Dylan's desk. I lift my gaze to him.
He picks up his phone from the desk, eyes scanning across the screen.
"Shit," he breathes. He stands quickly, grabbing his coat and packing his things hurriedly. He doesn't give anyone a second glance as he walks into Mr. Morris's office, shutting the door.
"What was that about?" I ask Oliver.
Oliver shrugs, not looking at me.
Dylan bursts out of Mr. Morris's office and out the door, obviously in a hurry.
Curiosity sparks inside of me. Since he knows so much about me from my damn file, shouldn't I be able to find out a few things about him? I purse my lips and collect my things.
I walk into Mr. Morris's office.
"Afternoon, Katie," he greets me.
"Hello," I say. "I was wondering if I could leave early today? I have a doctor's appointment." I'm shocked at how easily the lie rolls off my tongue.
"Sure, no problem."
"Thank you."
I turn and speed walk out of the office and into the elevator before I can psych myself out.
I step out of the elevator at the ground floor, my eyes sweeping the lobby for Dylan. I see him step outside and I quickly follow, making sure I stay out of sight. If he sees me, my mini mission will fail.
He walks past the parking lot and turns down the street, rounding the corner. I walk behind other people on the sidewalk, keeping my eyes on Dylan. He ducks into a small alley off the street, looking around him cautiously. I step behind a tall man talking on the phone as Dylan's eyes pass where I am. Once he continues walking, I hurry into the alley, stepping behind a parked car.
Dylan walks up to a tall blonde man. He has multiple scars on his face, one on his chin and a jagged one across his forehead. I almost shiver at his appearance.
A boy with brown hair and dark blue eyes stands next to him, arms crossed over his chest.
Dylan sticks his hands in his pockets, his expression hard.
"I got your message," he says.
"Good," the scarred man says.
"I don't know what this is about, Alec," Dylan says. "I've been going over the numbers--"
"The numbers are down, Wilson, that's what this is about," the scarred man snaps.
"I can't control what the numbers do," Dylan says.
"No," the man, Alec, agrees. "But you can monitor them so they don't get so low."
"I was dealing with something at Crane," Dylan says. "They'll be up by next week."
"We've gone over this," Alec says. "Us first, Crane second. You hear?"
"It won't happen again," Dylan says.
"We're losing money, and fast. If you're as smart as you say you are, you'd better step up your damn game," Alec says.
Dylan clenches his jaw. It's weird for me to see Dylan actually listening to someone for a change, he's usually so defiant and disobedient. The way he looks at the ground now makes him seem so submissive.
Alec and the other boy swiftly turn and start walking toward where I am. Shit, this must be their car that I'm hiding behind. My heart races and I rapidly move out of the alley at lightning speed, standing on the sidewalk and pulling out my phone, pretending to have been there the whole time.
The black car pulls out into the street, speeding away.
Dylan exits the alley moments later. I turn around. If he sees me, it's over.
I give it a few minutes and turn around slowly. Dylan's gone. I sigh in relief and begin walking back to Crane to get to my car.
What was that whole encounter all about? Why did Dylan act so weird? And what are the numbers?
I hate feeling like a little nosy bitch, but curiosity bursts like fireworks in my chest.
But the way that man looked was so...serious. What if this isn't fun and games? What if this is a dangerous thing that Dylan's involved with?
I finally make it back to Crane, making my way to my car. I notice Dylan's is already gone.
Chapter Thirteen
I ignore Dylan for a whole week.
Easier said than done, really. He sits five feet from me at work and lives across the hall. It's been a miracle that I haven't had to talk to him.
It's Friday afternoon, and I'm in a good mood. I finished editing four manuscripts this week, having turned in my fourth one this morning; and James is picking me up from work.
I'm excited to see him. We've both been busy all week, so we finally get our night out tonight.
The afternoon that I followed Dylan is still fresh in my mind. Every time I look at him, more and more questions fill my brain. Who are those guys? What are the numbers?
I shouldn't care. But the way Dylan has been more reserved lately makes my mind run.
Four o'clock rolls around and everyone gathers their things to leave. I chat with Sarah as we walk out.
"What are your plans for the weekend?" I ask her.
She shrugs. "Not a ton. Sleep, eat, repeat." She laughs. "You?"
"I'm seeing James tonight," I say.
"Ooh," she says, nudging me. "I must know all the details over coffee."
I flush. "No, we don't...uh...we haven't..."
"Oh." Sarah smiles. "Still, we should have coffee. Does Sunday work?"
"Sunday's great."
"Perfect, see you then." Sarah unlocks her car and waves me goodbye.
/> I stake out the lot, but I don't see James's car anywhere. I take a seat on a bench outside and pull my coat tightly around me.
I check my phone for messages from James, but there are none. I text him asking where he is, but no reply. Maybe he's driving. Maybe he forgot the address?
He'll be here, my mind insists. He promised.
Car after car pulls in and out of the lot, but not James's. Mr. Crane nods to me as he walks out, phone against his ear. Even Caitlin makes her way out, shooting me a smile.
The autumn sky begins to dim, the air getting chillier. I exhale, my breath swirling in front of me. Where is he?
I check my phone. No messages.
I wait another fifteen minutes before calling him, only to get his voicemail.
I hang up and put my head in my hands. Why isn't he answering? He told me he'd pick me up. He took me this morning, so I really don't have a way to get home. I guess I could walk. It's only about fifteen blocks.
I can't help the warm tears that start to fall. Doesn't James care about me enough to pick me up from work?
"Katie?"
I look up to see none other than Dylan standing in front of me, confusion written into his features. I quickly wipe my tears away and straighten my posture. I shouldn't have been crying over stupid James.
"What do you want?" I snap.
Dylan stares at me. "Are you all right?" His tone is soft and it baffles me. He's never spoken to me any way that wasn't teasing or hurful.
I frown.
"Why are you out here by yourself?" He asks when I don't answer.
"James is coming to pick me up," I say. "And then we're going out to dinner and a movie."
Dylan checks his phone for the time. "Katie, it's nearly five o'clock." It's odd to hear him call me by the name I prefer instead of my nickname.
I look away, the wind picking up slightly. I hadn't noticed the grey clouds covering the sky. They look dark and angry.
"Katie, it's going to rain. James obviously isn't coming--"
"He's coming," I interrupt rudely. "He promised."
Dylan sighs. "Just let me drive you home."
I look back at him. His eyes are soft. I've never seen him act compassionate before, and it's a bit comforting.
Thunder booms in the distance. At this point, my choices are limited. I either ride home with Dylan or get rained on.
I rise from the bench, slinging my bag over my shoulder. Dylan exhales and turns to lead me to his car.
I slide into the passenger seat, the leather seats freezing cold. Dylan turns on the heat and backs out of the lot.
"Why are you doing this?" I ask as we drive along.
"What do you mean?"
"Why are you being nice to me?"
"I couldn't just leave you there."
"Why? You hate me, anyway."
Dylan half smiles. "I don't hate you."
"Look, if you feel bad for me or something, I really don't need your pity."
Dylan shakes his head. "Oh, you Britainns," he says. "The world always revolves around you."
I cross my arms over my chest. "Are you calling me a narcissist? And why does being Britainn have to do with anything?"
"No," he says. "I'm just saying, you always assume someone's feeling bad for you."
I look out the window as rain starts to fall. I think about James. Why didn't he pick me up? My chest aches.
"Why are you here?" I ask.
"What?"
"Why are you in Britain? You're clearly not Britainn."
"What is that supposed to mean? 'Clearly not Britainn?'"
"You have an accent, dipshit."
Dylan laughs. "I moved here four years ago."
"Why?"
He shrugs. "Wanted to try Britain on for size, I guess." He doesn't meet my gaze.
"So...where are you from, then?"
"I have an accent, dipshit," he mocks me.
I crack a smile. "No, I mean where in England."
He shakes his head, shrugging. "You've never heard of it."
I narrow my eyes. "Try me."
"Holmes Chapel."
"Oh." I smirk.
"You don't know where that is, do you?"
"Actually, I do."
"Oh, yeah?"
"Yeah. In Cheshire, in the west. It's a small town. Small popluation."
He raises his eyebrows, clearly impressed. "Not bad, Kate," he says.
And, we're back.
"Please don't call me Kate," I say for the thousandth time.
"Why do you hate it so much? It's nice."
"I don't hate it. I just hate it coming from you." I hate that when you say it, it reminds me of the darkest time of my life.
"I see." He smirks. "So you prefer 'Katherine,' then?"
"No," I say immediately and Dylan laughs. It's the first time I've ever seen him really laugh, and it's a nice sight. His eyes squint up and his dimples carve into his cheeks.
I hadn't realized I was staring and I quickly avert my eyes. Dylan notices and smiles wider.
"Honestly, though," he says. "You seemed pretty upset back there. Is everything all right?"
I roll my eyes. "I wouldn't tell you even if you were the last person on Earth."
"Harsh, Katherine."
"Stop it."
"If I call you 'Katie' for a week, will you tell me?"
"No."
"Two weeks?"
"No."
"A month?"
"Stop talking, Dylan."
"Come on, Katie. You can tell me. I can keep a secret."
Something about the way he said it makes me pause. I open my mouth to snap at him again, but I suddenly stop. I could use a good rant. And from the way Dylan looked at me back there, maybe he does care. I mean, he is giving me a ride home.
He Looked Back Page 6
