Rules of Engagement

by Lily White

  Talking must have been a quirk of Donovan’s. I wasn’t in a position to judge, but I still wanted to know why.

  Two plates were set on the table, the waitress’ sudden presence causing me to jump in place. Her smile was apologetic to see it, but I simply smiled back. It wasn’t her that was causing me to be so jumpy. It was the weight of my decisions over the past few days.

  All the talk of computers had me fidgeting in my seat. I had to swallow down the anxiety that had settled in my throat. After doing something as stupid as I had done just a few nights ago, I wouldn’t be upset if I never saw another computer in my life.

  Nothing with the game had happened yet, but that didn’t make me think I’d received five thousand dollars for nothing. The game would begin eventually, I just didn’t know when.

  With that thought rolling over in my empty stomach, I ate quickly in an attempt to fill my belly with something other than regret and fear. Unfortunately the few bites I could manage only made the discomfort worse.

  Every so often, I would meet Jackson’s gaze after we fell into a comfortable silence while eating our lunch, and each time, I had to fight back the urge to ask him more about Donovan Stone.

  Eventually we both finished, my plate still half full while his was practically licked clean. Looking at the lean strength of his physique, I wondered how many hours he spent working out in order to not gain weight from such a healthy appetite.

  “You said you’re the employee manual,” I finally commented to break the silence. “Can you tell me what I need to know in order to not get fired on my first day?”

  Moving so that he could pull his wallet from his pocket, he slid a black card from inside and placed it on the table. I reached for my purse to pay my half, but Jackson lifted a brow. “You can put your money away, Mia. Lunch was on the office.”

  Split in half, I wanted to refuse his offer, as well as jump up and down to accept it at the same time. Siding with accepting it, I smiled in thanks while slipping my wallet into my purse. Despite everything that was happening, there was still the sad truth that I was practically broke for the next month. Being a charity case rubbed me the wrong way, but I was willing to swallow down the bitter pill only because he said lunch was on the office and not on him personally.

  “Thank you,” I finally breathed out.

  He chuckled. “Don’t thank me. Thank Donovan. His name is on the office door. Not mine.” His amber gaze darted to the waitress when she came to collect his card, a flirtatious smile stretching cheeks that were stained with a pink blush. Jackson winked and the silent praise he’d given her was loud and clear. I watched with curious eyes, wondering if I had the wrong impression of him when met.

  The waitress left and his eyes returned to me. But rather than affection or warmth, they’d returned to the professional distance I’d seen in them earlier. “We’ll talk on the way back to the office. The rules are standard. The most important thing you need to know is to be available to Donovan when he needs you, and to stay out of his way when he doesn’t.”

  That didn’t bode well for my employment. Not at all. I would definitely continue looking for something else, but in the meantime attempt to stay out of Donovan’s way long enough to collect my first paycheck.

  True to his word, Jackson walked me back to the office and explained the rules. Everything was standard: come in on time, take a one hour lunch, leave on time. Overtime was only by approval. The holidays were standard, sick time was standard, the benefits were crap, but other than that, nothing concerned me more than the previous warning that I was Donovan’s lackey when he needed one, and a non-entity when he didn’t.

  By the time we reached the office, I felt slightly better about my position at Stone Industries. Jackson stepped forward to open the door to the building for me, and I was almost in reach when a man slammed into me from the right side. Knocked to the ground, I scrambled to keep all the contents of my purse from rolling away while a voice above me apologized profusely.

  Unfortunately for the stranger, Jackson wasn’t in a forgiving mood.

  The man who’d careened into me was jerked away by the collar of his shirt, his hand holding a phone that caught a ray of sunlight, flashing as he was removed from my space. I wouldn’t have thought anything of it, but within the chaos, I could have sworn I heard the snapping shutter of a camera. Freezing in place where I was kneeling on the ground collecting the contents of my purse, I tried to convince myself I heard wrong…because why would a random stranger snap a picture of me?

  I knew why. I just didn’t want to admit it to myself.

  “Watch where the hell you’re going, you son of a bitch! You could have hurt her!”

  Jackson’s deep voice rolled like thunder down the sidewalk, his anger palpable within the rushed whispers and murmurs of people passing by. Shoving the last of my random belongings into my purse, I stood and turned in time to see the stranger staring at me, his mouth hanging open, his eyes focused and apologetic.

  “I’m so sorry,” he stammered as he jerked away from Jackson’s grasp. “I was in a rush. I really need to get going.”

  Before Jackson could grab him again, he ran off, but not before I could dedicate his features to memory. Dark hair. Dark eyes. Dark clothes. But skin so white, it was alabaster reflecting the scant sunlight. He turned a corner, disappearing from view by the time Jackson stepped up to me and laid a hand on my shoulder. Out of instinct, I pulled away from his touch, my heart lodged in my throat, my pulse racing so hard I was left dizzy.

  “Are you okay? Did he hurt you?”

  “No,” I answered honestly. Although my weak voice gave away how shaken I was by the incident. Not so much the getting knocked down part, more the sound of a camera shutter. I made a mental note to check Dark Realties that night to see if it had been my stalker introducing himself to me by colliding with me on the sidewalk.

  Jackson arched a brow. “Are you sure? You don’t sound okay.”

  Shaking my head, I forced a smile, making sure to keep enough distance between us that he didn’t reach out in an effort to comfort me with his touch. If anything, feeling a hand on my body at that moment would only make it worse. “I promise. I’m fine. Let’s just get back upstairs before Donovan is angry that I’m late.”

  Holding the door open for me, Jackson didn’t say a word as I passed him, but I was pretty sure I heard him mumble behind me as I walked quickly into the main lobby.

  “Don’t worry about, Donovan. I’ll handle him.”

  …

  The remainder of the day was smooth sailing. Jackson left shortly after dropping me off at the office and Donovan neither messaged me on my tablet nor came out of his office. By close to four, I wondered if he was even in the office at all. Fighting the urge to approach his door several times, I tried to focus on the mountains of paperwork piled around me, on the tedious task that didn’t occupy my mind enough to keep me from thinking of the game. It was difficult not to sit down for a minute and use the computer at the reception desk to check the Dark Realities page.

  At first, I’d hoped my picture wouldn’t show up, that my image staring back at me wouldn’t make it perfectly clear the game had started. But after thinking about it - obsessing over it - I realized that seeing the image wouldn’t be all bad. Not knowing was the worst feeling of all, but seeing that image would not only tell me the game had officially begun. It would prove that the man whose features I’d memorized was, in fact, the man I had to watch for.

  It would give me an advantage, albeit a small one.

  The end of the workday was within my grasp when Donovan finally decided to make an appearance. His door popped open as I was setting aside the incomplete files, leaving them in a place where I could jump back to completing them when I returned the next morning. The sound of the door opening drew my attention, my gaze locking to Donovan’s as he stood in the doorway staring at me. As usual, he was rigid and unapproachable, unsettling because it felt like he could read every thought in
my head, could hear the jagged beat of my heart whenever he was nearby. The silence didn’t help and my thoughts scampered back to what Jackson had told me at lunch.

  It wasn’t that Donovan couldn’t talk. It was that he chose not to. I couldn’t help but wonder why.

  He was a gorgeous man, his skin tone a perfect golden color that was atypical in a city where we mostly saw fog and rain rather than sunlit days. I wondered briefly about his heritage, about his history, about those cold blue eyes that revealed depth beneath the frigid professional demeanor.

  A minute must have passed before I finally broke the silence between us. “I made a small dent in the paperwork today.” Offering him a smile, I added, “But even that dent wasn’t enough to tear down the piles. It’ll probably be a few weeks before it looks better in here.”

  Donovan said nothing. It wasn’t surprising. But knowing his silence was choice and not necessity left me off balance. People are social creatures - most of us anyway. To limit yourself in such a major way was like wearing a neon sign telling the world you had no interest in it. Even with my quirk about being touched, I still craved interaction, as long as it was kept at a respectable distance.

  Not him. He simply observed, and when he found it necessary, he shot off messages on a tablet or in an email that distanced him even more from the people around him. In everything, Donovan Stone was untouchable and cruel.

  He was also my boss, my only means to earn a living, the one man who had bothered to respond to the resumes I’d sent out. And for that reason, I had no choice but to play nice.

  “It’s five minutes to five,” I pointed out. “I’m going to put these files aside and start shutting down for the day. Is there anything you need from me before I go?”

  A sharp cut of his chin to the left was his only answer. He wasn’t holding his tablet, I noticed. With his hands tucked into his pockets, he leaned against the doorframe, silently watching as I set the files aside and opened a drawer to retrieve my purse. I could feel his gaze on my body, as if his hands were brushing over my skin, sweeping my hair aside and his warmth collided against my back as his breath wafted against my neck.

  The ten feet of space that stood between us did nothing to make me feel safe. It was strange he could affect me so easily, even stranger that I didn’t jump away in order to avoid those phantom fingers exploring me.

  I was losing my damn mind.

  Forcing a shaky grin to stretch my lips, I spun expecting to find that he’d approached me, that I could feel him because he had crossed the room to stand nearby. But when our eyes locked again, he was still in the doorway of his office, still staring, still frustratingly silent.

  “I should go,” I breathed out. “Do you need me to turn off the lights or lock up on my way out?”

  A few seconds passed before he did anything in response to my question. Just before I was about to ask another to break the tense silence, he pushed away from the frame of the door. Stepping toward me, he forced me to shuffle back. Not physically, but with that odd ability he had to touch me from across distances. My butt hit the edge of the desk before he stopped at the end of the half wall. My entire focus was held by him, his eyes searching my face before he reached out to flick off the lights.

  He was as beautiful beneath the orange glow of the security bulbs as he was standing in the brighter lights. He felt more dangerous as well.

  The silence was deafening, but the tension eased away when he turned without giving any indication of what he was thinking or feeling to stroll back to his office.

  His hand was on the knob, his body passing through the doorway when I blurted, “Thank you for lunch, by the way. Jackson told me the company paid for it.”

  Desperate to say anything that would thaw the cold left in his wake, I waited for his response.

  He simply stepped deeper into his office and shut the door, the quiet click a beat of finality to this awful day.

  Shaking my head, I made my way into the front lobby, the strap of my purse clutched tightly in my hand as I walked out and descended three flights of stairs. Being away from Donovan didn’t help the anxiety I wore like a heavy coat.

  Practically running down the sidewalk to my car, I kept an eye out for the stranger from earlier. Thankfully the streets weren’t yet deserted and I didn’t feel like a moving target. The drive home was quick, and I ran again once climbing out of my car, not stopping until I was inside the safety of my cramped apartment.

  My back pressed against the door after I’d shut and locked it, a sigh of relief rushing over my lips to be alone and away from Donovan Stone. To be safe from the stranger who waited for me in the shadows.

  My feet couldn’t carry me fast enough to my computer. With shaking hands I typed in my password and the screen came to life, several dings letting me know that I had emails waiting to be read. Ignoring them, I navigated to the web browser and typed in the URL of the Dark Realities site. But instead of the short video that always played on their home page, I found a white screen with blue lettering.

  Website inaccessible. Please check that you entered the correct URL and try again.

  I did try again, what felt like a hundred times, each time becoming more anxious as my fingers flew faster. Giving up on accessing it that way, I flipped to Google and typed Dark Realities into the search bar. Several choices popped up, but none of them were the site I wanted.

  Panicking, I scrolled to the want ads where I’d found the site originally, but there was no listing anymore, nothing that indicated there had ever been a listing inviting me to the site.

  My pulse ticked at my temple, my mouth going dry as I searched for a full hour only to continue ending up at the same white page with blue lettering.

  Tears trickled down my face, defeat settling heavily on my shoulders.

  Remembering the email they’d sent me regarding the bank transfer, I clicked out of the web browser and into my email hoping to find some way to access the site or contact them. Two new messages waited to be read; one from Dark Realities, one from an address I didn’t recognize.

  Clicking the Dark Realities email, my breath caught in my lungs as soon as I read the message.

  Thank you for joining the game, Mia. Below are listed the simple ten Rules of Engagement demanded by Dark Realities. We recommend you memorize them and play accordingly.

  Scrolling down, I read the ten rules, my pulse beating harder and my breathing become more shallow as I understood each one.

  Hitting rule number seven, my heart pretty much stopped dead in my chest.

  Once the game has begun, don’t try to find us. We’ll be sure to find you.

  Closing my eyes slowly, I forced them open again, reading the rule one more time to make sure it understood it correctly. Wondering how one person can be blocked from a site, I grabbed my phone and tried accessing Dark Realities on the tiny web browser. Nothing came up, just the white page with blue lettering that appeared to be laughing at me now.

  How stupid was I?

  How could I be so careless?

  What had my desperate mind allowed me to do?

  Learning that I’d lost access to the site was soul crushing. I’d hoped to be able to follow along, to have the ability to find clues as to who was stalking me. But now it seemed I was going to be completely in the dark with no way of discovering who to avoid on crowded streets. The realization sunk me, but still, I refused to give up.

  Without bothering to read the last two rules, I hit reply on the email and pounded out a demand they let me return the money and release me from the game. Hitting send I nodded my head one curt time as if the movement were an exclamation point added to my message. I felt strong for a moment. Smart. Confident in the fact that I would find a way around these awful rules.

  All of that shattered as soon as my computer beeped with another email, one telling me that the address to which I’d just responded didn’t exist. My jaw dropped open in shock, my lips trembling when I finally found the ability to close my mouth a
gain.

  I was completely in the dark, with only ten rules to lead me through this horrifying maze.

  Remembering the last two, I flipped back to the email listing them, read the rules, and wished I hadn’t.

  They owned me. Some stupid website owned me for the next two months. I’d given them all my information, so much in fact that I could be left penniless and homeless if I didn’t follow their rules.

  Tears burst from my eyes and I shut my computer down, not remembering there had been another message waiting for me. I’m not sure if that was a good thing or bad thing, especially considering what happened the following morning.

  Chapter Nine

  Rule No. 9: We own your life now. Forfeiting the game results in dire consequences.

  HIM…

  So timid. So meek. Mia Jennings was turning out to be everything I’d hoped for in a woman. She didn’t own the places she occupied, didn’t lay claim to even her own personal space. She was simply there, a quiet mouse waiting for the crumb of bread or cheese that might fall from the hand of a true predator.

  She was perfect. And she was sleeping so soundly, she hadn’t stirred since I walked in her room to watch her sleep.

  Standing in the darkness, I watched her until I’d had my fill, until I knew for certain she was still wrapped in the arms of slumber rather than just pretending she didn’t know I was there.

  Curious, I took in the details of her room that could be seen in the scant moonlight pouring around the edges of her window shades. She didn’t own much and the room only held her bed, a dilapidated bedside table and a dresser with a mirror above it. At least, I believed it was a mirror. I couldn’t be sure because it was covered by a black sheet. Arching a brow at that discovery, I turned my attention back to the bed, to the woman who lay prone beneath a worn blanket, the edges tucked tightly to her chin while one foot stuck out over the mattress.