Rules of Engagement

by Lily White

  Relief withered my shoulders, my back sliding down the door until my butt was settled on the floor. Stretching my legs out in front of me, I noticed the few pieces of mail that had been slipped through the slot. They were probably bills, the very things that got me in trouble in the first place with my choice to join Dark Realities.

  Pushing myself to my feet after cursing those bills for several seconds, I didn’t bother picking them up before scrambling to my bedroom to get changed. Everything was exactly as I left it. The rose and note still lay on the ground beside my bed, the sheet used to cover the mirror still in place.

  Tremors ran over me after I’d changed into my pajamas and stood over the rose and note, the black lettering staring up at me with the message that I’d ignored whoever it was that watched me while I slept.

  Shaking off the fear that came with the reminder I wasn’t alone, I made my way into the living room, sat down at my makeshift desk, and turned on my computer. It was still booting as I picked up my phone to dial Rachel’s number.

  “Hey, Mia,” she answered, her breath ragged like she was in the middle of a brisk jog when the phone rang. “I haven’t talked to you in a few days. How’s the new job?”

  “It’s good,” I lied, the words I’d planned to speak next dying off as my computer pinged with a new email. Absently, I clicked over, my eyes scanning down to see the email I’d received yesterday but hadn’t opened. My eyes rounded, the arrow hovering over the unopened message as I grew quiet.

  “Mia? Hello? You still there?”

  “Yeah,” I breathed out, my voice shaky over that one word as I did the insane thing and opened the email.

  I don’t like it when you talk to other men. Don’t you know you’re mine now?

  My eyes widened so large that the air conditioning had an opportunity to rush in and dry them. Blinking to entice my tear ducts to come back to life, I read the two sentences over and over again as fear bloomed in my stomach.

  “Mia?”

  Shaking my head, it took everything I had not to sound as afraid as I felt. “Sorry, Rachel. I’m just … distracted. Work’s fine. My boss is an asshole, but -“

  “You didn’t hear anything I just said, did you?”

  “No,” I admitted, my gaze returning to the email. Is this what he’d meant by ignoring him? This email that I’d failed to open and respond to? Not wanting another midnight visit, my hands hovered over the keys to type out a response. “I’m sorry. Like I said, I’ve been distracted. What did you say?”

  Sighing, Rachel shifted around, the rustle of fabric against the phone drawing my attention. “I asked if you want to meet me for dinner tonight. There’s a new restaurant downtown and the reviews are touting it as the next big thing. I can call and get us a reservation.”

  I’m not yours, I typed. And I don’t want to play this game. Please leave me alone.

  Hitting send, I hoped that would be the end of it, but knew my hope was about as useful as a bucket with a hole in it.

  Dinner with Rachel sounded wonderful, however, stepping back outside my apartment didn’t. What man was he talking about? The only men I’d been around were Donovan and Jackson. My eyes rounded a third time. Jackson. The stalker must have seen us go to lunch, which meant -

  My computer pinged. I couldn’t click the email fast enough. The game ends when I’m done playing. Or have you not read the rules?

  “Mia! What is going on with you right now? You keep spacing out.”

  Yanked back into the phone conversation, I cleared my throat and apologized. “Sorry. I was just responding to an email.”

  “An email?” I heard Rachel tsk through the phone. “Are you telling me that your boss already has you working after hours? I hope he’s paying you for that.”

  Shaking my head, I realized she couldn’t see me, so I voiced my response instead. “No, it’s not for work. There’s a strict no overtime policy at my new job. This email was personal.”

  Rachel’s breath caught. “Personal? Have you met a new guy or something? Oh, Mia! Tell me about him!”

  If by new guy she meant a complete stranger who was having way too much fun messing with my life, then sure, I’d met a new guy. The only thing was that she would never learn about him. Not until I’d found a way to back out of this stupid game.

  My fingers flew over the keys. I read the rules. And I tried to contact Dark Realities to get out of the game. Do you know what happened to the site? I thought I was supposed to be able to watch.

  It was improbable that my stalker would assist me in contacting Dark Realities to quit the game, but that didn’t mean I wouldn’t try. Being a predator for the site must have given him more access to the company than I had. Hitting send, I finally answered my best friend.

  “I haven’t met a new man. I’m just trying to catch up with stuff now that I have a new job. Past due bills and all. You know how it is.”

  I could hear her disappointment through the phone. “Oh. Well, that’s too bad. I was getting excited for a second.” She paused for a moment before blurting her next question. “So, what about dinner? I can meet you at seven.”

  My computer pinged before I could answer the question. Why would you think I’d help you? You asked for this, Mia. It’s too late to back out now.

  I felt my face flare red with anger, my pulse kicking up just enough that it was a flutter at my temples. I didn’t understand the rules when I signed up.

  But you accepted the money, didn’t you?

  “That’s it, Mia. You are obviously too distracted for this phone call. Why don’t you call me back when you’re done with your emails? We can meet for dinner another night.”

  “What?” I asked, just before understanding settled in. “I’m sorry, Rachel. I’ll call you back later. I just need to deal with some things.”

  I didn’t bother to wait for her response before ending the call. Dropping my phone on the desk, I pounded out another email.

  I had no choice but to accept the money. And I want to return it. I don’t want to play this game anymore. You were in my apartment last night! That’s creepy and I didn’t realize that would happen. How was I supposed to know?

  Expecting a rushed response like last time, I grew impatient when the computer didn’t immediately ping. I had no doubt he was laughing at me from wherever he was…whoever he was. How had I been so stupid? What could I do to correct this ridiculous mistake?

  After drumming my fingers over the surface of the desk, I finally pushed to my feet with the need to expel energy. Pacing the cramped space of my living room, I kept glaring back at my computer as I passed it, practically jumping out of my skin when it finally pinged with a response. My chair almost tipped backwards from how quickly I dropped my weight in the seat, my hand fumbling with the mouse before I calmed down enough to click the button.

  I’m not sure what to think of you, Mia. You signed up for a stalker fantasy, keyword being STALKER, and now you’re upset you’re being stalked. I’m laughing. I want you to know that.

  Damn it. He was right, but I didn’t want to admit that to myself, much less him. Refusing to engage him any longer on that topic, I asked, What’s your name? If you know mine, I should at least know yours.

  It took three minutes for him to respond - three minutes that felt like three days.

  Does a person ever know the name of the shadow that follows them? Who hurt you, Mia?

  My brows shot up my head so far, I was concerned they’d become permanently lost in my hairline. What kind of crazy question is that? Nobody hurt me. Just go away.

  My fingers drummed as I waited, the tips of my nails being shaved down from the abuse. Finally, when I thought I would scream and chuck the computer out a window, it pinged with his response.

  You can learn a lot by watching a person sleep. And what I learned is that you’re haunted by something. Maybe eventually you’ll tell me what that is. Good night, Mia. I hope you sleep well.

  Oh, no he didn’t. My face must have been
purple by that point. I would have to invest in a new keyboard by the time I was done typing my responses to him.

  You know nothing. Not a single damn thing. Stop being a creeper and stay the hell OUT of my apartment. I’ll call the cops next time! I’ll install cameras. I’ll sleep with a damn gun if I have to. Just stay away!

  Expecting an immediate response, even one where he told me he was laughing again, I was surprised to find myself staring at an unchanging screen ten minutes later. It seemed he would begin and end the conversations at his discretion. He would watch. He would wait. And all I could do about it was run through whatever maze he’d constructed for this game.

  I’ll admit my father had made me a victim for many years of my life. He’d made me mousy with his constant jabs, made me fear my own shadow because I always thought it was him standing behind me to judge every decision I made, but I was tired of being that person.

  So tired, in fact, that I refused to continue playing victim to this game. To this predator. To a life that was beating me down as fast as it possible could, with no ending to the abuse in sight.

  Turning off my computer, I gave up on getting a response. My stomach rumbled with hunger and I needed a shower after not having time for one that morning. I checked the locks on my door before heading back to my bedroom, and I made plans to add a few more deadbolts, possibly another chain, and perhaps a camera or two outside the door just to find out who my mysterious stalker was.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  The following morning was, thankfully, uneventful. I woke up on time, had the opportunity to shower, get dressed, do my hair and makeup, and select shoes that actually matched before I left and did the mad sprint to my car. After sprinting from my car inside my office building, I stood just inside the doors huffing and puffing, my eyes peering up to eye the three flights of stairs I would need to climb in order to be on time. Fortunately, I had ten minutes to ascend the stairs and walk through the lobby door.

  As soon as I entered the office, I was greeted by the same orange glow of security lights, the same tablet sitting perfectly center on the surface of the reception desk. Picking it up, I typed out my usual morning greeting.

  I’m here. And don’t tell me I’m late, because I’m actually five minutes early.

  Okay, so maybe it wasn’t my usual message, but I’d grown tired of stupid messages and cryptic men thinking they could toy with my life for their amusement. The tablet beeped in my hands.

  You’re early. Please take a seat in the lobby and I’ll let you in at the appropriate time.

  Son of a bitch. Dropping the tablet onto the reception desk, I didn’t care if it broke. Donovan, I’m sure, had extras. I refused to follow his little instruction, so rather than taking a seat, I waited by the door. Minutes ticked by, one after the other, so many in fact that I was still standing by the door ten minutes after I should have officially started my work day. Finally giving up, I stomped back to the desk, picked up the tablet and typed out another message.

  It’s ten after eight. Are you planning on letting me in?

  I needed a key, and one way or another, I was going to get one. Maybe Jackson would have a spare. Hopefully, his installation job was finished and he would be able to give me a key today.

  Did you sit down? I believe I was specific with my instruction.

  Rolling my eyes, I decided two could play this game. If he wanted to pay me for standing around in the lobby all day, then fine. I’m not sitting. I’ll just wait out here - ON THE CLOCK - until you deem me worthy of entrance.

  The tablet was silent for another three minutes before his response pinged through.

  You’re not on the clock until you pass through the employee door. Which you haven’t. Because you didn’t follow instructions.

  My eyes clenched shut. I didn’t have time for his games, for Dark Realities’ games, for anybody’s games. Why couldn’t I just live my life like a normal person without every creep in the world trying to outwit me?

  Carrying the tablet with me, I sat in one of the plastic seats, a grimace shadowing my face as Donovan finally came to open the door.

  Glaring up at him, I hated how the color of his perfectly pressed shirt matched his eyes, how the tailoring of his dress pants was so exact that he made me want to strip them right off to discover what was beneath the material. I hated the smirk pulling at his perfect lips, hated the glimmer behind his icy stare that told me I’d obeyed, as usual.

  Pushing to my feet, I attempted to appear unfazed by his game, unfrazzled by the attraction I had for a man who obviously enjoyed making me prance around for him whenever he felt the need for amusement.

  I didn’t bother speaking to him as I passed by to walk through the door, and I regretted breathing deeply just so I could inhale the scent of him that was masculine and earthy. He shouldn’t have smelled good. He shouldn’t have affected me the way he did. None of it was fair.

  As soon as I’d walked far enough into the back area to flip on the lights, my tablet beeped.

  I’m still waiting for you to stick up for yourself. Who trained you to be so compliant?

  Spinning on my heel, I glared at him again. He simply stared back at me with a bored professional mask that gave away nothing of what he was thinking or feeling. “I’m not compliant, Mr. Stone. I’m simply an employee attempting to hold on to my job. But I guess you wouldn’t know what that feels like, considering -“

  I stopped that train of thought before I lost my job for being mouthy. Donovan and I weren’t on the best of terms. He was still my boss. I was still his employee. And I didn’t know him well enough to know he wouldn’t fire me for stepping out of line.

  His brow arched when I was silent.

  “Never mind. I’ll get to work now.”

  My tablet beeped as soon as I reached my desk. That was impressive up until you stopped. Meet me in my office in an hour. I have tasks to assign you.

  I turned around in time to see his door swing closed, my heart aching because he’d defeated me once again.

  The appointed hour I was to be at his beck and call came along quickly. Knocking on his door, I waited for my tablet to beep to let me know I could enter. Two minutes later, the beep sounded.

  Rather than checking the message, I let myself in to find him sitting on the front edge of his desk again. What was wrong with his chair? Why did he always have to be in a position that forced me to move around him? Couldn’t he just be a normal person, with a normal chair, in a normal office?

  No. Not Donovan. Normal would be boring to a man like him.

  What do you need me to do today? I typed after taking a seat. His tablet beeped from behind him, but rather than check the message, he simply watched me. Squirming in my seat, I darted my gaze around his office, noticing the lack of ornamentation or decoration except for that one picture on the wall of him and a blond woman. The woman was gorgeous, and there was warmth in Donovan’s eyes that was so obvious it made my heart ache. His smile was beaming and two dimples indented his cheeks. Darting my gaze back to him, I wondered if he ever smiled like that with other people.

  Why do you hate being touched? he asked, using sign language rather than reaching for his tablet.

  A sound rattled up my throat that was filled with irritation. Breathing a few times to calm myself, I finally asked, “What did you need me to do today?”

  Answer my question, he signed. I watched his elegant hands move over the words, noticing a second too late that he’d moved his leg so that our knees touched. My first instinct was to pull away, but I fought the reaction, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of seeing me flinch.

  “I just don’t. Now why don’t you tell me what administrative assistant tasks you would like me to do today?”

  I just don’t isn’t an answer. Something had to make you dislike it. I’d like to know what that something was.

  “It’s a long story, and on top of that, it’s personal.”

  I have time to listen to a story.


  “I said it’s personal. My like or dislike of touch has nothing to do with my employment, so I don’t think you have the right to ask me that question.”

  His knee inched closer, the soft material of his slacks rubbing against my skin. Refusing to admit what that small amount of contact was doing to my body, I grit my teeth while flashing him a practiced and professional smile. His next words wiped the smile from my face.

  Technically, I do have the right. If there’s something in your past that is so severe that you can’t stand human contact, then I think I have a right to know. Your state of mind affects my business, including how you’ll interact with my clients when the time comes. You, merely by being an employee of Stone Industries, are a reflection of me. If there is trauma that can negatively affect your performance as my assistant, I believe I have the right to be forewarned.

  Anger bubbled up inside me, the feeling so forceful that I could feel it heat my cheeks. Donovan merely observed my reaction silently, the corner of his lips twitching once as if my anger was amusing.

  My brows pulled together and a dam burst inside me, the word vomit spewing from my mouth in such a rush that I didn’t even think to moderate my response. “You don’t have to worry about me embarrassing the company, Mr. Stone. I’ve never had a meltdown or a panic attack in my life. Mentally, I’m as healthy as any normal human being, but that doesn’t mean I have to enjoy handsy men pawing all over me. I can shake hands. I believe that is all that’s required of an admin assistant.”

  I should have stopped right there, shouldn’t have pressed my luck, but unfortunately my anger had gotten the best of me.

  “And it’s not like you’re in a position to be making judgment calls on another person’s quirk. You refuse to speak to people even though you’re able to do so. I call that a problem for your company as well, but you don’t see me pestering you relentlessly about it.”