Chapter 7 Stalker

Goosebumps rose on my skin as I trudged to the door. It turned out Weston hadn’t given up; instead, he upgraded to stalking.

His hand was tucked into the pocket of his black joggers, which matched a black face cap that covered his eyes, showing only his killer smile.

Lyra squeezed my arm lightly before rushing in and shutting the door behind her. With a scowl on my face, I tipped my head up to stare at him.

“How did you get my address?”

“It’s in your job application info.”

“Seriously?” I folded my hands over my nightdress. “Are you stalking me?”

“I’m only trying to get what I want.” He shrugged, leaning against the doorframe. My gaze stupidly moved to his chest, taking in the details of how his white shirt hugged his torso.

He must have realized his effect on me, because he flashed a grin.

“Try harder.” My voice cracked and I shifted my gaze. I turned and rotated the door handle, ready to rush back inside, but was stopped by a firm grip around my waist.

My nerves jangled, cold sweat pooling around my body. Gently, he pulled me back. I spun, my legs kicking something as I curled into his chest, filling my nostrils with the scent of his aftershave.

I glanced down and two shopping bags were on the floor beside him.

“You don’t walk away from me, Jenna. Don’t forget I have the upper hand.” He sounded different. Less like Weston and more like a control freak.

But, of course he had the upper hand. The text.

I exhaled and broke free from his hold while waiting for his next threat.

He was silent for a while. When he finally spoke, his voice was back to being playful. “Here. I got you something.” He bent over and lifted the large shopping bags, stretching them out.

I glimpsed at the bags with an unreadable expression. After a bit of hesitation, I took the bags from him and peeped in, my forehead scrunched up.

Inside the first bag was a box of jewelry and a red dress; in the second was a pack of white shirts.

Really? What should I expect next?

I shook my head in dismay before pushing both bags against his chest. “Thanks, but you pay me more than enough to buy myself things.”

“C’mon,” he drawled, pushing them back into my hands. With his other hand, he lifted his face cap and lowered his head so close that his mouth was next to my ear. “It’s a gift, baby. It’s not polite to turn down a gift.”

Baby. Despite myself, my skin bristled and a tremor ran through me. I sighed and snatched the bags. “Fine.”

The door suddenly swung open. I screeched away from the entrance, pressing my back on the doorframe.

Lyra rushed out, now wearing a long backless dress with a small shoulder bag.

“Rowan is waiting downstairs. See you tomorrow,” she said, then paused. Her wide eyes moved from the shopping bags to Weston, then she squinted at him. “Make sure you take care of my friend, Mr. Weston.”

Weston flashed her a peace sign while I balled my fist, glaring at Lyra. But unfortunately, my anger didn’t stop my cheeks from turning red.

“Have fun, Lyra,” I muttered as she hurried off.

“So she’s the friend?”  Weston questioned.

“What?”

I could feel his intense gaze on me. He cleared his throat. “Who was supposed to receive the text of how you want to ride...”

“Oh God.” I hit him with one bag. “You have to stop doing this.”

“You have the power to make me stop, Jenna.” He laughed, displaying his white teeth. And oh god, I was distracted at how heavenly he looked.

I shifted my gaze to the full moon; above the dark clouds, fiddling with the strap of the shopping bag as the air grew heavy around us.

Weston tapped his fingers repeatedly on the doorframe, then cleared his throat. “Have dinner with me.” He nodded towards the street. “My driver is waiting.”

My gaze moved to the elderly man standing beside a black Audi that was parked some feet away from the pathway.

I wasn’t dressed to go out. I didn’t even want to go out. Slowly, I glanced back at Weston, then jerked my head backwards. “Are you asking me to have dinner with you so that you can change my mind?”

He nodded. Yeah, right. He stalked me just to ask me for dinner and convince me to be his fake girlfriend. What was I thinking?

“I have a suggestion.”

“I’m listening,” he said softly.

“Don’t you think it’d be better to get a real girlfriend?” I pressed one finger under my chin.

He shook his head. “I don’t do girlfriends.”

Of course. That was the slogan for men who I figured were scared of commitment. Dave told me the same, and I’d stupidly thought he’d change his mind if I stayed longer.

Exasperated, I sighed and rubbed one hand on my shoulder. “So you’ve never dated?”

“I dated in college,” he answered after hesitating for a while.

“So what happened? She dumped you for being cocky? The sex wasn’t good? Tell me.”

His brows drew together and he appeared more amused than annoyed. “You seem so interested in my sex life, Jenna.” He stepped closer, pocketing his hands. “How about we find out how good or bad I fuck?”

Heat travelled up from my stomach to my chest. I edged backwards and swallowed, then proceeded to be more persuasive. “That doesn’t answer my question, Mr. Weston.”

He ogled me for a long moment. I stared back, awkwardly. With a low groan, he rubbed his forehead and moved back from me.

“Baby, the sex was fine,” he said. “And no, she didn’t dump me. She…” he stopped talking, glanced at the street and said with a dry voice, “That’s not why I'm here.”

I snorted. Not like I wanted to know anyway.

“...Now back to you,” he continued, clamping his hand over the doorframe. “You said I should fake date someone I know.”

I waited for his next words.

“So this is me depriving myself of a fun evening to get to know you.” He blew out a breath, then lifted one finger. “I know you don’t have a sibling…” he lifted another. “Obviously you have a mom.”

I knew what was next. My breathing got loud, and inwardly I was screaming for him to shut up.

But he didn’t; instead he lifted another finger. “You have a dad.” I closed my eyes, as his voice echoed in my head.

And the self-absorbed prick continued, “Whose stubbornness did—”

I opened the door hastily, rushed in and slammed it in his face. Fuck you, Weston Reed.