She frowned as a faint lingering unease in the back of her mind shot to the front.
How did I not notice before?
Peyton was wearing some sort of earpiece. She’d been too embarrassed to ask him about it, thinking it was a hearing aid. She hadn’t wanted to come off shallow, but she now realized that every time he’d spoken on his phone he didn’t hold it up to his ear, but his mouth. The earpiece wasn’t for a hearing aid at all.
What kind of man lived in a place that looked like he could abandon it with a day’s notice and who needed to speak to his boss all the time? Two possibilities came to mind: spy or criminal.
Tricia swallowed. Peyton could be a serial killer. She grabbed her phone out of her purse and submitted the picture she’d taken when he was on the phone and his name to her Athena Shield Personal Protection App, now glad she had paid for the premium package. LA was full of weirdoes, after all.
She took a few deep breaths as she waited for the app to process his information and spit back public record entries. The app would at least help her confirm that he’d lived in LA for a while.
NO RECORDS FOUND.
Tricia blinked at the phone. She’d tried it on all her friends when she’d first downloaded it, and she’d never failed to find a record, even if it involved someone with the same name.
She adjusted a few settings and tried again.
NO RECORDS FOUND.
“Maybe there’s something wrong with the app.”
Tricia tapped her name and location as Los Angeles, but nothing else. She submitted the search.
Dozens of records links populated the screen within seconds.
The bedroom door opened and Peyton stepped out a broad smile on his face, his suit jacket already off.
“Do you want a drink?” he inquired.
Tricia shook her head. She nibbled on her lip and tried to calm her pounding heart. She stared down at her phone. It was like Peyton didn’t even exist.
Maybe he is a spy. But why would a spy be hooking up with women on dating sites? This could be some sort of trick to use me in some weird international intrigue thing.
Tricia stopped herself from gasping. She worried about him being a spy or criminal, but he could be some sort of shape-changing Oriceran monster, too.
She headed over to the couch and dropped into it. “Why did you pick my profile?”
“Huh?”
“On Hello Cupid. Why me?”
Peyton smiled. “Because you’re attractive and seemed a little quirky. In other words, my kind of girl.”
“They don’t have attractive and quirky girls at your company?”
He laughed and slid in beside her. She scooted to the other side of the couch.
“It’s a very small company,” Peyton explained. “Most start-ups are. The only woman who works at the place… Let’s just say she’s not my type.”
“That your boss?”
A sheepish looked passed over his face. “Yeah. She’s a real ball-buster.”
“What’s the company called?”
Peyton blinked as if the question had taken him off-guard. “Um, I’m under a non-disclosure agreement right now. I can’t really talk about a lot of the details.”
“You can’t say the name of the company you’re working for?” Tricia eyed him with suspicion.
Peyton shrugged. “That’s the tech industry for you.”
“Okay, sure, fine. What did you do before you worked for your super-secret company?”
“Freelance IT consulting.” He waved a hand. “It’s all very boring. You wouldn’t be interested.”
“But you lived in LA then?”
Peyton nodded. “Yeah.”
“Here?”
“You mean this apartment?”
“Yeah.”
“Um, no. This is kind of a newer place. Still kind of getting used to it.”
Tricia narrowed her eyes. “Where did you live?”
“You sure you’re not interested in a drink?” Peyton asked, a nervous tone in his voice. “I think I am. Do you mind?”
“Knock yourself out.”
Peyton hopped up and headed into his kitchen.
Tricia reached into her purse and rested her hand on her pepper spray. Even shape-changing Oriceran monsters had eyes and mouths.
Peyton poured himself a glass of wine and gulped half of it down.
“Tell me more about your boss,” Tricia pressed.
“My boss?” He gulped down the rest of the wine. “I can’t…really talk about her much.”
“Oh, come on. I’ve had friends who’ve signed NDAs. It’s not like you’re working for the CIA. You just can’t talk about your day-to-day job.” Her hand still in her purse, Tricia removed the cap of the pepper spray.
Unless he is working for the CIA. I’m not going to be used for some weird spy games.
Peyton walked back to the couch. “It’s not like I can’t talk about her. It’s more that I don’t want to. Does that make sense?”
Tricia stood, her gaze locked on Peyton. “Look, you seem nice, and you’re cute, but I’ve got a headache, so I think I should head home.”
“A headache?”
“Yeah.”
Disappointment blasted over Peyton’s face, and he sighed. “I’ll drive you home.”
She shook her head. “That’s okay. I’m going to walk for a bit to clear my head and call a Lyft.”
“You sure?” Peyton sighed again.
“Very sure.” Tricia backed toward the door, her hand still on the pepper spray. “I hope you get a better job soon.” Still facing Peyton, she opened the door and slipped through.
Peyton stared at the closed door for a good minute. The night had started awkwardly, but he’d thought Tricia agreeing to come back home with him was a good sign. He didn’t understand what had brought on the game of Twenty Questions.
He dropped onto his couch face-first.
It’s never going to work, is it? I can’t have a long-term relationship with the civilian population, and even a one-night stand seems like it’ll be too much trouble.
Peyton groaned and closed his eyes. It was hard being a dead guy.
Osiris hopped on the couch and rubbed against Peyton’s face. At least his cat understood.
He opened his eyes. “Okay, if I can’t have a real life separate from my work life, then no reason to keep you away from the
