It’s a basic research job on a client. We check their backgrounds before agreeing to help them. You’d be surprised how many people think they can pull the wool over our eyes. From angry spouses trying to cheat their soon-to-be ex-significant others out of their share of marital property to gold diggers trying to research potential love matches, we get a ton of shady people asking for our help.
“Cool. I’ll get on this right away.”
His eyes narrow, and I know he isn’t doubting my skills but rather doubting I’ll put a rush on getting him the information he needs.
“No rush,” he assures me.
Famous last words, especially spoken to someone with time management and procrastination issues.
“Deacon is going to be out of town for a few days.”
“So you’re in charge?” I salute him.
He just shakes his head, but I can tell he doesn’t want to walk away without warning me about stalking Whitney Nelson. He’s well aware of what I was doing when he walked in, and I already used the excuse that I’ve been hired on the side to ensure my apartment building’s camera system is up to snuff earlier this week.
“Do you want to come to brunch this we—”
“Nope. Got plans,” he interrupts before I can complete my invite.
“Plans?” Unless the guys are working, they never have plans.
“Personal plans,” he explains, and if I weren’t anxious to get him out of my office so I can go back to watching Whitney finish her workout, I’d grill him for more information.
I’m honestly certain he’s lying because he’s been with me once to Nana’s for brunch, and she spent the day trying to set him up with a nice girl she met at Target, although she’d only met the girl once and couldn’t remember her name. Nana is crafty like that, thinking everyone who doesn’t have a significant other is missing out on all the amazingness of being in a loving, healthy relationship. I’ve tried explaining to her more than once that not everyone will meet a person like my grandfather, and not every woman is as incredible as her. Usually she follows this up with a swat on the back of the head and a demand to quit trying to change the subject by buttering her up.
“You sure?”
He backs away, slowly leaving my office.
“Yep. Got plans.” The door snaps closed behind him.
“I should’ve led with that,” I grumble as I turn my computer monitors back on.
“He’s lying,” Puff Daddy says.
I ignore him because Whitney is no longer on the treadmill. A quick look at the corner of my screen tells me she cut her workout short today.
“Damn it,” I mutter, searching feeds in other areas of the building only to come up empty.
Minimizing the image of her apartment door to the lower corner, I fight the urge to dig a little deeper. It’s probably only a few minutes of my fingers twitching near my keyboard before they start moving, but it feels like an eternity.
I don’t dig deep. I’m not going to invade her privacy much more than I already have, but I need to know what this woman does for fun.
“How would you like it if someone—”
“Finish that sentence, and you’ll stay home when I go to Nana’s.”
My crazy bird hardly ever listens, but the threat of not getting the chance to be spoiled by my grandmother works every time.
He’s the result of a teenage barter exchange I made in high school, and I can say most days I’m glad that minimal amount of information handed over to the principal in exchange for him was a move well made. I mean, should it really be illegal to help the school administration shut down a small drug ring going on around campus? The cops thought so when Mr. Woolry got arrested, but like a true gentleman he never ratted me out.
My fingers work over the keyboard, a smile tugging up the corners of my lips when I find her computer system way more protected than the average person’s. Her firewall is nothing to sneeze at, but it isn’t strong enough to keep me from backdooring her safeguards.
As I dig around, I’m tempted to leave a crumb for her to find later, but I don’t see her confronting me online as a way to introduce myself. I’m not very good at relationships and breaching personal information doesn’t seem like getting to know someone small talk.
“Bingo,” I sing when I hit pay dirt. “I fucking love this game. A little slow for my liking, but I’ve never been good at putting off instant gratification.”
I back out of her system after checking how many hours she’s logged on Orc’s Realm and set off to make a brand-new account. Playing ignorant is going to work much better for me than using my original account which has beaten the game in its entirety more than once. Plus, if she has a cat, which I suspect from the way she opens her door to visitors, then she has to have a ton of patience to help a noob on the game. Women with cats, I’ve discovered, are some of the most patient women in the world.
Puff Daddy yells at me for being a creep several more times, and it takes all of my focus not to turn my head to look at the box stashed away in the corner. Deacon told me to give it back to her, but I opened the damn thing. Just the idea of knocking on her door and handing over a box of kinky shit that she knows I’ve seen makes my heart race.
It's one thing to set up an online hookup and tell the girl you’re bringing supplies, but to show up on a doorstep uninvited, with those same things that belong to her, goes so far out of my wheelhouse, I would never even try it.
Chapter 4
Whitney
“That motherfu—”
I
