Chapter 2

chapter

two

Hayden

Mills Mosley.

That was the name on the card.

I'll never forget that name, her kindness, or her gorgeous smile.

Following Mills up the 401 is wrong on so many levels. I'm better than this… aren't I?

Sure I am. I'm known to protect my friends and family when strangers do precisely what I'm doing. I've body-checked guys at bars who try to follow my friends to their cars in the parking lot. Is what I'm doing right now worse than that?

It's wild the way I make justifications for my actions. The fact that Mills mentioned her crappy car was all the excuse I needed to give in to this urge to follow her home.

Part of me considers calling up my contact at the security firm and having them run her license plate, but that would be illegal. And wrong. And I wouldn't do that.

I manage to keep up with Mills through an hour of snarled LA traffic. Finally, Mills's Rav4 parks along the street in front of a crappy apartment complex. I park my Range Rover two buildings away, watching her lift her bag from the trunk.

A neighbor carrying a small brown dog walks up to Mills. He looks like a creep, which has nothing to do with how I feel about her—I'm positive about that. Mills reacts excitedly, hugging her neighbor, sending a jolt of jealousy to my belly. Meanwhile, the dog wriggles, trying to escape the neighbor's grip.

The dog jumps into Mills's arms and licks her face, and everyone laughs. The whole scene looks staged, like a chewing gum commercial. But it's only the neighbor who actually seems fake to me. I can't put my finger on why.

I wish Mills had a German shepherd instead of a Boston terrier, but then again, that's why I'm here. I was destined to follow her home all along, because of the greater good. I have a higher calling than retail sports equipment, and that higher calling is simply looking out for Mills.

Scanning the area, I take it all in. It all makes sense now. I don't like Mills's car, this neighborhood, that building, her creepy neighbor.

Mills needs a whole lot more than three hundred bucks to fix her problems, and now I feel ten times more justified in following her home.

The annoyingly helpful neighbor lifts Mills's suitcase onto the sidewalk, rolls it to the building, and then proceeds to haul the bag up a long flight of stairs. That's nice. I guess.

The small dog's butt wiggles as Mills attaches its leash and sets it down, laughing and clearly asking the creature if it wants to go for a walk.

Mills is happy with her energetic little canine as they stroll down the sidewalk toward my car.

Should I duck down and hide?

But why, though? This is a public street, and I haven't done anything illegal. Creepy? For sure. But still not as creepy as the neighbor, with his perfect hair and pressed shirt.

Mills and her dog walk right past the front of my Range Rover without noticing me inside it.

In my side mirror, she walks on, waving to another neighbor and then another, before disappearing around the corner.

My heart hammers in panic when she disappears, so I make a U-turn and follow her. For my health and peace of mind. That's all.

At a park down that street, I spot a small, fenced-in area where other dogs frolic together off-leash. I take an educated guess that that's where Mills is headed, and I park nearby to watch.

Sure enough, Mills arrives with her little buddy, and she enters the dog park. Suddenly, the whole mood of the park shifts, as if the party has arrived. The other dog owners engage in and laugh at Mills's stories. Her dog is excellent and socialized around the other canines but doesn't tolerate butt-sniffing. I laugh as he turns and nips at a Labrador five times his size, who backs off immediately.

If I wasn't behaving like a weirdo right now, I could be a part of that interaction. Instead, I'm parked under a tree, wondering what her sweaty underwear smells like. An ache below my belt at the thought of her scent has me adjusting the annoying erection in my trousers.

After about twenty drooling minutes under the sun, the dog trots up to Mills and looks at her pleadingly. She picks him up, kisses his head, and scratches him behind the ears. Time to head home.

Which is where I should go. I should be heading back to my house in Beverly Hills, sleeping off the jet lag from traveling home from my brand meeting with Conquest Sports Australia.

But instead, I'm here, following Mills back to her apartment building.

What is wrong with me?

I must want to get caught, because I've recklessly parked directly in front of her building in a lucky open spot. And now, Mills has spotted my car and stops in her tracks.

The look of surprise and confusion on her face is adorable.

This is it.

Busted, I roll down my window and lean out, owning my shit.

"Hi," she says, confusion furrowing her brow. "Fancy seeing you again. Do you live here, too?"

Failing to control the scoff in my reaction, I say, "No, I do not."

Her face changes from confused to slightly offended.

I regret that.

"I mean, it would be a crazy coincidence if I did live here, wouldn't it?" I say in a feeble attempt to recover from being revealed as an outright snob.

Mills's pretty eyebrows draw together. "Yeah. That would be a crazy coincidence. So, what are you doing here? I thought you hadn't slept in 24 hours and were desperate to get home."

"I've evolved since then."

She laughs. "Seriously, though."

Finally, I go with honesty.

"The truth is, I followed you."