Chapter 6

Chapter Six

LUCILLE

Gasping, I sit straight up and wildly look around the room, trying to find the source of what’s startled me awake. It’s the middle of the day still; I can see the light coming in through the small slats of my blinds.

Quietly, I sit and listen, waiting for whatever it was that caused me to wake the way it did. Pressing my lips together, I breathe through my nose. In and out. In and out. But there is nothing.

Slowly, I lie back down on my pillow and look up at the ceiling.

I blink, roll to my side, and stare at the wall as I try to force myself to fall asleep again.

It doesn’t work.

Whatever startled me, I’m now awake, and there is no more going back to sleep. Reaching for my phone, I glance down at the time. It’s only one in the afternoon. Which means I got about five hours of sleep. This is going to suck.

With a heavy sigh, I push up to a seated position and slide out of bed. There is no use lying there any longer. Walking into the bathroom, I wince at the sight of my hair. It’s sticking out in all different directions, half curly, half a ratted mess. And this is why I don’t sleep with my hair wet.

Instead of worrying about said hair, I grab a claw clip and twist my mess into a bun, then clip it in place. Next, I use the facilities, then throw on some lounge clothes sans bra and panties. I'll worry about those later.

Moving toward the kitchen, I make myself a cup of coffee, and at the same time, I pour myself a glass of water. Once I’ve added creamer to my coffee, I take both cups and set them down on the small table next to my sofa.

I sit down and gather my computer to settle in for a good investigation session.

My first search is Asher Grant.

Because that name has been playing on repeat since I discovered it last night. Nothing pops up immediately when I submit the search. But as I scroll through the second page, I pause at the information that the site is giving me.

There is a whole people search page that shows everything I could possibly want to know about Asher Grant in Nights, NC— for a fee .

I pay said fee because I want to know everything I possibly can, including jail records. I want it all. And I want to know how old he is and who his fucking family is. I want to know what property he owns and how on earth he is tied to Emmie. Is he her father? Is he her husband? Her brother?

I know this man is something, and I’m going to figure it out. This situation is eating at me. I’ve never been this obsessed with one of Theron’s women before. However, there’s never been one who he’s stayed with this long. It’s been months, and I don’t like any of that.

Typing in my credit card information, I roll my eyes as the website says they’ll email me within forty-eight hours with my results.

Lame.

Closing my computer, I wrap my fingers around my coffee cup handle and stand up, arching my back to stretch it out. Since I won’t be getting any answers on Asher today, I walk over to the window that looks out over the city.

There is a park not too far away, close enough. I used to run there in the mornings after I got off work. I haven’t done that in a while. I twisted my knee and never got back into it. I should have. It’s great exercise, releases endorphins, and reduces my stress load.

Lifting my coffee to my lips, I take a sip and close my eyes for a moment as the warm liquid slides down my throat and touches my soul. Before I can fully enjoy the completion of the sip, I open my eyes and look down on the sidewalk.

I recognize the car that is parked at my curb.

It seems that the stalker has become the stalkee.

Interesting.

Theron’s car is at the curb. I don’t take my eyes off him. A few moments later, he pulls away and eases into traffic. Then he’s gone. Poof. Gone . I stay at the window for a little while longer, then decide that the day is wasting away, and I need to get my shit together.

So, I do just that.

Dressing quickly, I throw on a pair of tennis shoes, grab my oversized sunglasses, and head out the door. It takes me a little longer than it should to find Emmie. When I drive up to the gallery, I notice that it’s closed today.

That means I need to dive deeper into her social media. She’s at a salon getting her hair done… and she posted five minutes ago, tagging the location and name of the salon. The salon is downtown and only a short walk from the gallery.

I’m wearing my walking shoes, so I make my way down to said salon. It’s in a small building, with only a couple of chairs, and I spot her instantly. Wrapping my fingers around the door handle, I tug it open.

Today, I’ll be making contact for the first time. I’m excited. There will never be anything more thrilling than this. The first contact. She doesn’t know me, but I already know a hell of a lot about her.

The stylist behind Emmie’s chair looks over her shoulder in my direction with a smile on her face. I’m sure it’s fake as hell, but I don’t care. I’m being fake as hell today, too. We’ll be twins. I return her smile and make my way over to the counter.

“Hello,” she calls out. “Claire will be right with you.”

Tipping my head, I turn toward the little boutique items for sale. There are bracelets and necklaces, and then there are hair products and even some makeup. I haven’t spent much time at the salon.

I don’t think I’ve had my hair cut or styled in at least a year. Maybe I should get mine done today and spend some time getting to know Emmie. A woman appears as my finger glides over this soft leather-type bracelet.

“Can I help you?” she asks, her voice a few octaves higher than what it should be.

Obviously, it’s her customer service voice. I don’t hate on her because I used to answer phones for a call center, and I had a completely fake voice for the whole thing. I even had a fake laugh. It was ridiculous.

“Yes, I was wondering if I could get in for a cut and style today at all?” I ask.

Her eyes widen, and she opens her mouth, most likely to tell me no, but then Emmie’s stylist calls out from where she is. “I can fit you in. Emmie’s got to sit while her color sets anyway.”

Perfection.

THERON

I’m not sure what possessed me to sit at the curb in front of Lucille’s place. I woke up thinking about her, then checked on my surveillance of her room and saw her messy bed, but no her. Something told me to head to her place. I couldn’t make myself go inside, though, even though I could have.

I sat at the curb until I saw her standing in front of her window, a coffee in hand, staring at the park in her view. I’ve stood at that exact window and looked at that exact view many years ago.

Then she tipped her chin, and I swear to fucking god she could see my face through the tinted windows of my car. I should wash my hands of her, delete the cameras from my feed, and forget she exists.

But I can’t.

Lucille Sanders has a hold on me that I don’t think will ever loosen.

I’m not sure how long I stay at her curb, with her eyes seemingly having X-ray vision and watching me until I leave. Easing my car into traffic, I head toward the office. With only five hours of sleep, I am fucking exhausted.

Something woke me up with a startle, and there was no going back to sleep. I say something woke me up, but it wasn’t just something. It was a nightmare—a nightmare from my past. I haven’t had one of those in years, and I know that this whole thing with Ravet is bringing that shit up.

I park in my spot, unfold from my seat, and make my way to the door. Using my fingerprint, I tug the door open and slip inside. When the lock clicks into place, I head toward my office.

I want to check on the surveillance of the Willow Club, but I decide to do that before I leave for the night. I can’t obsess over it as much as I want to. I need to distance myself, or I’ll dive so deep into it that I may not be able to dig myself back out again.

Sinking down in my chair, I power up my computer and type in my password when prompted. I have a few contracts to look over and send out for signing. As much as I want to ignore my regular work in favor of watching the Willow Club, I can’t. The business still needs to run smoothly, or we won’t get paid.

And being paid is what’s fucking important at the end of the day. We did not become who we are, in general, without making deals and cashing checks. We all have bills to pay, and if I don’t draw up contracts and get them signed, we don’t get those bills paid.

I’m not sure how long I spend working. I’ve got my head down when there is a knock on my office door.

“Come in,” I call out as I reach for the button beneath my desk that unlocks the door without looking up.

“Mr. Henderson, sir,” my assistant’s voice hesitantly calls out.

Lifting my eyes, I look across the room to Nadine. She is shifting from side to side, her eyes focused on the floor in front of her. She’s a nice girl, though a bit quiet and reserved for my taste, which is why I chose her to be my assistant. She does her job well, and I don’t want to fuck her.

It’s a win-win for me.

“Nadine,” I murmur. “You can look at me.”

Leaning back in my chair slightly, I lift my eyes to look at her directly. She brings her attention up to meet mine and gives me a trembling smile. The girl is the most nervous creature I think I’ve ever met in my life.

“Mr. Merrick stopped by and asked me if you had the contract for the new Florida job,” she murmurs. “He wants to see it before you send it off to them.”

“Thanks,” I murmur.

She dips her chin slightly, takes a step backward, and then scurries out of my office like she always does. As if her ass is literally on fire. Reaching for my phone, I send a text to Merrick and tell him that the contract is ready and he can come to my office to review it.

I also don’t understand what this is about. He’s never asked to review anything before I sent it out, so I’m not quite sure what this is concerning, and the way Nadine was acting, while not completely unusual, also was a bit shady.

A few moments later, my office door opens and it’s Merrick standing in the doorway. He jerks his chin in my direction, closes and locks the door behind him, then walks over to one of the chairs that sits across from me.

“That contract isn’t the norm,” he announces.

“It’s not the norm?” I ask. “Want to expand on that?”

He sucks in a deep breath, holds it for a moment, then lets it out slowly. “I fucked the daughter,” he announces.

My eyes widen. I’m not sure how to respond to that. We’ve always made it a point not to fuck where we sleep. This means don’t fuck anyone who is hiring us, who has hired us, and who may hire us.

Jesus fucking Christ.