Elliott Miller is your average 23 year-old, only with a lost father and a resentful mother. When he goes back to his hometown to make amends, he inadvertently gets dragged into the activities of an illicit criminal group.
Enter Marcel Nixon, 25, wh...
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"That took way too long. I'm so hungry I could eat plastic at this point."
I nodded along while Viv droned on about the shoot, which, by the way, only lasted for three hours. I'm not going to lie and say it wasn't incredibly boring to hold poses for hours in tight clothes, but it didn't make sense for her to complain since she was just barking orders at everyone the whole time.
"Anyways, there's this new Italian place around the corner. They had pretty good reviews for..."
"Hey, I've got to go take care of something for a minute. You go ahead and text me when you're there, okay?"
Without waiting for her response, I darted around the corner and stepped into a bookstore that we passed a minute ago. I looked around for a few seconds before I found the person I'd been wanting to confront. Same guy, same black shirt, same unreadable face, but this time, I wasn't letting it go.
"Are you stalking me?"
His head turned and my breathing hitched as we made eye-contact for the second time. He was magnitudes more breathtaking in person, but that fact was currently overridden by the possibility that I was being followed by a stranger.
"What?"
I crossed my arms and assumed a defiant attitude, not buying his apparent confusion.
His eyes scanned my face before he slowly closed the book.
"I'm not following you," he said. "I'm actually looking out for you."
I blinked.
"Cute distinction, but try again."
"I've been assigned to you."
"Assigned..." I said the word like it tasted bad. "That's not creepy at all. And by whom, exactly?"
"I'm not at liberty to disclose all the details but let's just say you're in good hands, should you choose to trust me."
I narrowed my eyes, heart thudding harder now, but I didn't back away.
"You're gonna need to explain that a hell of a lot more if you want me to trust you."
He gave a tight nod.
"A week ago, you were at a cafe in Los Angeles. We believe you were seen by members of a trafficking ring during a high-level exchange. Ivory and other parts of endangered species. They're connected, well-funded, and extremely cautious. You likely didn't notice anything. But you were seen. And now they think you saw too much," he explained, pausing for a second.
He looked around, possibly to check for unwanted eavesdroppers, before leaning in and whispering something near my ear.
"Although between you and me, I think something doesn't add up. I think this wasn't just a chance encounter and that there's something else going on."
His warm breath grazed the side of my neck, sending shivers through my body. My pulse spiked, entirely unhelpfully. It was a reckless time for my body to be aroused by an infuriatingly handsome possible-stalker, and yet here I was, half-thinking about the scent of his cologne.
He pulled back slightly, just enough to meet my gaze again, the corners of his mouth lifting slightly like he knew exactly what effect he was having.
"But hey," he said with a shrug, "what do I know?"
I cleared my throat and stepped back, reclaiming some personal space.
"Umm, yeah sure. Listen, this was fun and all but I have lunch plans already and I'm not about to refuse free food with someone who let's me ugly-cry on their shoulder. So if you'd kindly stop following me, I'd be happy to play spy games afterward."
Marcel raised an eyebrow. "You're serious."
"Did you not hear me say free food?"
I had no idea where all this newfound sass was coming from but I was thanking all the Gods above for it. Heaven knows I'd be a stuttering mess if it weren't for the clever side of me that took over.
"No," he said firmly. "You're not going anywhere alone."
I blinked, surprised by the sudden change. "Excuse me?"
"You can eat," he said. "You can see your friend- if it's a public place with enough visibility and foot traffic. But I'll be nearby the entire time. We're past the point of casual now."
I stared at him, jaw slightly clenched.
"She's going to know something's off if I show up with a guy lurking in the corner like a Bond villain."
"You're not understanding the severity of this. You think this is still just about being watched, but that line was crossed two days ago. I'm not about to let you blow up an operation that's been ongoing for decades just because you're too flippant to understand these things."
"You can see your friend," he said, his voice a shade softer. "You can eat. But I stay close. In the room. In line of sight. We leave straight after and head to the safehouse. That's non-negotiable. We don't have to like it, but it has to be done."
The way he said it left no room for argument.
I sighed.
"Fine, but you'll need to get my stuff from my apartment. I'll take you there after lunch."
"That's not my job," he deadpanned, and I narrowed my eyes at him.
"Make it your job," I replied at walked away, acutely aware that I was going to be followed but too hungry to care. It was the least he could do after I agreed to his proposition.
