ABOUT THE BOOK
๐
She was everything he never knew he needed.
He was everything she avoided.
๐
It's not the first time I've been called a stalker.
I canโt blame Andrew Christiansen for thinking that since we keep crossing paths, especially when I pop up in the most unexpected of placesโhis office.
Weโre opposites in every way. Not the kind that attract.
Iโve been called a ray of sunshine. Heโs been called a grumpy workaholic that needs an attitude adjustment. By me.
Somehow, we become friends, the teasing, flirting, and kissing kind. But this thing blooming between us threatens to turn this relationship from friends-to-lovers into a full-blown office romance.
That's the least of my worries because one or two, little, okay big, secrets I've been keeping may turn him from the one I want into the one I can't have.
I hear a familiar bark and turn back. The woman from the park rushes
toward the nearest shop as if I didnโt just bust her for following me. โWhat
are you doing?โ I ask. โAre you stalking me?โ I might be jumping ahead of
myself, but better to settle it now. A lot of weird stuff was happening at the
park. Is she to blame?
Despite Rascalโs joy to see me,
obstinance stiffens her shoulders, and she scoffs. โYou wish.โ Her hand flies
out. โIt just so happens that Iโm walking in the same direction. So what?โ
โDefensive,โ I reply, analyzing her body
language. Crossed arms. Straight line across her lips. Half-mast eyelids as she
glares at me.
โIโm not defensive. Iโm offended. You
just called me a stalker.โ
โMy bad.โ
โYouโre bad, all right.โ She angles her
chin up, and adds, โYou can go about your day now.โ
Iโm tempted to chuckle, but Iโm thinking
itโs wise to restrain myself. โI will. Good day.โ
โGood day, sir,โ she says to my back as I
walk away.
I stop again, but this time, I donโt look
back. Forcing myself to walk forward, I continue through the upscale
neighborhood to the next block. I busy my attention on the architecture until I
hear Rascal bark again.
I knew I shouldnโt have talked to a
stranger. She may be hot, but she could also be deranged, using her dog as a
ploy to trick her next victim to her lair. What am I even talking about?
When I turn back this time, she sidles
quickly up to a coffee shop window, pretending to know the people sitting on
the other side.
By how they turn their backs to her, they
donโt reciprocate. โNice try,โ I tease.
Glancing at me, she huffs. โIโm walking in
the same direction. Itโs no big deal, for Godโs sake.โ She punctuates the words
with an epic eye roll as if Iโm putting her out. Huffing, she grabs Rascal,
clutching him to her side.
โHis feet haveโโ
โShit.โ
โExactly.โ
Anger fills her chest, and she shakes her
head, exhaling it loudly with a foot stomp. โUgh! Iโll go this way.โ
As. If. Iโm the
nuisance.
Me?
Why am I even sticking around to have
this conversation? Why am I bothering? Going in different directionsโthatโs us.
She crosses the street, and I turn the corner, both of us heading back to our
own lives and hopefully never seeing each other again.
I continue toward the building up ahead
alone. Iโm good. Iโm fine. Alone is
how I thrive. Iโll be here a year or two. Thatโs nothing. I have plenty of work
to keep me busy.
Work.
Iโm here for work. Thatโs it. I have a
plan in place, and nothing and no one will keep me from achieving my goals.
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