Endless Obsession (8 page)

Unknown:
E.

Me:
So, what? Am I supposed to call you Mr. AE?

Unknown:
Again with the smart-mouth. I have so many plans for that mouth when we meet.

I roll my eyes, but can’t keep the small smile from my face.

Me:
Keep talking like that and we won’t.

I take my plate to the kitchen, dump the microwave container in the trash and put the plate in the dishwasher. I walk to the bedroom and set the phone on the dresser as I start removing my jewelry so I can take a shower. My phone pings as I’m closing my jewelry box.

Unknown:
Oh, we’re definitely going to meet. It’s inevitable.

Me:
And how can you be so sure? You seem rather cocky and too self-assured for my taste.

Unknown:
Because you’re mine.

I just make it to the sink in the bathroom when I freeze. What? I have to read the message two more times before I realize my eyes aren’t playing tricks on me, and I’m actually seeing what I thought I saw. I don’t even know how to process his last message. I know nothing of this man, and he’s already laying claim to me? Someone he’s never even met? Who does that? I read romance novels, and the whole alpha male persona has always been my favorite. But do men really do that in real life? And would I
want
a man to lay claim to me, especially this one?

Warning bells start going off in my head. This could turn out either way. With my abused body chopped up dead somewhere in the woods, or me with the type of man I’ve read about. A man that every girl secretly wishes she had. Am I stupid for even entertaining the thought that this could be a good thing? Again, I berate myself for letting a complete stranger get to me.

I continue to stand frozen on the spot, trying to form a reply. I must have been standing there several minutes because my phone alerts me of a new message.

Unknown:
Have I scared you?

Pulling in a deep breath, I answer honestly.

Me:
Quite frankly, yes.

Unknown:
Don’t be scared, Poppy. Being mine is something you’ll find very enjoyable.

Me:
How in the hell am I supposed to know that? And who claims a complete stranger? We don’t live in the dark ages anymore.

Unknown:
You’ll see soon enough how pleasurable it can be. And to answer your other question, I do. The very second my eyes first landed on you.

Me:
You’re certifiably crazy. Wait. Do you live in the crazy house? Did you steal one of the orderly’s phones?

I’m only half-joking at this point.

Unknown:
Not very funny. I can assure you, I am very sound of mind.

“That’s debatable,” I mutter to myself.

I ask him one question I’ve been curious about since this morning.

Me:
Why now?

There’s no need to elaborate. He knows what I’m asking, and he proves me right with his answer.

Unknown:
Because my control is wearing thin. I’ve waited long enough, and the time has finally come to make my intentions known.

Once again, his words knock the wind out of me. How in the hell can a virtual stranger cause my body to go haywire? This man has me on my toes. I have no clue what he’ll say next, or what effect his words will have on my body. I accused him of being the crazy one, but now it appears that I am. This stranger has me so intrigued, I’m completely disregarding every single warning I should take into consideration.

Unknown:
Enjoy your shower. Have a good night, beautiful Poppy. Sweet dreams.

I drop my phone on the sink, my mind reeling with too many thoughts. With my hands resting on the basin, I pick my head up and look in the mirror. I’m not surprised to see my face is flushed. This unknown man, in an extremely short amount of time, has me feeling things I never would have thought I could feel… from a stranger, no less. I’m not sure I like it, but it’s also not something I can ignore. The thought crosses my mind that I could stop all this. I could tell him… shit, I don’t even know what to call him. I could tell
Mr. AE
that I don’t want to have anything to do with him. Call this whole thing off and put him from my mind. I could refuse the flower deliveries and ignore his texts. However, I don’t take him for the type to simply give up.

I release my grip on the sink and walk back out to my bedroom when a thought enters my head, causing my body to seize.

How in the hell did he know I was taking a shower?

Last night was not a good night for me. I tossed and turned, being haunted by a faceless man. I dreamed. I know I did. But the only parts I remember are of a man standing in front of me, about ten feet away. It was dark out and he wore a black jacket. The hood was pulled over his head, rendering his face in dark shadows. My heart beat erratically and my body shook with excited energy when he slowly reached up to his hood, only for my treacherous body to wake up before his face was revealed.

I bolted up in bed, covered in sweat, with the sheets tangled around my legs and my breathing coming in loud huffs. After several seconds, I flopped back on the mattress and stared up at the ceiling until I drifted back to sleep, only to be woken again with the same dream. This happened four times before I gave up on sleep.

I crawled from my bed and did what I always did when I was stressed or worried—I cleaned. At four in the morning I was on my hands and knees, scrubbing the kitchen floor. Once that was done, I removed everything from my cabinets, cleaned the shelves, and rearranged everything before putting it all back. Next was washing every window in my house. Cleaning always helped me clear my mind; I got that trait from my mom. There were many times you’d catch us both cleaning the house from top to bottom. There was no need for spring cleaning in our house because it never got to the point where we needed to. Everything was already done.

As hard as I scrubbed the floor and windows, my thoughts kept going to Sterling, a name I dubbed my mystery man last night. I mean, I can’t very well keep referring to him as my mystery man, even though that’s what he is. I figured Sterling was a perfect match because of the roses he sends.

There’s no way he could have known I was getting in the shower. It had to be coincidence. It’s common for people to come home from work and shower, so he had to have assumed that’s what I would do. There’s no other explanation. Even with that thought, a little voice in the back of my head wouldn’t let me believe it. I pushed it away and locked it up tight in my ridiculous thoughts box.

After pulling the last of my curtains from the washer and throwing them in the dryer with a dryer sheet, I walk out of the laundry room and move to my office. I take a seat behind my desk and flip open my laptop, deciding to work on my family tree until I need to start getting ready for my date later this evening. My family tree is something I have been working on over the last few weeks.

I debated on cancelling my date tonight. Between being asked out by Eric and my texts with Sterling, it doesn’t feel right when I think about going. But Eric and I are just friends, and I have no intention of changing that, and I still have yet to discover who Sterling is. I should go. I don’t owe anyone anything. And it would be rude to cancel right before the date.

I spend the next couple hours working on my family tree, something I discovered I really enjoy doing, when my phone pings. My pulse quickens as I grab it off the desk. The name Sterling flashes across the screen, because I programmed his number and fake name into my phone last night.

Sterling:
What are your plans this weekend?

Hmm. I think a minute before replying. Should I tell him the truth about my date? It’s not like I’m hiding it or anything. He doesn’t own me… although, he sure seems to think he does, which is crazy, but I won’t lie. It doesn’t even matter what he thinks.

Me:
I have a date tonight.

I hold my breath and wait for his response. I don’t know why I even care.

His reply doesn’t come right away, and for several minutes I’m worried it won’t. He’s usually quick with his responses.

Finally, after several tense moments, my phone vibrates and dings. His message isn’t what I thought it would be, and if I’m being honest with myself, I’m a little disappointed with it.

Sterling:
Keep your phone with you at all times.

Huh? What happened to the caveman response I feared I would get from him? The response I was stupidly, but secretly, wanting? The you’re-mine-and-I-forbid-you-to-see-someone-else speech. I was sure I’d get a different reply.

Confused, and unwisely hurt, I send my reply.

Me:
I always have my phone with me.

Sterling:
Good. Have a great time tonight.

Umm… what the hell was that? I frown as I look back down at the message.

A little miffed, I decide to not add some kind of retort. I close down my computer and go to my room to get dressed for tonight. It’s stupid of me to be upset because he didn’t act the way I expected. The last thing I want or need is a man that’s possessive over me, but the thought of it appeals to me on some level.

I’m losing my mind.

My first mistake was continuing to accept his flower deliveries. My second was to engage in conversation with him. My third is letting him get to me. It’s definitely not normal for a woman to allow a man, a stranger, to capture her attention so completely. To let the same man get to her in ways that causes her body to tingle in awareness of him. It’s dangerous and stupid, and just asking for trouble. My only excuse is that the mystery of it all is so…
exciting
.

I shake my head and push thoughts of Sterling away as I pick out a deep plum, knee-length skirt and cream colored blouse, then I match the outfit with a pair of plum colored pumps. Moving to the bathroom, I touch up my makeup. I pull my hair up on the sides with small clips, leaving the back flowing and loose.

Looking at the time on my phone, it shows I have thirty minutes before my date is set to arrive. After tonight, I’m closing down my account on the dating site. Obviously, the guys that frequent them are all desperate douchebags. I’m wasting my time with them. I’m now starting to dread this date and wish I would have called and cancelled earlier.

I pull a bottle of wine from the fridge and have a glass while I wait. I have a feeling I’m going to need the extra boost it’ll give me to make it through the night, and it’s not long before my glass is empty. I pick up the bottle to pour more in my glass, when I hear a knock on the door. Putting the bottle back in the fridge, I grab my purse off the bar and walk to the door.

I’m pleasantly surprised when I see the man standing before me.

“Hi… Marc?” I ask with a smile. His own smile gets wider.

“Yes. Poppy, right?” His voice is deep. At my nod, he holds out his hand. “It’s lovely to meet you, Poppy.”

I grab it for a brief shake. “You as well.”

It only takes me a second to take him in. He’s handsome in his black slacks, dark blue button-down, short blond hair and brown eyes. According to his profile, he’s thirty-five.

My eyes land on the red roses he has in his hand. I feel terrible that my first reaction to seeing them is to roll my eyes. It’s not Marc’s fault that him bringing flowers isn’t anything special. I get them on a weekly basis. I don’t think getting flowers will ever be the same for me again, unless I get them from Sterling. For some reason, getting them from him always brings a smile to my face.

“Are those for me?” I ask with a gesture to the flowers when he just stands there and stares at me.

Coming out of his daze, he looks down, and then back up to me. He clears his throat before saying, “Yes, sorry. You’re just much prettier in person than you are in your profile picture.”

I blush and look down at my heels, feeling oddly strange by his compliment. I lift my head when I see him holding the roses out to me.

“Thank you. Would you like to come in while I put these in water?”

“Sure,” he says, and I take a step back to allow him to enter.

I go to the kitchen and pull out one of the many vases I have from my roses from Sterling. It seems wrong to put Marc’s flowers in one of them, but with a shrug, I do so anyway.

Marc doesn’t follow behind me. Once I’m done, I walk back to the living room to find him looking at the family pictures I have on my wall.

“All done. Are you ready?”

He gives me a friendly smile. “Yes.”

I lead him to the door after grabbing my purse and phone. Once I lock the door, we walk to a white, newer style SUV. Normally, I tell my dates I’ll meet them at the restaurant, but the last two times I haven’t. I’d prefer to keep my address anonymous. You’d think, especially after last time, I would continue with that. But Marc seemed like a genuinely good guy. No, I don’t know him that well, but we’ve talked over the phone a few times, and through chat more often, and I never got a creepy or nefarious vibe from him. He’s been sweet and kind, and seems to be very open about himself. Any questions I’ve asked, he’s answered without hesitation. Yes, he could be lying, but again, I don’t get that vibe.

Regardless of how nice he is, though, after tonight, I won’t be seeing him again.

Marc takes me to a nice Italian restaurant in the heart of Atlanta. I’ve never been here, but I pass by it almost daily. Besides the custom low-lit interior with small intimate tables draped in white linen cloths and a single rose in the center, there’s outdoor seating, but we both opt to sit inside, even though the weather is nice.

“So,” I say, trying to make conversation while we wait on our wine to arrive. “You said you work in real estate. What exactly do you do?”

He links his fingers together on the table and looks at me as he talks. “I’m a realtor. I sell personal properties. I don’t deal with commercial properties, although that is my goal for the future. The market is finally starting to rise and the potential is definitely there.”

“And how long have you been a real estate agent?”

“Two years next month.” He beams a proud smile at me. He has a really nice smile.

The waiter appears with our wine and pours both of us a glass. I pick mine up for a taste. It’s Moscato, and it’s delicious. I’m very selective with my wine and Champagne choices. Moscato is definitely one of them.

After the waiter takes our order, I turn back to Marc.

“Do you like what you do?”

“Actually, I do. I know it may sound corny of me, but I like knowing I help people find their dream homes. A place they will grow and possibly raise a family in.”

“I don’t think it’s corny at all. I think it’s great that you enjoy what you do. You become a small part of their future happiness.”

“What about you?” I raise my brow in question. “Do you enjoy being—you said you were a personal assistant to some big hotshot businessman, right?” At my nod, he continues. “Do you enjoy essentially, no offense to you or him, being a gofer for someone else?”

I take no offense to his gofer comment, because that’s basically what I am. I do the things that Mr. Knight doesn’t have time to do, or doesn’t want to do. I run errands for him, fetch things he may need, do tedious and mundane tasks, but I don’t mind it. Not only because the pay is good, but the environment is welcoming and friendly. It’s not lost on me that my job and situation could be much worse. I could work for a grumpy old man that likes to berate his employees and demand twelve-hour work days, or run his employees to the bone. Mr. Knight has been a very kind and generous boss.

“No offense taken, but I do enjoy my work. My boss has been very nice to me and the other people he employs. I got this job at a time in my life when I wasn’t doing so well financially, and I desperately needed money. He took me on with no experience. I also met my best friend there.”

I reach over and break off a small piece of a breadstick and pop it into my mouth. The last time I ate was this morning. I didn’t realize how hungry I was until we got to the restaurant and smelled the delicious array of food.

“Does your family live here?” I ask after washing down my food with a sip of wine and wiping my mouth with my napkin.

Marc’s eyes flicker away from mine and he fidgets in his chair. Hmm… that’s interesting. Obviously, this subject is something he doesn’t like to talk about. I can understand that.

I’m just about to apologize for being nosey, when he answers.

“I actually don’t have any family here. They’re all out west. We’re…” It takes him a minute to find the right word, “…estranged. I haven’t seen them in over seven years.”

“I’m so sorry to hear that. I can’t imagine how hard that must be for you.”

He shrugs. Something passes over his face, and if I’m not mistaken, it’s anger. The look doesn’t settle well. I keep my mouth shut, not asking him to elaborate. It’s none of my business.