Preying on You

Preying on You

A Hidden Chapters novella

This book is a work of
fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real
locales are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and
incidents are products of the author’s imagination, and any
resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead,
is entirely coincidental.

Copyright ©2015 by Elise
Holden, LLC.

All rights reserved,
including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any
form.

available in ebook
format.

Smashwords
Edition

Acknowledgements

Writing is never a solo
endeavor.

The entire Hidden Chapters
series is dedicated to those who have experienced love in all of
its many facets and chosen to speak out about it.

Preying on You

A
ttraction. Enticement. Temptation. Possession. Deception.
Betrayal.

Each, a powerful force when wielded by
someone knowledgeable in the art. The thrill of the hunt, too
alluring to ignore. The pain of remorse and treachery too severe. I
have known each of these in my life. Spent years trying to perfect
some, while fleeing from others and their destructive
path.

These thoughts are what consume me
each night as I dip my head in greeting to Calvin, the doorman of
my high-rise building. Like ghosts that haunt my steps, the
memories are ever with me. Longings and regrets. Desires paired
with a damning Judas kiss. A need to forget and embrace what could
be, yet held back by the fear of letting the pain of past mistakes
snare me a second time.

Entering the foyer, a draft of cold
slips beneath my over-the-knee skirt. I veer toward the elevators,
and a heightened sense of excitement deepens my flush. I unbutton
the top three buttons of my winter coat with the pretense of being
too warm and check to make sure the cut of my shirt is low enough
in the polished doors before me. I glance toward my reflection and
note that the wind has not unsettled any of my chestnut strands
from under my hat.

I prefer a classic beauty, natural and
sophisticated. Pursing my glossed lips, I tweak my cheeks to revive
my coloring. My skin is pale, especially in the wintertime. My legs
look long and sleek beneath my tapered skirt. Smoky eye shadow
makes my hazel eyes pop. I lean back as I notice movement just over
my shoulder in the closed doors.

I do not have to turn to
sense
him
behind
me. The man who has set my perfectly constructed world into a full
tilt collision of the heart.

This mystery man makes me feel like a
schoolgirl with an insatiable crush. He inspires me to write, to
express my unspoken yearnings onto a virtual page, but my
frustrations mount just as quickly as my yearnings. Perhaps my
yet-t0-be named elevator companion has hidden chapters in his own
life that hold him back as well.

He has made a habit of being at the
elevators the same time every evening. So, naturally, I have done
the same.

“
Going up?”

I smile and nod. We both know how this
particular game is played. He is a perfect gentlemen, and I allow
him to be.

Clear, wide, expressive eyes, blue as
the Caribbean Sea. That is my new favorite color, thanks to this
gorgeous man, who insists on claiming my every waking thought. I
have yet to learn a single tangible fact about him, but I suspect
he is new to the building. Most likely moved in while I was away on
business. A common occurrence in my line of work.

I noticed him the first day I
returned. How could I not?

His smile makes small laugh lines
appear around his eyes, baring evidence to an enjoyment for life.
He is a gentleman from what I can tell. Always holds the door for
me to enter first. His brief banter on the journey to the upper
floors is always polite and tinged with genuine interest. Although
we have not spoken of anything personal yet, he always leans in
when I speak so he can hear every word. The way he looks at me is
addicting, even in an elevator filled with people. They all melt
away with a simple glance in my direction.

He is not coy. Doesn’t try to disguise
his curiosity. Rather he openly admires me. It is this intense
consideration that drives me wild, yet leaves me unsettled. His
gaze tells me I’m the most intriguing person in the world to him.
It sets me all a fluster, and I rediscover a painfully shy girl
living within. The one who knows guys like him can be dangerous for
the heart and yet utterly amazing at the same time.

The elevator dings and he waits for me
to step inside. He does not have to ask which floor is mine. He
remembers.

“
It was a blustery one
today.” His voice is warm and invigorating, as is his
cologne.

I nod in agreement. One of
the penalties of living in the city is the vicious winds that cut
down the streets and straight through every layer of clothing that
I own. Some days I miss living in a small town where everyone may
know my business, but it feels like home. So much of the city feels
foreign and cold, apart from
him
.

But I don’t want to talk about the
weather. I want to stare openly at him, at the gap in the collar of
his dress shirt where a hint of muscle always peeks out at me. To
admire the fine cut of his pants that taper from lean hips and flow
down to impeccably polished high-end dress shoes. I want to wrap my
legs around him and bury my fingers in his tousled black hair and
not come up until I’m out of breath.

Instead, I lean back against the
mahogany wall and watch the floor numbers light up one by one,
knowing I’m nearly out of time but am helpless to turn back the
clock.

The scent of him is intoxicating as he
clasps his coat and leans next to me.

“
Are you expecting
guests?”

My eyebrow rises in surprise as I turn
to look at him. He laughs, and I feel those vibrations sink
straight into my abdomen.

“
Sorry if that was a bit
forward. I just noticed you are carrying a bottle of
wine.”

“
No.” I shake my head and
chuckle, at first relieved, then annoyed that I will be alone for
yet another night, even though it makes some part of me feel safe.
“Not at all. I will be dining alone this evening. Wine is something
of a passion of mine.”

“
For tasting?”

“
For drinking.”

His lips spread into a wide
grin, and I find myself unable to look away. Four little words
dangle from the tip of my tongue, begging to be released…
Will you join me?

The elevator dings as it slows to a
halt, and I reluctantly glance up to see the number seven
illuminated. I feel the familiar sense of disappointment as the
doors slide open. The ride with him never lasts long
enough.

“
Have a nice evening, Miss
Holden.” He places his hand on the door to ensure it remains open
while I pass.

I lower my head and conceal my smile
as I step off the elevator. The instant the doors seal behind me, I
press my hand to my forehead and begin the routine
berating.

Why don’t I talk to him
instead of simply exchanging the usual pleasantries? Invite him in?
Inquire how he knows my name when I don’t have a clue what his
is?
He gave me the perfect opening for an
invite and I blew it! What is it about
him
that makes me forget everything I
have learned about men?

Perhaps, therein lies the catch. He is
the epitome of a man; the perfect gentleman. Handsome. Obviously
well-off. Sexy. Those sorts tend to be the first to steal your
heart and leave you behind. I’ve learned that first hand. What
seems to be too good usually is.

With a sigh I turn left and head for
my condo at the end of the hall. Its location provides a
spectacular corner view of the city, as well as privacy. Both of
which I value highly.

Slipping my key into the
lock, I enter and close the door, pausing only a moment to lament
what could have been while I place my coat on the rack.
Maybe tomorrow
, has
become my daily assurance. I set my hat on the dining room table. I
kick off my black, high heels before entering the kitchen to grab a
single wine glass and bottle opener.

I was not lying when I told my mystery
man that wine is a passion of mine. It is also a necessary ritual,
a way to unwind, but it is not the only highlight of my
night.

As I round the couch and look to my
side table, I see a voice mail message lit on the screen of my
iPhone; the one I use only for my secret project. Another true
confession has arrived from a man or woman willing to bare all for
the sake of personal closure. Betrayal is never something you
forget. It has touched nearly every person I know in one capacity
or another, leaving a wound behind that refuses to ever truly
fade.

Affairs. Abandoned at the altar. Fear
of commitment. Marriages broken over a confusion of sexual
identity. Replacing a partner with a younger version. The list is
endless. I have learned in my own life the sting that deception
leaves behind, like a vile poison to the soul.

Mine was an affair of epic
proportions, as intentional as it was poorly executed. I should
have seen it coming. The signs were there, but I chose to turn a
blind eye. It was easier that way. Hiding from the pain almost made
it feel as if it didn’t exist.

Almost.

One way or another, a cheater will
always be found out. They get careless. Over confident. Mine failed
to log out of the chat room he used to talk to women, and set up
rendezvous while away on business. In the beginning, I blamed the
other women. Surely they must have known a man like him would
already be taken.

Gorgeous smile. Easy laugh. Handsome.
Successful businessman. You know the sort. The one that turns even
the most pious of heads when he passes you in the
street.

The demise of our
relationship was imminent. I knew that. I was just afraid to let
go. We were due to be married, but I discovered the words
I love you
really meant I
love you
and everyone else.
Internalizing that someone could actually do
something like this to me
was far easier
than admitting I allowed it to happen. That I should have kicked
his sorry ass to the curb long before he cheated.

I know I am not alone in this pain.
The humiliation.

The flood of responses have proven
that.

The world is full of people with
motives, and far too many of them cause irreparable harm. Though,
in that pain, we connect. We grow. We thrive, and we heal…as much
as possible. Each of us have things we would like to keep hidden
away. Regrets. Longings. Guilt over letting our hearts get
played.

But, while some of these stories
confessed by strangers fill me with hope, others remind me there is
a minefield of haters, cheaters, deceivers, and soul suckers out
there to be wary of. I believe, for some, love can still exist in
its purest form. That healing from an ex’s unfaithfulness is
attainable. That sacrifice and commitment are not just smoke and
mirrors. That I may someday embrace love again, and maybe my
mystery man won’t always have to remain a mystery for me to feel
safe.

My inquiry was a simple plea: a call
to others who have loved, lost, been betrayed, even been in danger,
to share their experiences with relationships, one night stands,
and everything in between. Some are survivors. Others are
not.

“
Love” is something to be
studied, in my opinion. I began this journey long before I
met
him,
but as I
continue to pour through people’s hidden chapters, I hope they will
lend advice to my own guarded heart.