Chapter Three
Easton
I do something I hadn’t planned on doing on my stay here, while not working. I hack into the hotel employee database. There’s something about Cam that sets my blood on fire. Her brown hair looks lush and soft with fiery red undertones, and the way she bit on her bottom lip when she was nervous, I wanted to be the one to nip it, not her. She’s an enigma that I want to solve.
It only takes a few strokes of a key, and I’m back to doing what I do best, being the eyes behind the computer screen. Someone should really beef up their online security. It took me less than ten minutes to get inside their database. Going through the names is the hard part; the rows of names continue on and on until I get to the letter C. Thank God, there aren’t too many employees with a name starting with Cam.
After the second one, I hit pay dirt. Cameron Ann Greene comes to life on my computer. She’s been an employee for two years, slowly moving up from cleaning the lobby to cleaning the hotel rooms. Now, she’s one of the head housekeepers.
I get her name, date of birth, and address before I exit her file, making sure I don’t leave any footprints of me hacking into their system. Then I run her name in my own background database. It’s something I built for Nighthawk Security, but I own the copyright. Slade knew he couldn’t keep me from taking it with me. So, I made him his own, with a few modifications he’ll need. I knew, after only a few minutes with Cameron, there’s something more that I need to explore.
When I bring her up in my own system, it hits everything, every social media source, how long she’s lived at her current address, all of her living arrangements beforehand, where she’s going to school, and her family background.
“Fuck,” I grumble out. It shows the only living relatives she has are an aunt and uncle. Her parents passed away when she was a teenager, and even then, she held a job while in high school. I’d like to wring the necks of her aunt and uncle. It shows me how she moved out before the ink was dry on her diploma, but that didn’t stop her from pursuing her dreams. I smirk to myself; my girl is goal-oriented.
Next, I look her up on Instagram. “God damn,” I hiss out a breath. Nothing is locked down. Her profile and everything she’s posted is public, and that pisses me off more than anything. It’s wide open for any Tom, Dick, or Harry to see. Not that I wouldn’t hack into it, too, but this makes it that much easier.
I shake my head in disbelief. Some of the images show her on the edge of the water with her camera pointed at herself as she snaps the picture with the sun going down in the background. One, in particular, she’s wearing a skimpy black and white bathing suit that leaves little to the imagination, and something tells me I’ll be using it for my spank bank material tonight. Other images are of places she’s explored around the state, all of which she’s by herself. There’s no one else in any of her photos—no friends, no family, hell, not even a pet. It makes my chest hurt to know she’s been all alone for such a long time now. I have to walk away from the computer before I do something stupid, like pick up my phone and dial her number.
Instead, I find a sandwich, some chips, and a beer. I take it out, slamming it on the counter in disbelief at how much this girl has me sucked in. A couple of sentences, a lingering touch, and a few glances. That’s all it took for me to become this crazed person who’s now almost stalking her.
Once I sit back down in my chair with my food, I continue my perusal until night falls along the shore. Only then do I go inside. Not wanting to leave what I’m doing, I take all of my work with me and keep digging. I should close all of this out; I’m basically stalking a twenty-one-year-old girl.
Shit, I’m thirty-two, way too old for this beautiful girl. But something has me walking toward the counter where a business card is placed. Her name is written with a phone number at the bottom. I wish like hell this was her actual phone number. I’d call her and ask her out to dinner, but I can’t, and I for damn sure can’t call her and act like she left her number for me when she didn’t.
I fist the card in my hand, crumbling it at first. Why am I even thinking she’d want anything to do with me, let alone talk to me. I take a deep breath, exhale it, and do it again until I’ve calmed down and can unclench my fist. The card is a mess now. I smooth it out before I put it back down on the counter. With nothing else to do, I make my way to the refrigerator, hoping another beer will calm my crazy ass down. I for sure don’t want to call room service or leave my room. Something tells me I’d get a lot of looks after the state I’m in from scouring every image Cam has on her social media sites.