If I had any doubt where she stood, her sneaking out too early this morning is my answer, and I head into work irritated and bordering on irrational. Part of me insists I give her space, knowing I can’t force a woman to want me in the same way I want her. The other part of me wants to pick her little ass up, stare into her eyes, and demand that she be mine.
I get the feeling that possessive attitude isn’t going to get me far where Hayden is concerned, but despite needing to give her space, I can’t help but call her twice on the way to work. The first call rings several times before going to voicemail. The second call goes directly to voicemail, and I guess that gives me my answer.
I’m agitated, fingers twitching with restless energy when I walk into the office, barely even nodding at Pam, the BBS office manager, on my way through. The usual suspects are in the break area, already gearing up to start their day, but I arrow straight for Wren’s office.
“I’d knock!” Jude calls after me, just as my fingers clamp over the doorknob. “He was acting weird this morning. Had that look in his eye.”
I hit the door with impatient knuckles and wait for Wren to answer. He grunts out an unintelligible response, and I shove open the door. Thankfully, Wren is fully clothed when I step into his office.
“Hey asshole!” Puff Daddy yells the second I step inside.
I close the door behind me, catching Wren’s attention. “Must be serious if you’re closing the door.” His eyes narrow. “Or you’re about to ask me to do something you know the others would have a problem with.”
“I want you to check up on Hayden at work.”
“The latter then,” he mutters, and I grow even more agitated when he just sits there staring at me instead of turning around and working his keyboard magic.
“Wren, I need—”
He holds his hand up. “You already have me digging into her life to try to find out who is stalking her. I’ve given you the dossier, so I know that you know—”
“I haven’t read any of it,” I assure him.
I didn’t want to know the answers to questions I could ask her in person and learn that stuff from her. I want to get to know the woman through her own confessions, not words I’ve read from a printed file.
“That may be so, but you know that she works for ViCorp, and they have contracts with government agencies. What you’re asking me to do isn’t as simple at it would be if she worked for a different accounting firm. They do—”
“Government contracts,” I interrupt. “I know, but she left this morning without talking to me, and I have a bad feeling.”
“Getting rejected can suck, but that’s not enough to hack into her office cameras because she’s not interested in you.”
“Loser!”
I clench my teeth, reminding myself that Wren will never help me again if I strangle his stupid bird.
“Bring her to Daddy! I can show her a good time!”
I run my tongue over my top teeth and glare at my friend.
“Do you realize what you’re asking me to do? I could go to prison. Do you know what happens to computer nerds in prison?”
“Bend over boy! Time to pay your rent!”
He points to the bird. “See! Even he knows.”
He must sense my mood when I don’t laugh. Any other time, I’d find this entire situation comical, but there isn’t an ounce of humor on my face.
“I’ve always said gut feelings are the only things that keep us alive,” he mutters as he turns back to his computer. “You can go grab a cup of coffee or something. This is going to take a while.”
“I’ll wait,” I insist, crossing my arms over my chest and glaring at the back of his head.
“Tell Daddy what hurts, baby girl,” Puff says in a voice that oddly sounds a lot like Wren’s. “That’s it, sweetheart. Drink Daddy’s medicine.”
Wren shakes his head, eyes still on his computer screens while I glare at the filthy bird.
“What are you teaching him?” I hiss as I watch Puff Daddy strutting up and down his perch.
“He’s like a two-year-old repeating shit that he hears.”
That’s a confession if I’ve ever heard one.
Jesus, it’s always the quiet ones, isn’t it?
“What’s taking so long?” I hiss after several minutes.
“I’m covering my damned tracks. I’m not going to prison because you can’t just call the girl on the phone and tell her how you feel. She’s staying at your place. I don’t understand why you can’t see her there.”
“Says the man who stalked Whitney when she went to the gym every day.” He scoffs. “Says the man who still watches her on cameras you’ve put in your own condo.”
“She’s well aware of those cameras. She agreed to them. I’m not forcing surveillance on her.”