Goldie Locks: Steamy Standalone Instalove Romance

“We’ll be up in a minute,” she promises me, and not wanting to hear her remind me how many years she’s survived without me acting as her shadow, I begrudgingly agree.

“But only a minute,” I plead with her again, feeling nervous myself for some reason. Like every person passing by on the street could be her stalker.

Feeling like there are eyes on us already.

Against all my instincts, I turn on my heel and head up to the offices for rent.

No sign of anyone else coming up for a look, and a single glance at the open front doors tells me the lock’s been forced.

“Maxwell?” An over friendly, thick Californian accent calls out.

The sound of high heels clip over the whining, nasally voice, and before I can reply, I’m face to face with what looks like a life-sized Barbie Doll.

Chapter Nineteen

Phoebe

“It’s alright baby girl,” I console Trixie, kissing her head before I set her down and let her sniff the familiar street smells she knows from our neighborhood.

She’s a shy girl, like me. And will only ever go when nobody’s watching and only if she has privacy.

“Max is just worried,” I explain to her. As if I’m not trying to calm myself down by talking to my dog as if she’s really me.

I’m a bundle of nerves myself and I hope it doesn’t show with Max too much.

I’ve been jumping at my own shadow for months now, and it’s only gotten worse now that I’m with Max.

I know as well as he does that whoever’s following me is sending us both a message by interfering with things like the mall delivery, and god knows what else.

I gulp hard at the thought, hurrying back to the offices once Trixie’s done what she needs to.

I find the floor easy enough, and as the elevator opens I hear a high-pitched, kind of whiny voice.

It’s familiar, but I tell myself it was probably because I heard her on the phone with Max earlier.

The voice is one thing, and my assumptions were correct.

It’s a certain type of woman who has a voice like that.

And as soon as I see her, as soon as I see Max with her, I almost breathe a sigh of relief.

She’s everything in a woman that I’m not.

She’s got the big chest and hair, sure.

Lots of straight, platinum blond, right out of the bottle hair.

I know my own all-natural golden hair is something most females are envious of even if they’d never admit it. It’s the only thing I do have going for me, or so I thought until Max showed me otherwise.

But this… thing, she’s got the waist of an action figure and legs to match. Her flawless, heavily made up skin and eyes, her perfectly straight and over white teeth, those dull, painted eyes blinking under an inch of mascara.

She looks like some sort of doll.

Do most men want this?

But looking over at Max, I can tell he’s glad to see me and not just because I’ve come back from my little walk in one piece.

The woman has her hand all over his arm like she’s not wanting to let him go but he moves over to me straight away.

“Phoebe,” he says loudly, gripping me by the arm and murmuring how I’m just in time.

“This is your daughter, Mr. Bear?” The voice asks from behind him, sounding almost sympathetic and followed quickly by, “Ohhh, I’m sorry, but there are no pets allowed in the building. The dog will have to wait downstairs,” she adds with an icy tone.

Max and I both look over and see the fake smile, the perfectly manicured nails tapping a clipboard with nothing on it but a blank sheet of paper.

But those eyes.

Cold and dead inside, her whole body only posing a silent question.

Well?

“We should be going anyway,” Max observes, checking his watch and telling me with his eyes that he’s had enough.

Enough of the office and more than enough of this creature who seems to turn on us both once Max announces we’re leaving.

“But you can’t go,” she snaps angrily, then suddenly pouting and making puppy dog eyes at Max. Doing her best to flirt with him while I can almost hear his flesh crawling at the thought of her touching him again.

There’s something really odd about this woman. I can’t put my finger on it, but I’m more than happy to get out of here too.

“I think I’ve seen enough,” Max responds dryly, taking my arm in his and turning to leave, only pausing at the door to make a parting comment.

“I know a good locksmith if you need one, looks like someone had some trouble with their key getting in here,” he says, making me look hard at the door but not knowing what I’m even looking at, I forget about it as he walks us both to the elevator.