Endless Obsession Read online

  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.

  “What about your family?” he asks, the anger now gone from his face. “Do you have any family in the area?”

  Glancing down, I fiddle with my cloth napkin, before looking back at him.

  “No,” I reply softly. “Both my parents are gone. No siblings. I have an aunt and uncle and a few cousins in Montana, but that’s it.”

  “I’m sorry,” he says sincerely.

  I’m surprised when Marc reaches over and grabs my hand, the one still messing with the napkin, and gives it a squeeze. I know it’s in comfort, but for some eerie reason it makes me uncomfortable, which is the first time I’ve felt that way with him.

  I look to see his eyes resting on our hands, and they are lit with interest. I pull my hand away, but the uncomfortable feeling lingers. I’m not exactly sure what brought on the feeling, but it’s there. Maybe it was the look in his eyes when he looked down at our hands. It almost appeared lecherous, which is weird because it’s the first time since we’ve started talking that I’ve gotten any type of creepy vibe from him.

  “Sorry,” he murmurs when he senses my discomfort.

  The waiter walks up with our food and places the plates in front of us. She refills our wine glasses before she moves on. Silence stretches between us.

  I pick up my fork when a little jingle starts. Marc leans to the side to pull his phone from his pocket, looks down at the screen and announces, “I’m sorry, I need to take this. I’ll only be a moment.”

  “Of course,” I smile, trying to bring back some of the easygoing conversation we had before he touched me. “Take your time.”

  He gets up from the table and walks away, just as I notice my phone inside my purse is flashing. I pull it out and look at the screen.

  Sterling: Don’t let him touch you again.

  What the hell? I jerk my head and look around the restaurant. Most of the tables are occupied with couples quietly talking and laughing. I look over at the bar and see a man and woman leaning toward each other, talking intimately. The man has his hand on the woman’s back. There’s another woman by herself with her laptop open on the bar top. A lone man sits talking to the female bartender, and she laughs at something he says. I look around the rest of the room and see no one out of place or looking suspicious.

  There is no way Sterling could know that Marc touched me unless he’s here. The fact that he’s so obviously watching me creeps me the fuck out. How in the hell did he know we were here in the first place?

  Looking down at my phone, I type out a message.

  Me: Are you watching me right now?

  It doesn’t take long before I get a reply.

  Sterling: I am. Do not let him touch you again, Poppy.

  Although it’s a written message, I still feel the anger behind it. I look up from my phone and glance around the room again. Rolling my eyes, I look back to my screen.

  Me: Who in the hell do you think you are? You can’t just follow me around. And how did you know I was here?

  Sterling: I’ve already told you, Poppy, you’re mine. Other men don’t touch what’s mine. And I have my ways. There was no way I was letting you go out with that asshole without knowing where you were going. The only reason I let you go out with him in the first place was because I was going to be watching.

  My blood is boiling at this point, and I’m starting to freak out. Him sending me flowers for months and then finally making contact is one thing, but to know he’s following me around is something else entirely. A tingle in the back of my head tells me this isn’t the first time either. If he can get my number and work address, then there’s no telling what else he’s privy to. He has to know where I live too. If he followed me here, what else is he willing to do? Oh my God, he knew I was getting in the shower last night.

  I feel a prickle of awareness on the back of my neck, and I turn my head to look behind me. I don’t see anything out of the ordinary, but I know he’s watching me. I can feel his eyes.

  My phone vibrates again, causing me to jump in my seat.

  Sterling: Breathe, Poppy, and relax. I’m not going to hurt you.

  A nervous laugh wants to bubble up at that, but I squeeze my eyes shut instead. What in the hell am I supposed to do now? I can’t just leave my date behind, but I don’t want to stay either. Only someone sick, twisted, and obsessed stalks someone, and this is exactly what he’s doing. It can’t be called anything else. Maybe I should call the cops, but can they really do anything? Would they think I instigated it by communicating with him? He really hasn’t done anything illegal, has he? I could probably show them the messages on my phone, but would that be enough?

  I’m scared to look down at my phone when it vibrates again, but I put on my brave face and do so anyway.

  Sterling: Look.

  Another text pops up immediately with a link.

  I’m not sure why I click on it, but I find myself doing just that. It takes a minute for it to load, and when it does, my world tips upside down.

  The Arizona State Corrections Department pops up with a picture of Marc’s face as he poses for his mugshot. Sweat starts to dot on my forehead as my shaky finger scrolls down. Bile rises in my throat at the list of things he was convicted of.

  Sexual assault.

  Batt
ery.

  Oh my God!

  My gaze darts to the hallway Marc disappeared down. I can only see the mouth of it, so I can’t see him. I’ve got to get out of here.

  Sterling sends another message, but I ignore it. I grab my purse off the table. With another quick look behind me at the hallway, I dash on wobbly legs toward the entrance. My heart races a mile a minute, and I almost trip twice in my heels in my haste to get out of the restaurant.

  What in the hell is wrong with me? Why do I always pick the liars, weirdos, and criminals?

  Sexual assault and battery!

  That’s a new low for me.

  Oh no!

  He knows where I live now!

  My sweaty palms grab the door handle, and I rush outside. Shit, I don’t have my car, but I need to get out of here. I could call a cab, but it would take too long.

  I look down at my phone when it vibrates again.

  Sterling: There’s a car waiting for you. The black one.

  I forgot all about Sterling. I lift my head and see a black Sedan at the curb with a middle-aged man holding the door open. He’s looking at me expectantly.

  “Miss?”

  Should I get in his car? Is he in there as well? Can I trust him? He’s been following me for God knows how long, and I still don’t know jack shit about him. Even though the following shit freaks me out, the thought of Marc coming out scares me more.

  Sterling sends another message.

  Sterling: Get in the car, Poppy. It’s safe. I promise.

  I take a tentative step toward the car, still unsure if I should. It’s either trust Sterling or take the chance of Marc finding me, and there’s no telling what he’ll do.

  Sexual assault and battery are two convictions you don’t play around with. I may not know the details, but I’d rather not take the chance. According to the link, he was in prison for five years.

  The door opens behind me, and I jump with a squeak, and quickly rush over to the open car door. As soon as I’m inside, the man closes it. A look out the window shows it was just a couple leaving the restaurant. I breathe a sigh of relief and lean against the soft leather seat.