A Game of Shadows and Seduction

1-2

"Annilyse, my assistant," he said the word as if me calling her a secretary had been insulting, "will send over the details tomorrow morning. Kline will meet you at the door with the town car. Feel free to utilize him for as long as you need tonight," he slid out of the booth, standing as he spoke. His fingers deftly buttoning his jacket back up. My gaze lingered a beat too long on the movement which rewarded me with a smug smile from him.

I almost growled at him, his presumptuous gaze digging under my skin. With a curt nod, he turned on his heel and walked away. Leaving me sitting there. What the f**k just happened? That had to be the weirdest f*****g client meeting I"ve ever attended.

I suddenly felt very claustrophobic. Sliding out of the booth, I beeline for the exit. Needing to escape and breathe fresh air. Slipping past the two bouncers, I navigated the swaying bodies on the dance floor, searching for the exit. It"s bright neon sign beckoning me forward.

The chill of the night air bit at my bare arms as I stepped out of the club. I hadn"t anticipated it growing colder and hadn"t brought a jacket. f**k, i***t. I hunched my shoulders up around my ears, taking a few steps in the direction of my apartment. A man clearing his throat stopped me in my tracks.

Kline was standing next to a sleek black town car, door open and waiting. "Yeah, no offense or anything but I"m not getting into a random car just because my rich client wants me to." I watched as he raised his eyebrow at me, expression otherwise impassive. We stood there, a silent battle of wills as we each stared the other down.

Finally, he grunted, "Wolfe doesn"t take "no" as an answer. And I"d rather not have him tear into me because you were too stubborn to take the offer. So please, Miss Starling, get in the f*****g car," his arm gestured me into the warmth of the back seat.

I could"ve killed him with the glare I shot at him. But I was cold, and I"d be lying if I said I didn"t mind it. Muttering a curse under my breath, I reluctantly slid into the town car. The door promptly slammed behind me, the only emotional reaction I"d seen from Kline all night. Clearly irritated and probably annoyed that he has to babysit me. I rolled my eyes and scowled as I settled into the leather seat.

The heat was already on, blowing softly against my knees from the vents in the center console. The driver door opened and Kline slid in, shifting the gears into drive a little too roughly. He didn"t bother to ask me where he needed to drop me off. Which was both unsettling and appreciated. The less we spoke, the better.

The drive was silent and tense. There were a few instances where I wanted to ask questions about Kline"s employer but refrained, telling myself that the less I knew the better off I was. Plausible deniability and all that, right?

Normally I"d welcome a more personal relationship with my clients. It helps me understand their needs. But Ryker Wolfe struck me as a man that I shouldn"t get too involved with. All I had to do was deliver what he wanted, get paid, and then never speak to him again. Thank f**k.

◆◆◆

Sliding my apartment key into the slot, I turned it and pushed the door open. Autopilot drove my movements. Flip the entryway light on. Throw my keys into the basket. Take my shoes off and throw them… somewhere in the vicinity of my doorway. My skin tingled suddenly, causing me to pause. The apartment door clicked closed behind me. Something was wrong.

No, not wrong. Off. Different. The very air seemed disturbed. Someone had been here. But the door had been locked? Well no s**t, dumbass. If they can pick a lock, they can lock it again. I let my gaze scan the immediate area. Nothing seemed out of place.

Tentatively, I stepped farther into the apartment. Stopping at where the wall opened up into the kitchen and dining area. My skin grew cold as my eyes settled on a box on my kitchen table. Black, shiny. It was thin, maybe only a couple inches tall. But it was long and wide. Almost like a shirt box. With a flip open lid tied with a deep crimson ribbon fastened into an elegant bow. A cold knot formed in my stomach as I stared at the box.

What.The.Fuck.

My palms began to sweat immediately. I curled my fingers into my palm, rubbing the pads along my own skin in an attempt to ease the perspiration before stretching them back out. My heart fluttered with anxiety. Throat going dry as I tried to swallow. Swear to god, if it"s a body part I"m leaving the goddamn country. Taking a deep breath, I walked closer to the table.

Heat flushed my cheeks while shivers raced down my spine, my body a battleground for conflicting sensations. The familiar scent of my apartment seemed tainted now, laced with the metallic tang of fear. My fingers trailed over the cold, sleek lid. It was plastic. Somehow that eased some of my tension. As if the cheap material softened the raw edges of the fact that someone had invaded my personal space.

With trembling hands, I lifted the lid. My reflection stared up at me off the screen of the tablet nestled within. Confusion replacing the apprehension on my face. Pulling the device from the box, I hit the power button. The screen came on instantly, already powered on with a full battery. A handwritten note greeted me when I unlocked it:

Ms. Starling,

I thoroughly enjoyed our meeting tonight. I look forward to seeing your work when it"s finished. Please, take this gift and use it. It should be the exact model you"ve wanted for a few months now. If it isn"t, don"t hesitate to say something and I"ll quickly rectify the mistake.

Not signed. Of course. f*****g prick. I closed the message. Navigating through the apps, I realized it was already loaded with all of the latest art software. The tablet itself was expensive. But the software it contained ranged in dollar amounts I would never justify paying. Anger bubbled up in me.

I did well for myself, ya know? I wasn"t famous, or in super high demand. But my art and skills gained me a decent income. I already owned rights to some of the programs but not all of them.

It rubbed me the wrong way for someone to assume that I didn"t have the means to pay for my own s**t. Shaking my head, I placed the tablet back in the box and closed the lid. I"ll return it tomorrow. Gritting my teeth, I went about my nightly routine. Slipping into bed and allowing myself to drift off. But the thoughts that plagued me made it fitful.

◆◆◆

I stared down at the sketch I was working on, the lines of graphite taunting me from the page. Each stroke was a battle, and the paper bore the scars of my indecision. In a fit of irritation, fueled by the whispers of perfectionism that always seemed to hover over my shoulder, I crumpled the paper into a tight ball. It joined the small mountain of discarded ideas that littered the corner of my makeshift studio—a testament to the hours of work with nothing to show. The pile was more than just paper; it was a graveyard of "almosts" and "not quite rights," each crumpled sheet a silent accuser of my relentless, yet unfulfilled, pursuit of something truly remarkable.

With a heavy sigh, I leaned back in my chair, the joints creaking in protest, and rubbed my weary eyes. I couldn"t even begin to figure out why this commission meant so much to me. It was just another client. Right? But somewhere deep in the corners of my mind there was a nagging feeling that I needed to make this piece something truly unique.

The pit growing in my stomach demanded nothing less than absolute perfection. Maybe it was the price tag. Wolfe was willing to pay way more than I had quoted. For whatever dumb reason I felt the obligation to ensure the product reflected that.

The clock glared mockingly in the background, each second a reminder of the deadline looming over me like a dark cloud. I glanced at the digital display, the red numbers a stark reminder that time was a luxury I could no longer afford. It had been three days since the meeting and Wolfe would expect at least a draft by the end of the week.

The clutter of charcoal pencils, scattered brushes, and open tubes of paint seemed to close in on me. I felt claustrophobic again. Why did his approval matter so much? I had other clients, other successful pieces, but none that gnawed at me quite like this. This wasn"t about money.

I stood up, my legs stiff from hours of sitting, and walked over to the window. The city was alive outside, a stark contrast to the stagnation in my living room. People moved with purpose, their lives unfolding in a tapestry of stories that I longed to capture on paper. But the inspiration that usually sparked from the chaos of life seemed to elude me now, replaced by an overwhelming sense of dread.

The raindrops on my window rolled lazily down the panes as I watched the meandering forms on the sidewalk below my apartment. My gaze settling on the one person not moving at all. The sea of other people parting around him like a river around a boulder. As if he was an immovable force that refused to bend to anybody or anything.

A cloud of swirling smoke engulfed his broad shoulders momentarily as he exhaled the cigarette he was smoking. My chest tightened as his eyes traveled up the side of the building, to my window locking our gazes together across the expanse of the street. Piercing blue and dangerous. A shiver ran my spine as he looked away and melded into the crowd. Why was he watching me?

*Ping.*

The sound of the notification from the tablet in the box jolted me back to reality, pulling my attention away from the window. I hadn"t returned it yet. But I also wasn"t using it. I could feel my hands trembling as I walked over to the box and flipped the lid open. The screen blazed up at me, a message scrawled across its screen.

You don"t like my gift? Is there something wrong with it?

What. The. f**k? My head snapped back to the window despite knowing he was already gone. Picking the tablet up, I cleared the message and shut down the device, quickly putting it back and snapping the lid closed like it would burn me. Rolling my shoulders, I tried to ease some of the tension in my muscles.

Don"t spazz, Fennec. Just your creepy new boss stalking you. Was it really stalking if I knew he was doing it? Yes, i***t. Don"t try to justify this s**t. Shaking my head, I turned away from the tablet and went back to my desk. My fingers grazed over the blank paper as I stared down at it.

I pressed my lips into a determined line and snatched my jacket from the chair"s back, sliding it over my head. The fabric was a comforting barrier against the world. A walk was necessary—a chance to sift through the chaos of my thoughts.

I stepped out, my hood casting my face in shadow, and melded into the stream of the city"s pulse. Directionless, I moved, letting the rhythm of countless footsteps guide me as the light rain tapped a steady, soothing rhythm on the pavement.

My mind was a tempest, thoughts flickering in and out of existence like sparks from a fire. They danced and twirled, elusive and fleeting, refusing to be caught and examined. The city blurred around me, a watercolor of motion and life, until I found myself before the park gates. They stood open, a gaping maw ready to consume me, to envelop me in its verdant belly.

I hesitated, the world around me quieting to a whisper as I gathered the threads of my resolve. With a breath, I stepped through the gates, my feet following the paths carved into the park"s heart, aimless yet compelled. A creeping disquiet began to slither along my spine, a cold finger tracing my vertebrae as the fine hairs on my neck stood in silent alarm.

Halting on the sidewalk, my eyes darted across the park"s landscape. People were scattered here and there—a couple sharing laughter on a bench, a cluster of lawyers and their assistants huddled around a coffee truck, animated in discussion. Yet the sensation of unseen eyes lingered, a ghostly touch that raised an instinctual alarm. As quickly as it had arrived, the feeling dissipated, leaving me with a hollow unease.

I expelled a shaky breath and quickened my pace, suddenly seized by an urgent desire to return to the safety of my own walls. Home beckoned, a sanctuary against the unseen gaze that had pierced my solitude, and I heeded its call with swift steps.