Regina stared at the phone like it had grown fangs. "Who the f**k is watching me now?"
The question crawled under her skin, slow and poisonous. Her first instinct...raw, ugly, automatic...was Bret.
Of course it could be him.
That bastard had a talent for haunting her even when he was busy destroying himself.
She dried her hair roughly, towel scraping against her scalp like she was trying to erase the last few hours from her body. Her hands trembled despite her effort to stay calm. She wrapped herself in a silk robe that smelled faintly of Daniel...expensive cologne and something darker underneath...and walked barefoot into the bedroom, the marble floor cold against her soles.
Her phone was still in her hand.
"Don’t," she told herself.
She did anyway.
Bret Lawson’s social media load
