The Note On His Keyboard
1455 Words
Belinda barely slept.
The encounter with the head of security replayed in her mind on a loop. Miss Sparks. Enjoy your evening. How did he know her name? She was a temp. Invisible. A woman who had perfected the art of being overlooked.
But someone had noticed her.
Someone had been watching.
She arrived at work the next morning at seven thirty. Earlier than usual. She wanted to be at her desk before Lucas arrived, before anyone could catch her off guard.
The office was dark. She unlocked the door with her temp badge and stepped inside.
Something was different.
The air smelled different. Colder. Sharper. Like someone had been here after hours.
She walked to her desk. Stopped.
There was a note on her keyboard.
Not her note. She hadn't left one today. This was different. White paper. Black ink. Neat, unfamiliar handwriting.
She picked it up. Read it.
You think you're the only one who can leave notes, Miss Sparks? I've been watching you. Both of you. The question is, how far are you willing to go?
Your move.
Belinda's blood turned to ice.
She spun around. The office was empty. The windows were dark. The only light came from the faint glow of the city beyond the glass.
Someone had been here.
Someone knew about her and Lucas.
Someone had been watching.
She shoved the note into her pocket. Her hands were shaking. She sat down at her desk, opened her steno pad, and tried to look normal.
At eight o two, Lucas arrived.
He walked in like he owned the world. Sharp suit. Dark hair. Those whiskey colored eyes that found her instantly and held her captive.
"Miss Sparks."
"Mr. Alejandro."
He walked to his desk. Set down his coffee. Turned to look at her.
"You came early today."
"I couldn't sleep."
Something flickered across his face. Concern, maybe. Or curiosity. "Neither could I."
He walked toward her. Slow. Deliberate. He stopped in front of her desk and looked down at her.
"Tonight," he said. "Seven o'clock. My penthouse."
"I remember."
"Do you? Because you look like you've seen a ghost."
Belinda's hand went to her pocket. The note was still there. Warm against her thigh.
She should tell him. She should show him the note and tell him that someone had been in his office, that someone knew about them, that someone was watching.
But something stopped her.
If she told him, he would cancel tonight. He would lock everything down. He would protect her, yes, but he would also shut her out.
And she wasn't ready to be shut out.
"I'm fine," she said. "Just tired."
Lucas studied her face. His eyes narrowed. He didn't believe her. But he didn't push.
"Dictation," he said.
"Yes, sir."
She grabbed her pen. He walked back to his desk and sat down. But he didn't open a contract. He didn't pull up a spreadsheet. He just looked at her.
"Take this down," he said quietly.
Her pen hovered.
"I have been thinking about you all night," he dictated. "Not about your body, though that is extraordinary. About your mind. About the way you look at me like I'm not a monster. About the way you write notes that make me lose control."
Belinda's pen scratched. Her hand was steady. Her heart was not.
"I have been alone for four years," he continued. "I told myself I preferred it. I told myself I didn't need anyone. Then you walked into my office and left a note about my hands."
He paused.
"And now I cannot stop thinking about what it would be like to wake up next to you."
Belinda stopped writing.
"Read it back," he said.
She looked down at her pad. Her handwriting had gone shaky. She read, "I have been thinking about you all night. Not about your body, though that is extraordinary. About your mind. About the way you look at me like I'm not a monster. About the way you write notes that make me lose control. I have been alone for four years. I told myself I preferred it. I told myself I didn't need anyone. Then you walked into my office and left a note about my hands. And now I cannot stop thinking about what it would be like to wake up next to you."
Silence.
Lucas stood up. He walked to her desk. He crouched down beside her chair, the way he had done before, his face inches from hers.
"Tonight," he said, "I am not going to dictate. I am going to ask. And you are going to answer."
"Ask what?"
"Everything. What you want. What you're afraid of. What you need." He touched her face. "I want to know all of it, Belinda. Not the version you show the world. The real you."
Her throat tightened.
No one had ever asked her that before. No one had ever wanted the real her. The messy, complicated, broken parts.
"What if the real me is too much?" she whispered.
"Then I will hold more."
He kissed her. Soft. Gentle. Nothing like the desperate hunger from before. This was a promise. A question. A beginning.
Someone knocked on the office door.
Lucas pulled back. His jaw tightened. He stood up, walked to the door, and opened it.
His head of security stood in the hallway.
The same man from the lobby. The same man who had said Miss Sparks. Enjoy your evening.
"Mr. Alejandro," the man said. "I need to speak with you. Privately."
"Can it wait?"
"It's about the security footage. From last night."
Belinda's heart stopped.
Lucas glanced at her. Then back at the man. "Give me five minutes."
The man nodded. He looked at Belinda. His eyes were cold. Assessing. The same way Lucas had looked at her on her first day.
Then he turned and walked away.
Lucas closed the door. He turned to face her.
"Stay here," he said.
"Lucas"
"Stay here. I will be right back."
He walked out. The door closed behind him.
Belinda sat frozen. Security footage from last night. Someone had been in the office. Someone had left a note on her keyboard. Someone had been watching.
She stood up. She couldn't sit still. She paced the length of the office, her heart pounding, her mind racing.
The note was still in her pocket. She pulled it out. Read it again.
You think you're the only one who can leave notes, Miss Sparks? I've been watching you. Both of you. The question is, how far are you willing to go?
Your move.
She looked at the handwriting. Neat. Precise. Familiar.
She had seen this handwriting before. Somewhere. Recently.
Where?
The door opened. Lucas walked back in. His face was pale. His hands were clenched at his sides.
"We have a problem," he said.
"What happened?"
"Someone accessed my office last night. After hours. They didn't take anything. But they left something behind."
Belinda's blood ran cold. "What did they leave?"
Lucas walked to her desk. He picked up her steno pad. He flipped to a blank page.
And there, written in the same neat handwriting, was a message.
Seven o'clock. The penthouse. I'll be watching.
Belinda stared at the words. Someone had been at her desk. Someone had written in her steno pad. Someone had been close enough to touch her things.
"The security footage," she said. "Did you see who it was?"
Lucas's jaw tightened. "The cameras were disabled. From midnight to four in the morning. No footage. No record of who accessed the building."
"How is that possible?"
"Whoever did this has access. High level access." He looked at her. "Belinda, is there something you're not telling me?"
She hesitated.
The note burned in her pocket.
She should tell him. She should show him the note and tell him everything. But if she did, tonight would be over. He would shut down. He would protect her by pushing her away.
And she couldn't lose tonight. Not when she had finally found someone who wanted the real her.
"Nothing," she said. "I'm not hiding anything."
Lucas studied her face. He didn't believe her. She could see it in his eyes.
But he didn't push.
"Tonight," he said. "Seven o'clock. Be careful coming over. Watch your back."
"I will."
He walked to the door. Paused. Turned back.
"Belinda."
"Yes?"
"If something happens to you, I will burn this city to the ground."
He walked out.
Belinda stood alone in his office, the note burning in her pocket, her steno pad marked with a stranger's handwriting.
Someone was watching.
Someone knew about them.
Someone would be at the penthouse tonight.
But who?
And what did they want?
- Writer
