Chapter 3: Are You A Cop?

By nine that morning, I had managed to make coffee, answer three emails and stare at Roman’s number long enough to memorize it. I hadn’t called him, and I hadn’t called Cass either. I wasn’t completely pathetic, at least that was what I kept telling myself while checking my phone for the fifth time.

There was still no message from Cass.

The second time he came to my place, he hadn’t texted. I was on my couch with a glass of wine and N*****x when a knock sounded on the door. I assumed Ethan had lost his key and rushed over to open it. There stood the stranger from a few weeks ago. I opened my mouth to ask what he was doing outside my door, but his tongue in my mouth quickly stopped me. And the rest was history. To say I was a slut would be an understatement, which probably explained why I was thinking about him after he’d spent his recent disappearance doing an excellent job of reminding me that I wasn’t supposed to expect anything from him.

I picked up my phone again when it buzzed.

Cass.: You home?

I stared at the message.

Me: Yes.

The reply came before I could put the phone down.

Cass: Good.

I frowned.

That was it?

I typed, Why?

Three dots appeared almost immediately.

Cass: Stay there.

I laughed under my breath.

Me: Are you giving me instructions now?

His response came a few seconds later.

Cass: Yes.

I shook my head and put the phone down.

He was unbelievable.

Five minutes later, someone knocked on my door.

I didn’t bother wondering who it was.

When I opened it, Cass was standing there with two paper bags in one hand and that irritatingly calm expression on his face.

I looked at the bags.

Then at him.

“You brought food?”

He walked past me. “Morning to you too, Babe.”

I closed the door behind him. “You could’ve said you were coming.”

“I did.”

“You said stay there.”

“Exactly.”

I followed him into the kitchen. “That’s not the same thing.”

He placed the bags on the counter and started taking things out. Breakfast. Actual breakfast. Eggs, bacon, toast, fruit and the coffee I liked from the little place two blocks away. I stared at the cup for a second. Did he know I liked it there? I’d never told him.

I stared at it. “What’s this?”

“Food.”

“I can see that.”

“Then why’d you ask?”

I looked at him. He gave me the smallest smile. There it was again. He was enjoying himself.

“Flowers would’ve been a nice touch.”

He blinked. “I’ve never seen you eat flowers.”

“You’re impossible.”

“So I’ve been told.” He pulled out a chair with his foot. “Sit.”

I narrowed my eyes. “Are you planning to order me around all morning?”

“Probably.”

I sat anyway, mostly because the food smelled good and partly because arguing with him before breakfast seemed like unnecessary work. Cass took the seat across from me. I reached for the coffee.

He watched me take the first sip. “You didn’t sleep much.”

I lowered the cup. “How would you know?”

His expression didn’t change. “You look tired.”

I stared at him. That answer should’ve been enough, but something about the way he’d said it made me wonder whether he’d been paying more attention to me than he usually admitted.

I picked up a piece of toast. “So, are you going to tell me what happened yesterday?”

“No.”

I nearly choked. “Excuse me?”

“Not yet.”

I put the toast down. “Did the shooting have anything to do with you? Were they targeting you through me?”

“Not really.”

“Cass.”

He leaned back in his chair. “Sophia.”

I hated when he did that. “What?”

“Eat.”

I stared at him for a moment before taking another bite. Didn’t ask again. Not yet. There were bigger questions sitting between us, including the fact that he could very well be connected to what happened at my office, and I still didn’t know his last name

I could feel his eyes on me while I picked at the edge of my toast, which made it harder to pretend I wasn’t wondering what the hell was going through his head.

“You really are bossy.”

“You’ve known that for a while.”

“Not outside the bedroom.”

His mouth curved.

“Do you always avoid questions?”

“When I don’t want to answer them.”

“That’s convenient.”

“It is.”

I leaned back. “You know what I find interesting?”

“What?”

“I’ve been sleeping with you for months and I still don’t know your last name.”

He looked at me for a moment. Then he smiled. “You’ve never asked.”

“I shouldn’t have to.”

“Why not?”

“Because normal people introduce themselves.”

“We’re not exactly normal.”

I laughed. “That’s the first thing you’ve said today that I agree with.”

His eyes stayed on me. “I like you like this.”

“Like what?”

“Annoyed.”

I raised an eyebrow. “You enjoy making me angry?”

“Sometimes.”

“That’s a little disturbing.”

“You keep letting me come back. Easily too.”

I opened my mouth, then closed it again. He smiled wider. I hated that he always knew when he’d won an argument. I reached for my coffee instead.

He watched me for another second before asking, “Are you going to the office?”

“No.”

“Good.”

I frowned. “Why do you care?”

His expression changed slightly. “Because I told you not to.”

I put my cup down. “Cass.”

He looked at me.

“Yesterday, men with guns came into my office. One of them ended up dead. You showed up carrying a gun like you’ve been doing this your entire life, and now Roman is giving me his number because apparently I somehow wandered into something I know absolutely nothing about.”

I leaned forward.

“And you expect me to sit here eating breakfast while you tell me nothing?”

He didn’t answer immediately.

His fingers tapped once against the table before going still.

“I don’t want you involved.”

“I didn’t exactly volunteer.”

“I know.”

“Then why won’t you tell me what this is?”

His eyes met mine. “Because knowing makes you a target.”

I stared at him. “So I’m already a target?”

He didn’t answer.

That was answer enough.

My stomach tightened. “Because of you?”

His jaw shifted. “No.”

“That’s comforting.”

“I know.”

“No, you don’t. You don’t get to disappear for seventeen days, walk into my office with a gun, tell me not to go to work and then sit in my kitchen acting like I’m supposed to be fine with all of this.”

“I never asked you to be fine with it.”

“Then what are you asking?”

He looked at me for a long moment. “Trust me.”

I almost laughed. “You won’t even tell me your last name.”

His mouth twitched. “Fair point.”

“Thank you.”

He stood.

I watched him walk around the table. “What are you doing?”

He stopped beside my chair. “Come here.”

“I am here.”

His hand settled on the back of my chair. “Closer.”

I looked up at him. “You really think you can distract me every time I ask a difficult question?”

“No.” His gaze dropped to my mouth. “I know I can.”

I hated that he was right.

He leaned down and kissed me. I should’ve pushed him away. I should’ve reminded him that I was still angry and that he hadn’t answered anything. Instead, my fingers caught the front of his shirt. His hand slid around my waist, pulling me closer until I was barely aware of the chair beneath me. He kissed me like it was his daily bread.

My fingers tightened in his shirt before I even realized I was holding on.

Cass had never been the kind of man who kissed me like he was trying to prove something. Usually, he was confident and unhurried, like he had all the time in the world. This was different. His hand tightened against my waist, and when I turned my face slightly, he followed me without hesitation.

When he finally pulled back, I was still holding his shirt.

His eyes dropped to my hand. Then he looked at me. “You were saying something.”

I let go of him. “You’re an asshole.”

He smiled. “I know.”

I pushed his chest. “Sit down.”

He laughed quietly and returned to his chair.

I picked up my coffee, mostly so I had something to do with my hands.

I studied him. “Are you dangerous?”

He didn’t answer. Instead, he lifted my hand and kissed the back of it. “Eat your breakfast.”

I stared at him. “That wasn’t an answer.”

Before he could say anything, my phone buzzed on the counter.

I reached for it, but Cass got there first. He glanced at the screen. His expression changed.

I noticed immediately. “Who is it?”

He looked at me. “Your brother.”

I held out my hand.

“Give me my phone.”

He did.

I answered the call. “Hey, Ethan.”

There was a pause.

Then Ethan’s voice came through. “Where are you?”

“Home.”

“Are you okay?”

I looked at Cass.

He was already watching me.

“Yeah. Why?”

“I heard about what happened.”

“How?”

Another pause.

“People talk.”

I frowned at the phone after the call ended. People talk? About what? And how quickly had they started talking?

Before I could ask, Ethan said, “I’ll come by later.”

“Okay.”

The call ended. I put the phone down. Cass hadn’t moved.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“You’re doing that thing.”

“What thing?”

“The thing where you look like you’re about to say something and then decide not to.”

His jaw tightened. “Your brother shouldn’t be coming here.”

I stared at him. “Why? How did you know I have a brother anyway?”

He stood and reached for his jacket. “Because I said so.”

I laughed. “That’s getting old.”

He slipped the jacket on and glanced at me. “You’ll understand eventually.”

“That’s not very reassuring.”

He walked toward the door.

I followed him. “Where are you going?”

“Work.”

I stopped. “Are you a cop?”

He looked back at me. “Security.”

“What kind of security?”

His mouth curved. “The kind that keeps me busy.”

I folded my arms. “You know what? One day I’m going to figure you out.”

He opened the door. “Maybe.” Then he looked at me again. “And when you do, you’ll probably wish you hadn’t.” He walked away before I could answer.

I stood there staring at the closed door for a moment before turning back toward the kitchen. The breakfast was still sitting on the table, untouched except for what I’d eaten, and the coffee was still warm. I picked up the cup and took another sip, then looked toward the door again. He’d shown up without warning, brought me breakfast, told me not to go to work and kissed me when I was still angry with him. And somehow, the strangest part was that he’d known exactly which coffee to bring.

My phone buzzed again.

This time, it was a message from Roman.

Roman: Don’t open the door for anyone you don’t know.

I stared at the screen.

Then another message appeared.

Roman: Especially your brother.

My eyes stayed on the screen. I read the message again, slower this time, then looked toward my front door.

Then I called Cass. When his phone went straight to voicemail, I called Roman.