“Stop talking to me like I’m a petulant child!”
“Then maybe you should stop acting like one. You can leave right now,” a smile creeps across his face, “but you won’t.”
“No,” I grit my teeth, “because this is my office, and you’re the one who should be leaving. I’m tired of running from you.”
“Then stop running.”
“Fine,” I shrug, “here’s me not running anymore—say what you need to say and get out. Done, mission accomplished, over and out.”
“Brett, there are a lot of things I didn’t get to tell you.” He nods out the window to the parking lot, “Want to take a ride?”
“Are you crazy?” I scoff, “I’m not going anywhere.”
I haven’t forgotten the folded piece of paper Bowen tossed across the counter to me a week ago; the one with Colson’s mugshot on it where he looks like Satan’s teenage son with his ocean blue eyes and perfect cheekbones glaring at the camera. And I certainly haven’t forgotten the reason for his arrest typed right under it.
I rise from my chair and plant myself on the edge of my desk, crossing my arms in defiance, “If you have something to say, you can say it here.”
“In that case, we’re more alike than you think,” Colson lets his icy gaze settle on me, “because I’m not going anywhere, either, Brett,” he lets the words sink in, “do you honestly think I’d travel hundreds—thousands—of miles and spend all this time and effort revolving around you like a goddamn satellite if I didn’t know exactly how this is going to end?”
My stomach bottoms out right there. He says it with such nonchalance that it doesn’t even sound real.
I lower my voice to a scornful whisper, “It’s because you’re a stalker.”
Colson bobs his head from side to side, “I prefer faithful to a fault.” Then he narrows his eyes, “Are you just upset because you think I forgot about you?”
“No!” I seethe through clenched teeth, “I’m upset because you tried to make me eat your gun. And then you show up out of nowhere to seek revenge on me for moving on with my life. I’ve never done anything to you!”
Colson studies me for a few moments before pushing off the cabinet. He takes a seat in my chair and leans back, looking me up and down while he chews his thumbnail. Shoulders tense and arms rigid across my chest, I stare right back at him and, after a few seconds, let out an irritated huff and move to step away.
But before I can, Colson’s leg flies up and he plants his boot against the edge of my desk with a thud, blocking my path. I flinch and then slowly turn to meet his gaze.
He gives a nod to my desk, “Sit down, Brett.”
“Stop telling me what to do,” I glare down at him, “you’re a fucking control freak and you can’t stand when someone tells you no.”
He gives an impish roll of his eyes, “But you’ve never actually said no to me,” then he shrugs, “except for that one time in Cincy, when you were trying to stick it to me.” With one look, he motions to the desk again, “Sit down.”
I hesitate, burning holes through his pale blue eyes. He holds my gaze until I slowly rock back on my heel and settle onto the edge of the desk, crossing my arms in front of me again.
Colson leans forward and rests his elbows on his knees, rolling the chair forward a few inches. Then he clasps his hands, just inches from my legs, and looks up at me, “Did you know your office is in a blind spot?”
I knit my eyebrows in confusion, “What do you mean?”
“You can see who walks east to west and north to south in the hallways, but neither camera captures your door. The frames fall just short on either end.”
There’s a flutter in the pit of my stomach simultaneously as I feel my chest tighten. Part of me doesn’t want to know why he knows this or why he feels the need to tell me.
Colson drops his hand and hooks his fingers under the hem of my skirt, sending a ripple of goosebumps up my leg as he gently runs his fingers up the back of my calf, “Anyone can walk in or out, and you’d never know unless you pay attention to how long it takes them to walk from one frame to the next.”
I swallow, my throat suddenly parched, “Shouldn’t someone fix that?”
“Yeah, me,” he replies, “I just didn’t.”
I glance over my shoulder at the door, lingering on the brushed nickel handle and deadbolt right above it. The corridor is silent, like always, devoid of any other occupants.
“It’s locked,” Colson murmurs.
But I didn’t lock it.
My eyes dart back to him, his fingers still gliding up and down the back of my calf, still sending the same familiar shiver all the way up my spine. He reaches down with his other hand and brushes his fingers up the back of my other calf, his hands moving in tandem.
I don’t move a muscle, paralyzed as I watch him, “What are you doing?”
“I’m going to return the favor,” he says with a tilt of his head, “since you were such a good girl for me the last time I saw you.”
“What makes you think I want you to touch me ever again?”
“Baby, you’re such a terrible liar,” Colson scoffs, “you try to be mean to get back at me for getting under your skin, and it never works. But I let you try because I love seeing how much it bothers you. Your eyes are dilating right now while I’m telling you about it. You love this. Plus, I already know what it’s like for you to hate me and it’s not that bad. Being away from you is much worse.”
I stare down at him, my mouth ajar, “That is so toxic.”
“Because I want to do something nice for you?”
“Nice?” my voice cracks, my outrage palpable.
“I would’ve done it earlier,” Colson slides his fingers to the backs of my knees, making my thighs tense, “but since you insist on making things more difficult, as usual—”
“Challenging,” I interject softly, staring at the floor.
