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MARGOT

I ’m two bites into my sushi roll when a quick tap sounds on my office door.

Setting my chopsticks down and covering my sushi-filled mouth, I call out for the person to come in. It’s after eight, so most have gone home for the night, but there’s always one or two workaholic stragglers left until nine or so.

Austin King, a man fifteen years my senior with thick, salt and pepper hair many women in this building find irresistible, opens the door and props himself against the frame.

His pinstripe suit reminds me of something a mobster would wear, but he manages to pull it off.

It shouldn’t be surprising. Everything this man touches feels somehow classier, everyone he smiles at more important.

Everyone but me.

“You didn’t tell me you were having dinner. I would’ve joined you.”

My hand still covering my mouth, I hurry to swallow. The taste of cold salmon lingers on my tongue.

“I’m actually still working.” I point to my computer monitor. Nothing but my email is pulled up, so if he bothered to check, he’d see through the lie. But I don’t think people lie to Austin. He walks through life with beaming confidence that makes me think he’s never felt rejection.

“Nonsense,” he says, strutting into my office and taking up the chair across from me. “A beautiful woman like you should never eat alone.”

“Ah, my knight.” I force a smile. I don’t mention how I’ve spent the majority of my adult life eating dinners-for-one in silence at my optimistically large kitchen table. I swear to God, I regularly have to dust the unused chairs.

I click onto my work program and type in my credentials to look busy while he stares at me, not taking the hint. Never taking the hint.

“What are those for?” he asks. My eyes follow his narrowed gaze to the pillow and blanket on my sofa—the black leather all looks and zero comfort.

My words get caught in my throat for a moment before I recoup my composure.

“It’s because of yesterday. Remember, I had that monstrous migraine?

” I lift my brows as if I’m waiting for him to confirm the false memory.

His forehead wrinkled, he opens his mouth like he’ll question it, but I continue before he can get a word out.

“Anyway, I figured I’d just keep those here in case I needed another impromptu nap. ”

I don’t look at Austin’s face, instead pretending to read something on my monitor. But his disapproval makes the room feel hotter. I tug the collar of my shirt when I feel it hugging my neck too tightly.

“Margot…”

I look up from my computer at him, keeping my face as neutral as possible.

“Are you sleeping here again?” His eyes dance between me and the couch.

“What?” I pick up another slice of sushi and laugh. “ No . I’m leaving as soon as I get this report finished. Suzette has been hounding me all?—”

“Is he back?” Austin’s voice is low, full of foreboding.

Tingles spread throughout my tense body while my throat closes up. I shake my head and nibble on the sushi to avoid having to speak.

“Shit.” Austin leans back and runs his hand through his hair. “Why would you not tell me? You are always welcome at my place, Margot. You know that.”

I swallow and set down the food. “I know. And I appreciate it. I really do, but I’m not sleeping here. I’m going home just as soon as?—”

“Then let me come with you,” he says, a little too assertively. It sounds more like a command than a request. “If you’re not going to call the police, then you need some sort of protection.”

“I’ve spoken to the police many times,” I lie. I haven’t called them once. They can’t save me from my own mistakes. “They don’t have the resources to give me 24-hour surveillance for some stalker who’s never actually harmed me.”

“He’s terrorizing you.”

I close my eyes and place my palms flat on my desk. My eyes begin to sting, but it isn’t out of fear or sadness. It’s out of pure frustration. For Austin, for myself .

My mind takes me to the night I told him I had a stalker, and I wish so badly I could go back in time and strangle myself.

We had just gotten back to my place after a date, and I was ready to kiss him goodnight, retreat inside, run off the three martinis he’d insisted on buying me, take a shower and go to bed.

The entire date, I sat focused on him, listening to him go on and on about everything happening inside his mind.

One drink in, I began searching for an escape.

I wanted to see this man as attractive as the women around me do. I wanted to be flattered by his attention. I wanted to feel giddy when he opened the door to his Mercedes for me, and I wanted to awe at his taste in fine wine. I wanted so badly to fall in love with this man. But I couldn’t.

Every time I’m with him, I wonder when he’ll see me for who I really am.

Every time he talks about his travels, I wonder when he’ll ask how I spent my youth.

What private school I went to. What vacations I took as a kid.

What prom dress my mother took me to buy, and what boyfriends my father ran off.

I’ve spent the last year terrified of those moments.

I’ve fabricated lies in my head, studied old literature and world history, and all the while never spent a moment admiring the man I’ve been fooling.

I was ready to break things off for good, but the night he took me home after our date only glued me to his chivalrous side.

He had been inside. The man tormenting me for the past seven years had destroyed my living room, leaving only my mother’s flowery doodle mercifully unbroken. Like even in his rage, he knew that would be the thing that ruined his delusional chances at winning my love for good.

As soon as I’d stepped inside, I screamed in terror.

Not from what he’d done but from the possibility that he might still be there.

Austin ran in after me, ready to be the knight to come to my aid.

He grabbed a golf club from his car and went searching the house.

When he was finished, he held me while I cried on the couch. Then the words flowed.

At that point, it had been six years that I’d gone without telling a soul about the horror I lived. That night, I told Austin everything but the beginning of the story. And I’ve regretted it ever since.

“It’s probably nothing.”

“Whatever it is, it isn’t nothing ,” Austin counters.

I lift my hands while opening my mouth, letting out a sigh before speaking. “There were some cigarette butts on my back patio. I don’t even know that they were his. I don’t think he smokes.”

“How would you know?” Austin shifts in his chair like he’s flustered.

I pause for a moment while I think through my response. “Because I’ve never seen him leave cigarettes behind before. It could’ve been anyone.”

“It was him, and you’re staying with me tonight.” Austin raises from his chair like it’s settled. Like I’m just supposed to push aside my imaginary work and follow him like the helpless woman I am.

He doesn’t get it. He’s so wrapped up in himself and has been too nurtured his entire life to see the danger he puts himself in when he assumes I need a savior.

My tormentor only trashed my house that night because he knew I was on a date.

It enraged him. What does Austin think would happen if we were followed to his home?

Does he think the psycho would just snap his fingers and curse me, vowing to come again when I wasn’t in the company of such esteemed masculine protection?

Give me a fucking break.

“Austin.” I sigh. “I appreciate?—”

“This is not up for discussion.” He shakes his head. “I’m not going to wake up and see your photo on the news after he pushes things further than vandalism. I care about you, Margot.”

“I know.” I nod. “And you know what? As soon as I leave here, I’m going to the police station to make another report.”

“I’ll drive you,” he insists.

I show my palms in defeat. “Sure. Just give me another hour to finish up.”

Austin hesitates for a few moments, like he isn’t sure it could be that easy. Finally, he stands like he’s satisfied and tells me to come by his office when I’m finished.

As soon as he’s gone, I let out a sigh of relief. I massage my temples, a genuine headache coming on, then go back to my email.

There’s one from him , hiding behind the pseudonym [email protected] , but when I skim it, I don’t spot anything unusual.

Just his daily ramble. He mentions looking forward to seeing me at ‘the drop’ in a few days, and there’s an invite to have Thanksgiving with him next week, but nothing about being at my house.

If he was there, he must not care for me to know.

My lips pursing, I hit reply and almost begin typing. I want to remind him of our deal. I want to threaten to block him again, withhold the money he blackmails from me, refuse to play his games.

He’s supposed to stay away from my house. He promised he’d stay away. Maybe it’s outrageous to hold the words of a lunatic to a high standard, but I’ve wanted to scream at him for so long, it’s tempting to unleash the resentment I feel now. It would only be the second time.

Five years or so ago, I expressed my hatred for him by yelling into my backyard one night, my newly purchased gun jerking around each time I swiveled.

I felt like I was going mad hearing the light taps on my windows, finding flowers left for me on my porch.

I’d blocked twenty different phone numbers and seventeen different email accounts at that point.

He responded by roasting a cat over the bird bath in my backyard. I didn’t let Molly—my calico companion—outside for a month. And from then on, I’ve endured his messages without open complaint.

My eyes closing, I pull my hand from the mouse and sigh.

This never ends. It never fucking ends.

I rub my eyelids before blinking through blurred vision. Then I delete his message and carry on.

I find three new emails regarding the tutoring services I give to the undergrad physics majors at UNLV. Two are from girls I’ve tutored in the past, and one is from a student named Taylor.

I try to tell from the writing if Taylor is male or female but give up after only a minute and type their name into Facebook. Several Taylor Peters pop up, but only one is enrolled at the University of Nevada. I click on the boy’s image and study his handsome features before typing up my email.

Hi Taylor,

I’m very sorry, but I’m all booked up for the semester. Good luck with your studies!

After finishing up with my emails, my sushi devoured, I shut down my computer and grab my bag. I’m just about to sneak out of the office and hightail it to my car when another knock sounds on the door.