Page 8 of The Love Obsession (Bloody Desires #11)

ZAYN

“Why are we here again?” Eddison whispered out of the corner of his mouth while slouching in his chair in my direction.

His elbow bumped mine at the scratched long table our team took up in the back of Lenore’s, a café near the NGU campus.

The dilapidated piece of black furniture looked like it used to live in someone’s dining room.

I rubbed my thumb across a spatter of dried purple paint between my laptop and mug of lukewarm coffee.

I kept an eye on our boss, who was droning on and on and fucking on about some government paperwork we forgot to fill out.

Eddison nudged me.

I shrugged.

Raising his cup to hide his mouth, he grunted.

“Gerald—” He nodded at our boss. “—thinks this is a more creative environment than the office.” His lips twitched and he mostly hid his grimace as he stared at the black walls interrupted here and there by framed vibrant artwork, but he squinted a teeny bit.

I snagged the inside of my lip with my teeth to stop from rolling my eyes.

“Why?” he asked.

Eddison loved to answer his own questions, so I waited politely.

“Because college students reeking of weed and their parents’ money waste their time here.”

“That’s so fucking creative.” I snorted.

Gerald glanced our way.

Eddison groaned and ran his hand nervously along his short brown hair. “Shh.”

Gerald frowned before he sat down and started tapping away on his laptop keyboard.

The early afternoon sunshine streaming in the windows made the bald spot on the top of his head gleam.

He’d valiantly resisted the comb-over, so I had to give him kudos for that.

But like staring at clouds, I couldn’t stop from comparing the oddly shaped blob of visible scalp—lovingly embraced on all sides by his silvering red hair—to various things.

Today it either resembled a llama’s head or Peru.

He was the one who forgot to fill out the damned paperwork, so I wasn’t sure why the rest of us got to hear a sermon on the topic. Shit always did roll downhill.

Eddison reached toward the middle of the table for a copy of a local map of existing wind turbines, and I could see the disaster in progress but didn’t have time to avert it.

His sleeve caught my mug. The coffee splashed out toward the paperwork, deluged it, and headed in a wave directly for Gerald’s laptop.

I could already hear Eddison starting to hyperventilate.

Without thinking, I grabbed my suit jacket from where I had it tossed on the table at my side and lobbed it on top of the mess to stop its progression toward everyone’s computers, which got me a small round of applause and laughter.

Eddison slumped in his seat and put his hand over his eyes. “I’ll pay for the dry cleaning.”

“That’s why we hired you, Zayn. Quick thinking.” Gerald shot me an awkward finger gun, then glowered at Eddison, who refused to make eye contact.

With a flourish of my hands, I stood and took a bow as Heather, Jennifer, and Gallant used my suit jacket to mop up the coffee and salvage what they could of the reports.

Gerald’s curvy blond assistant, Melina, looked ready to have a breakdown because her white dress suit had come perilously close to being doused, but she still took the moment to ask the boss if he wanted a refill.

They were always kissing Gerald’s ass, but I wasn’t really any better and tried not to judge too hard.

I sat down and checked my phone discreetly, worry pinging around in my chest and tightening my grip.

No messages.

It had been almost two weeks without a word from Moose. I’d tried not to come on too strong. Texted a couple of times. Called a few times. Avoided a dick pic—barely. I was desperate but didn’t want to be that guy. I was a serial killer, and on my better days I called myself a vigilante—not vulgar.

But nothing.

No response.

There wasn’t even a “read” receipt on my texts.

Of course, I wasn’t sure if that meant he hadn’t seen them or simply had the feature turned off on his end.

The uncertainty twisted my gut into a knot and gave me an oddly pleasant ache at the same time.

While the rest of the executive team babbled to each other and danced around our boss, Eddison apologized yet again.

Ignoring the chaos, I drummed my fingers on the table and stared at my laptop screen. I’d never been ditched. In fact, usually men were calling me the next day. But perhaps I’d bitten off more than I could chew?

Fuck. I need this to work out.

“Zayn, what do you think?” Gerald glanced up over his glasses at me expectantly.

What had he been saying? Double fuck. “Sir?”

“Can you have your report done today?”

I winked at him. “It was in your inbox an hour ago, Boss.”

He grinned and his face flushed as he went back to his laptop.

Flattery got you everywhere with him, and poor Eddison hadn’t figured that out.

Our boss was pretty easy to please, really, which was good.

I needed him to like me. If the cops ever came sniffing around—not that it would happen—everyone at the office had to be completely shocked and offended that they would think to ask questions about me.

I worked hard to be not only good but likable .

Anyone could be excellent at their job. It was a hell of a lot harder to be top dog and man of the year at the same time.

Which did a strange number on my self-esteem. Without all this subtle manipulation, would they appreciate me? If I didn’t work twice as hard as everyone else, would I still be indispensable? I shrugged off the thoughts.

All the shit with work? It wasn’t a challenge.

Not like Moose.

I needed this. I could do this. Plus, there was the bonus of making the world a better place.

I could’ve been a cop. I could’ve done a lot of different things with my life.

But in those jobs the bad guys often got away.

They got expensive lawyers. They went off skipping the whole way while the good guys blew each other for a job well done and generally whistled Dixie.

Then, nice people like my mom, people who needed help but got drugs instead, ended up dead. Decent guys like my dad went into a spiral of depression and became a ghost before his time.

Shaking off the morose thoughts, I glanced around wistfully at the artwork on the walls. I’d brought Truett, victim number seven, here. He’d taken me three months to crack. It was weird. I’d learned to skateboard so I could hang out with him, and occasionally, I missed him, but that didn’t matter.

The game was all that mattered.

If I let myself get too hung up on the people I played the game with, I’d never be able to have my satisfaction at the end.

I licked my lips. There was something about watching the light leave someone’s eyes that I couldn’t get anywhere else.

A good psychologist would have a field day with me.

I’d grown up with money. My parents were dust in the wind, but my grandmother had taken me in with loving, open arms. I’d gone to a good school. I had a great job. A wonderful life.

Yet, I couldn’t let this go.

Perhaps what motivated me was the fact that, when it came to society, everything might look good on the surface while festering beneath. Things had always been too easy for me, even this job that was supposed to be difficult.

But fuck it, who cared? I am the way I am.

Having something not fall into my lap for once was a good thing. It gave me a goal .

“I’m telling you, Adlerian psychology says that you chose to get a D on that astrophysics test!

Stop stabbing yourself in the heart and study, dumbass.

” An obnoxious skinny boy wearing a paint-spattered T-shirt and jeans walked in carrying a skateboard and speaking at top volume.

A can of spray paint spilled out of the pocket of his backpack and rolled across the floor, stopping beside my chair.

He threw himself onto a couch in an arrangement of furniture nearby and his friends filtered in around him, all talking just as loudly with coffees in hand.

Gerald grunted and glared at them. “Why don’t we break up for the day?

You can go back to the office or home. I don’t care.

Just meet the project deadlines for this week.

” He stood abruptly and started packing away his laptop.

Someone had lifted a burial shroud off our group.

Heather and Jennifer immediately started whispering together, and Gallant pulled out his phone.

In two minutes flat I had my laptop packed and was headed out into the gravel parking lot with Eddison keeping pace at my side.

“Should I order food now or later? I don’t want to go out again.

Now.” He poked at his phone screen, and I grabbed his shoulder to keep him from being run down by a bunch of kids in a van.

The driver was too busy talking to someone in the seat behind him to bother paying attention.

I flipped them off, but they didn’t notice, and Eddison had his hand on his chest.

“Shit! Thanks.” He gave me a tentative smile. “So, I was thinking?—”

“Why weren’t you paying attention?” I asked, slapping his shoulder.

My heart kicked up and my dick tingled as I played the highlights reel in my brain of the last time I’d felt this way—adrenaline hitting my system, sparks from a fire. It was with Moose.

He scowled. “You know, just lost in my head in some ways. That happens to me. I remember something from years ago, then it’s stuck in a loop in my brain all day.

When that happens, I try to focus on things, like work or ordering food or whatever, but then my attention is split in two. It’s part of why I’m so clumsy.”

Amusement made my heart leap. “I’ve found killing the problem helps. Metaphorically speaking, of course.”

“If only it were that simple.” His self-deprecating smile dug a cute wrinkle into the bridge of his nose.