Page 50 of The Art of Being a Psychopath

“Tell me what happened today?”

“What do you mean?” she replied a little defensively, her mind clearly on a million other things.

“What happened to make you leave the newspaper? You’ve put up with that asshole for four years now. So what happened today to tip you over the edge?”

Her head turned slowly to face me.

“You are a stalker.”

“What?” I smiled and gave a low chuckle.

“How did you know I’ve worked there for four years?” she questioned, the mistrust evident in her tone.

“Because I did my research and wanted to know a little more about you as a reporter, before I invited you into my home.”

It was a lie.

I had totally stalked her social media, along with any other avenues of information I could find since I’d met her. She was the most gorgeous woman I’d ever laid eyes on. She made me feel nervous, and I never got nervous. I had to know more.

But I wouldn’t tell her that.

It’d make me sound like a creep.

I wasn’t a creep.

At least, I didn’t think I was.

“I suppose that makes sense,” she replied, and I silently congratulated myself on my quick thinking. “But if you’ve done your homework, you’ll know that until a week ago, I was working as Mr. Gold’s assistant, not a reporter.”

I did know that, but I wasn’t about to divulge all my secrets.

“Gold isn’t the biggest advocate for equality in the workplace, anyone could tell you that. But graduating at the level you did, with an English Literature degree, I knew you’d know how to write a good, strong story. Not everyone gets a first-class with honours, Emma. I didn’t. And before you ask, that fact about you was listed on the company website too.”

She seemed to relax a little when I said that. I knew I’d hit a nerve, talking about her job, but I hoped I’d also made her feel good about herself, reminding her that she was an educated woman. That she was worthy, despite what Gold might’ve told her.

“I do love writing,” she replied, and I finally felt her body relax a little beside me.

“So you should. Never give up on your dreams, Emma.”

She nodded to herself thoughtfully. “Thanks again for sorting out that problem at the gallery with the damaged sculpture. I will pay you back. I promise.”

“Please don’t apologise. It’s all sorted. And you don’t need to pay me a penny. That’s all done with now. Forget it.”

I heard her hum next to me, and I glanced to the side to see her biting her lip. I held in a groan. Emma’s lip biting did things to me that made me want to unleash my feral beast, and I don’t think she was ready to meet that side of me yet.

We drove on for a while in silence. Me, imagining all the things I shouldn’t with her sitting beside me, and her, giving gentle sighs that did nothing to dampen the fire smouldering within me. And then she broke the silence in a way that totally threw me off-balance, leaving me reeling on how I should respond.

“Did you hear about the murder last night?”

CHAPTER

TWENTY

EMMA

“Did you hear about the murder last night?” I asked him; thoughts of what I’d seen this morning seared into my brain.

He took a breath and didn’t answer right away. His silence made my nerves spark a little. But eventually, he said, “The Bell case? Yeah. I heard a bit about that. The chief of police is one of my closest friends, so I usually hear about that kind of stuff before it hits the news.”