I wipe my forehead, glad that I went light on the makeup today. It’s been a long day of hair and makeup at the resort, but I know it’s been worth it. The bride-to-be was awesome, sweet, and excited to get to play with different looks. She’s the kind of client that makes my job fun sometimes.

It was the mother of the bride that was the problem, a full Momzilla. To start, she wouldn’t accept one of the technological tricks that I use, a tablet that uses a picture of the client and some digital magic to give them a preview. Nope, according to Momzilla, I had to do every hairdo.

She kept saying she wanted her daughter to look exotic on her wedding day and didn’t take it well when I told her that her daughter is the picture-perfect blonde, blue-eyed, corn-fed in Iowa type. Though Brad is a genius with makeup, I had to make it known that a cat-eye liner wasn’t gonna make her look like a Kardashian, but that she was gorgeous as-is. Instead, she ended up critiquing and criticizing every little curl and every hint of eye shadow.

After the back and forth, I’m exhausted and Brad barely says a word on our way back. I know he took the worst of it, but he was a total pro.

“Hey, honey, you want company again tonight?” Brad asks as he gets out. “I can grab some stuff for tomorrow.”

I shake my head, feeling silly. Nothing’s happened, and I wave him off. “Grab some sleep. You earned it. Besides, if I get the heebie-jeebies, I think I know someone who can help me.”

Brad grins and starts pumping two fingers through his other fist. “Yeah, yeah, just remember, sweet buns, that I’ve got an advantage over you.”

“What? Because you could have a watertight ass and not steal Evan from me,” I tease back. “He likes some cushion for his pushin’, not a skeleton. And I don’t think he’s on your team.”

“Yeah, but I’ll have you know I can suck a golf ball through a garden hose. And sometimes, that’s enough for a switch-hitter. Top that, bitch,” Brad sassily replies. We look at the each other, matching twinkles in each of our eyes before we laugh.

“That was a good one. Ooh, I really needed that after today. Thanks, honey. Take care and I’ll see you in the morning.”

I give him a wave and pull out. It’s true. I’m hoping to have Evan over tonight, so Brad would be a third wheel. A happy to watch third wheel, but I’m not sharing an inch of what Evan’s packing . . . all for me. After all, I wouldn’t want Brad to get too jealous.

I get back to the salon and park right in front of the door, peeking at the garage to check if I see Evan in the dark or at least the light of the cherry on a cigarette, but it’s completely dark across the street.

Oh, well, I could use a shower after today, so I’ll clean up and then give him a call to see if he wants to come over for a late dinner. I know for damn sure I could use some creamy dessert. I walk into my dark apartment, dropping my keys in the bowl beside the door and flipping on the light.

“Surprise!”

A deep voice scares the shit out of me, making me yell and spin, jumping halfway into the air and stumbling against the doorframe, knocking my head a good one.

For a split second, I think it’s Evan, but then the voice registers and I turn to see Jaxson sitting at my dining table, a fancy spread of crystal and linen surrounding fine white china and a large arrangement of roses.

He’s dressed to the nines, too, a crisp black suit and white shirt undone at the neck, almost as if someone called central casting and asked for ‘Rich Romantic Alpha-Male’. He reclines in my chair, a tumbler of something amber in his hand. He doesn’t break into apartments often, but when he does, he drinks well, apparently.

My jaw hangs open in shock, and my head rings so much I don’t think to just get the fuck outta here. “Jaxson, what are you doing here? How’d you get in?”

He smirks, sipping his drink and setting it aside. “I’m a man of many talents. Please sit down and we can discuss some of them over dinner. I brought your favorite . . . lasagna.”

He stands, pulling out the chair for me like a gentleman. I’m confused by how calm he seems, like this is actually a normal date.

I brace my hand against the wall, trying to keep the rising notes of panic out of my voice as my brain uselessly latches on to minor details out of fear. “What? I don’t like lasagna. You need to leave, Jaxson. Now.”

I harden my voice and my face, hooking a thumb toward the door. Fear’s really starting to make my knees tremble, and I’m suddenly aware of just how far it is from my hand to my phone.

He looks thoughtful for a moment, then shrugs, unconcerned. “Ah, perhaps it’s my favorite then, definitely something you should try though. Sit.”

His voice turns dangerously cold, something robotic sounding around the edges of it as if it’s simply a recording, no emotions.

Something is terribly wrong here. I’d been thinking Jaxson was just extraordinarily persistent, but breaking into my apartment to surprise me with dinner takes things from persistent into criminally psycho territory.

Jaxson smiles again, and I see something darker and more terrifying lurking beneath his spit-shined façade than I ever imagined. Underneath this façade covering the face isn’t a nice guy but a truly sick mind. I just missed it because, well, I don’t know why. But Jaxson isn’t weird . . . he’s evil.

Jaxson interrupts my epiphany, his voice cracking like a steel whip. His eyes spark dangerously, and his hand clenches around the chair back until he’s white-knuckled. “McKayla. Sit.”

I take a big breath, my mind racing on how to get out of this. I’m alone in my apartment, the door downstairs is locked and a bitch to get open, Brad is home, and Evan and I didn’t actually have plans tonight, so nobody knows to come look for me.

I’m on my own.

I need a plan. I know I can’t get out of here, downstairs, and outside without him catching me. So I need to play for time, try to find an opening to subdue him somehow. For now, I don’t want to anger him, so I do as he says and move to sit in the dining chair. I look over my shoulder at him as he tries to push my chair in like we’re actually going to sit here and have a romantic dinner date. I glance at the table setting, but the knife he’s laid out is good for nothing more than pissing someone off.

Tentatively, I try talking to him. “Jaxson, look . . . this is all lovely, but I’ve been honest with you from the start. I just want to be friends, nothing more. You need to go.”

His calmness evaporates, instantly replaced with anger, and he pushes my chair the rest of the way in, my ribs smacking the table a little too hard. “You think you’ve been honest? You said you didn’t want to date anyone and then you go and let that asshole fuck you like some slut, right in front of the windows where anyone could see. Now tell me, how honest is that?”

I push away from the table as much as I can, leaning back to be able to grab a breath, but an instant later, it clicks. He knows about Evan and me having sex on the salon bench because he was there . . . with a camera. “You . . . you’re the cameraman.”

He ignores me and continues, talking more to the room than to me as he comes from around the back of the chair to loom over me, one hand on the table and one on the chair back as he looks down at me. “Why would you want a guy like that? He treats you like shit, just giving a little tug on the hook he has in you, and you go running off to him like a damn trained puppy. I wanted to treat you right, like a lady, take you to dinner and get to know you. But if you want a rough bastard who just takes what he wants, fine. I can be that.” My eyes widen in terror as I realize what he’s saying, and I try to push the chair back more to get away.

Without preamble, he roughly grabs my arms and jerks me up from the chair, hauling me to him as he brings his lips to mine.

He’s got a fierce hold on my arms, keeping me still, but I turn my head to get away and yell, “No! Jaxson. Stop. Let me go!”

My struggles give me a little more room, and I manage to get my hands up to his chest, pushing against him with everything I have, but that’s it. In the space between us, I get hysterical, flailing to try to get away from his grip and yelling ‘NO’ over and over again.

He releases one arm, and I twist, thinking for a split-second that I have a chance. I whirl away from him, but it seems to be exactly what he wants as he yanks me back. I don’t see it coming when he backhands me, stars instantly blooming in front of my eyes.

I’m stunned, and he takes advantage, pressing me back against the blind-covered window as he lifts a hand to my throat. My toes barely graze the floor, and the air’s cut off almost instantly, my limbs paralyzing in fear.

“You want it rough, McKayla?” he snarls in my ear, leaning it. “You let him fuck you hard in front of a window. Guess it’s my turn now, but I’m a bit more brutal than he was. I think a slut like you is gonna like it though.”

I hear him undoing his belt and make one last effort, clawing at his neck, but my nails just slide over his suit jacket, one of them snapping off. I gurgle, trying to fight the black roses that are blooming in my vision. “No . . .”

Right before the dark can take over, I have one last thought of Evan. I’m so sorry for not listening because this is gonna be impossible for him to come back from.

It’s not paranoia when they’re actually out to get you.