“You!” Liz’s blood boiled at the sight of Dorian in her house. If this were a romantic comedy, she might say something like “fancy meeting you here” or “we have to stop meeting like this.” But this wasn’t a comedy. Ever since the appearance of Dorian, her life had become a tragic drama—and she definitely didn’t remember buying a ticket.
Dorian smiled without a trace of his normal bluster. “Me.”
Again with the flirting-not-flirting-interrogation-not-interrogation. She had enough to deal with already and hated him for adding to the unwieldy pile up of problems. She placed her hands on her hips and glowered at him. “You’re following me, and I’m calling the police.”
He waved his phone at eye level. “I already did.”
Well, that was unexpected. “But, you… You…” Liz struggled to find words to match the situation. She’d vowed to give him a piece of her mind should they meet again. Yet now that he was here and the party music was thumping at her brain like a bass drum, she came up short.
He placed a hand on her back again. “C’mon, let me help you break this up. Then you can decide whether you want to have me arrested for stalking.”
His touch felt nice, comforting, given the horror of the situation. The pleasantness of it angered her greatly. “So you admit it?” she spat.
He nodded and smiled. This time, she believed the gesture. He’d smiled many times during her past two encounters with him, but this was the first one that felt authentic. “I do, but I have a very good reason.”
“Well, will you tell me?”
“After we handle this. Where’s your dog?”
“Samson, he… How do you know I have a dog?”
“I promise to explain everything. Just tell me where Samson is.”
“The garage, probably.”
“Perfect.”
Liz stood rooted to the spot as Dorian pushed through the house and toward the garage. He knew exactly where to go, which unsettled her to no end. Had he been in her house before? Why? Why did he know so much about her? Why had he followed her home? And why did he suddenly want to help her?
A moment later, Samson burst into the kitchen through the garage and began jumping excitedly on various party guests.
A girl shrieked when Samson’s leaping caused her to spill her drink all over her top.
“Party’s over!” Dorian shouted when everyone’s eyes turned toward the kitchen. “You have two minutes before I start ordering my dog to attack, and probably about three before the police show up.”
Victoria stomped over to Liz, her face twisted with rage. “You’re ruining my party!”
Liz wanted to be nice. She wanted to keep it together for her father’s sake, but she’d had enough. “You shouldn’t be having a party! It’s a Monday night, and nobody here is old enough to be drinking.”
Tori rolled her eyes as if Liz were the ridiculous one in this situation. “My mother doesn’t like you, and neither do I.”
If that was meant to surprise Liz, it didn’t. It just annoyed her further. “Yeah, and right now I don’t like you very much, either.” She pushed Tori out of her way, but the girl charged after her.
“Your boyfriend is ugly!” she shouted.
“And you’re grounded,” Liz shouted back. Teenagers sucked, especially these teenagers. Liz, for her part, had never been so happy to be a grown up in all of her life.
Victoria stomped back away, trying to keep her guests from leaving as she threw herself into dancing to the loud pop music playing over the speakers.
Dorian came up behind her, as was starting to become a particular habit of his. “Ugly, huh?” He laughed but didn’t wait for Liz to defend him. Despite his brief willingness to help her clear out the party, he’d done nothing to earn her trust—or her favor.
And Liz had many things she could have said to that. That his face wasn’t nearly as ugly as his personality. That actually she found him to be quite handsome when he wasn’t insulting her.
Instead, she just shook her head.
“Look, I didn’t really call the police,” he admitted. “I didn’t want to get you in trouble.”
“Who are you? Why won’t you leave me alone?”
“I’m Dorian Whitley, reporter for Anchorage Daily News.”
“That’s what you said before, but I don’t believe you.”
“Well, it’s the truth.”
“Then why did you follow me to work and follow me home? Why do you know about my dog and know your way around my father’s house? What else do you know that you’re not telling me? And aren’t you supposed to be out horseback riding with your girlfriend’s parents?”
He shook his head and gave her a look she couldn’t decode. “I don’t have a girlfriend.”
“So that part was a lie.”
He placed his hand on her back again. It seemed almost possessive this time and far too intense given the nature of their relationship. “A convenient bending of the truth.”
Liz needed everyone out of her house and she needed them out now, including—and especially—Dorian Whitley. “Look, if you didn’t call the police, then I’m going to. Even if I get in trouble for the underage drinking, it’s better than being left alone with a lying psycho stalker.”
“Ouch. Tell me what you really think of me.” He seemed amused more than hurt, but the insult had clearly scratched beneath the surface. Finally.
“I just did. Now, will you leave on your own, or do you need to be forcibly removed?”
“Don’t you want the truth?”
“I don’t think I trust you to give it to me.”
“Look, it’s complicated. I—”
Now she waved her phone at him. “You have five seconds.”
“I lied about having a girlfriend, but my name is Dorian and I am a reporter.”
She scowled at him and pressed a button on her phone. “9,” she said aloud as a warning.
“I’m not stalking you. I’m working on a story. Just like I told you at the wedding.”
She pressed another button. One more to go and she’d have the police on the line. “1.”
“The story isn’t about the wedding. It’s about a political scandal with Vanessa.”
That caught Liz off guard. Her finger hovered over the last button, but she didn’t press down. Not yet.
“Your father may be in danger. You may be in danger.”
“Are you for real? Do you actually expect me to believe that?”
“From what I know of you so far, I doubt you will. But it’s the truth.”
“So what do you want? Why are you following me?”
“Access. You don’t like me, but I’m pretty sure you like her even less.” He let his words hang between them, waiting for her response. Liz finally understood the expression about the rock and the hard place. Should she go with Dorian, who claimed to be the enemy of her enemy and thus her friend, or should she go with the woman who her father loved and, to her knowledge, hadn’t stalked Liz a day in her life?
Decisions, decisions.