Chapter 19 Predator and Prey
The eye contact lasted exactly five seconds, long enough for the air to turn to static.....and then he was gone. No smirk. No parting comment meant to burrow under my skin.
Just a shadow retreating into the hallway, leaving me standing there with the frantic urge to check my own pulse.
And for a solid minute afterward, I start wondering if I imagined him. Like maybe the five grand and the double shifts have finally eroded my grip on reality, and my subconscious has started projecting corporate demons into the local retirement home. Maybe my brain's tipped into mild hallucination territory.
Because when I glance back at the doorway, there’s nothing there. Just the same hallway and soft light. No tall billionaire in a tailored suit.
Is that where I'm at mentally now? Two days of thinking about the guy and suddenly I’m conjuring six-foot-two designer hallucinations in public places?
I almost ask the room, I really do. But I stop myself. Mostly because I’m pretty sure that’s not a great look. Explaining my hallucinations to a room full of old people feels like a fast track to getting a roommate here. And also because I know what I saw.
Meg walks back into the room a couple of minutes later like nothing unusual just happened. I clear my throat and try for casual, “Hey, Meg?”
She glances over. “Yeah?”
I shrug lightly. “Did you, uh... see a guy in a suit walk through here just now?”
She nods immediately, completely unfazed. “Oh yeah. Some big-shot donor type,” she says. “He’s thinking about contributing to the place.” My stomach tightens. “He asked a few questions and I showed him to the manager’s office.”
Right, totally normal explanation.
Except for the part where the big-shot donor type happens to be the exact same man who spent yesterday pinning me against his office wall like it was a recreational activity.
I sit at a small round table with three of the resident ladies, smiling and nodding through a conversation about someone’s grandson who just got into dental school. Normally I love this part. I always hang around for a bit after playing. Talk with them, hear their stories, let them roast me about my "fuck boy" haircut.
But today I’m distracted.
Okay, fine....on edge.
Because now my brain is trying to decide between two very uncomfortable options.
Option one: this is a coincidence.
Which would make it a truly impressive one. The kind that feels less like coincidence and more like the universe messing with me.
Option two: it’s not a coincidence.
Which means Bastian.... control freak and professional boundary destroyer....has somehow followed me to an elderly home where I play violin on Sundays. And if that’s the case, then that's a whole new level of unhinged.
Trying to rope me into some ridiculously well-paying job is one thing. But infiltrating my quiet old-people sanctuary? That crosses directly into ‘what the hell is wrong with you’ territory.
I glance down at my phone on the table. The time makes my stomach drop a little. I’ve got to meet Josie and Dante at the beach in like two hours. Which might sound like plenty of time until you factor in Sunday traffic. At that point two hours basically translates to leave now or accept your fate. I sigh and push my chair back slightly.
I'm definitely not running.
“Alright,” I say, giving them an apologetic smile. “I hate to do this, but I actually have to run.”
Immediately...
The protests start. “Oh no!”
“But you just got here!”
“You always stay longer!”
Mrs. Alvarez looks personally offended. I lift my hands in surrender. “I know, I know,” I say quickly. “But I’ve got something scheduled this afternoon.”
Mrs. Donnelly taps the table. “You’d better come back soon.”
“I will,” I promise. “I’ll come by Wednesday and stay longer. Cross my heart.” She studies me for a second like she’s evaluating the sincerity of my soul.
Then she nods. “Alright. Wednesday.”
“Wednesday,” I confirm. They finally let me stand, though not without several reminders about which songs I’m supposed to play next time. I say my goodbyes, grab my violin case, and head toward the hallway. The building is quiet again out here, the voices fading behind me. I’m almost at the front door when I pause. Because if Sunday traffic turns into the nightmare it usually does, I might be trapped in a car for the next hour and a half with a full bladder.
I glance down the hallway toward the washrooms, shift the violin case to my other hand and head that way instead.
I'm definitely not stalling.
The bathroom is empty. I set the case carefully against the wall and unzip my jeans, already thinking about traffic and the long drive to the beach.
I make quick work of it, then wash my hands, the cool water grounding for about two seconds before my mind starts racing again.
Bastian.
The fact that he was here.
The fact that he walked away.....
I shut off the tap and reach for the paper towels, drying my hands while staring at my reflection in the mirror above the vanity. My palms press flat against the counter, shoulders slightly hunched forward. My heart is already picking up.
That restless feeling from earlier has crept back under my skin, slow and insistent.
God....Why am I this on edge?
I grab the violin case, exhale once, and head for the door.
The moment I pull it open, a hand slams against it.
Hard.
The door swings back violently, forcing me several steps backward before I can even register what’s happening. It shuts just as fast, the lock snaps into place. I stumble back until the edge of the vanity hits the backs of my thighs, my chest rising fast as adrenaline surges through me.
And yet....shock isn’t what I feel. The reality is far more pathetic. Which is telling. Because somewhere deep down, in that quiet place where instincts live, I knew this was coming. I knew he wouldn’t just leave. A part of me, some treacherous, lizard-brain part of my soul expected this.
The bathroom suddenly feels smaller, warmer. Charged in that strange, electric way thunderstorms feel right before lightning hits. Bastian stands between me and the door. Hands tucked casually into the pockets of his tailored slacks like he just stepped into a boardroom instead of cornering someone in a bathroom.
His gaze drifts slowly over me. That intentional way he looks at people. Like he’s analyzing every reaction.
Every weakness.
Every possibility.
“Where are you running off to so fast?” he asks calmly. His voice is low, controlled. Completely unbothered. “I didn’t even get the chance to compliment you on how lovely you play.”
My pulse jumps hard in my throat. It’s that voice, that steady confidence. That unwavering certainty in his gaze. That’s what froze me last time. Not the situation. Just the way he occupies space like the world already belongs to him.
Not happening again.
I straighten slightly, pushing off the vanity.
“You’re stalking me now?” I ask flatly.
One dark eyebrow lifts. His response comes without hesitation. “I’m protecting my investment.”
I let out a short, disbelieving scoff. The air in the room feels thicker than it should be. My skin suddenly hyper-aware of everything....the space between us, the faint scent of his cologne, the way his suit fits his shoulders like it was sculpted there.
He looks annoyingly good. Which makes this whole situation worse.