Page 47 of Double Obsession

While whistling her favorite tune, she explored his InstaFriend, then his electric bill. After scrolling for at least an hour, she read the passwords. Back and forth her firm sense of right and wrong battled. But how could she help him if she didn’t look?

She exhaled and unclenched her fingers. Since Jesus was still in the car, she logged into FollowMe.

Hunter Stone lay in bed, cradling his penis. She covered the scandalous photo with both of her hands. Then she opened two fingers and peeked. Finally, she lifted her hands and swallowed. This was all his agent’s fault.

“Motherfucking bitch-ass cunt!” she hollered.

Hundreds of messages sat in Hunter’s inbox, each more disgusting and scandalous than the last. She combed through them, and then began the tedious task of deleting each one.

Two hours later, she was exhausted and still hadn’t started dinner. She climbed the stairs to retrieve her map and journal. A half-hour later, she had a grocery list.

She was about to leave for the store when she clutched her forehead and moaned. She’d forgotten to walk the dogs. When she got a hold of Hunter’s agent, she would slice the woman into twenty-six perfect pieces.

Chapter Nineteen

Hunter dropped his bags beside the couch and kissed his dogs with abandon. “Happy Birthday, baby.” He reached underneath Lizzie and scratched.

Normally she rolled onto her back at even the hint of belly rubs. Instead, she stared at him with sad eyes.

“Hey, Bud, did you take care of everyone while I was gone?”

Buddy’s tail wagged slower than usual, and Hunter’s heart split in two. He pulled his companion close and whispered in his ear, “You aren’t allowed to get any older or leave me, Bud.”

Lizzie whined, sticking her nose between him and Buddy, nudging them apart.

Hunter kissed her for the millionth time. “Why are you acting weird? You know I love you too, girl.”

He collapsed onto the couch with a groan, and rubbed, then closed his eyes. A five-minute nap and he’d get to work. Unfortunately, his brain switched from one thing to the next, and sleep eluded him. He gave up and pulled his cell phone from the front of his overnight bag. He checked his texts. No messages from Jenna. Damn it!

The woman was unreal. So unlike the bimbos he normally messed around with. Sexy, smart, and sweet, she made him feel like he almost had his shit together. He could see why so many men in Hollywood fell for older women. Jenna Gibson was his Demi Moore—his J Lo. He chuckled. The last time he’d wanted an exclusive girlfriend, he’d been seventeen and in desperate need of pussy. Well, there was the Lori debacle last year, but he tried not to think about her.

Bianca had said, “While building your following, you must keep relationships secret. You’re every man and woman’s fantasy, and they’d stop idolizing you if they thought you cared about someone else. And whatever you do, keep those one-night stands from blabbing about you on the internet.”

Although millions of readers adored Jenna, her desire for anonymity would keep their affair secret. Her private nature was another attribute to add to the long list of reasons he liked her. But this wasn’t the time to tell her how he felt—not with a missing kid to deal with.

Now that he was home, it became apparent that the disconcerting feeling he had about their psycho fan was just that—a feeling. Crazy-ass fans stalking and kidnapping were a thing of movies. They’d both overreacted, and the kid had undoubtedly run off with some guy and was getting freaky in his parents’ basement. At least, Hunter hoped that was the case.

Since he was too tired to hold his phone to his ear, he listened to Clark’s message on speakerphone.

“Hey, dude. Our new butler is a butler-ess and odd as hell. She drives a derelict car that belongs in the junkyard. She stares into space, spouts nonsense words, and has a disabled cat. Oh, and she looks like she could bench press a freight train. I have no idea what rock Bianca found her under, but we might need to stick her back under it.”

Hunter sighed. There wasn’t any beat-up car in front of the house, and he was too hungry and tired to listen to Clark’s snotty observations.

Bianca had sent a text. I got a call from your new assistant. WTH? Give me a call asap!!!

He wasn’t in the mood to deal with whatever complaints the assistant had about Clark. And he surely wasn’t in the mood for a talking-to from her majesty. He’d return the call later—maybe? If he spent twenty minutes on his subscription platform, he could scarf down a peanut butter sandwich, drink a beer, and go to bed early.

He clicked into his feed and rubbed his chin. For the past few days, he’d had so many messages he couldn’t respond to them all, but only six had come in the past hour. He sent a short reply to each of them. In case there was some sort of glitch, he logged out and reopened. His message box sat empty.

He brought his hand to his forehead and groaned. Apparently, he was already yesterday’s news unless he blew cum fountains.

There was no way!

First came the bitter burn. Then relief that he could return to his everyday life. It had been fun and profitable while it lasted. He tossed his phone on the coffee table.

“Come on, guys. Let’s go for a walk,” he called to the pups.

Both dogs instantly perked up.