Page 7 of Gunnar

I stop near the archway, my hand resting against the smooth plaster. “The screenplay?”

“Yeah.”

“I didn’t get anything.”

“Should have arrived over an hour ago.”

I glance toward the hallway, my lips pursing. Maybe my assistant, Sarah, signed for it. She’s been handling the influx of packages, flowers, and various congratulatory gifts that have been arriving in a steady stream since yesterday evening. “Let me check with Sarah.”

I leave the office and walk along the first-floor hallway, my hand trailing over the banister as I descend the curved staircase. When I reach the landing in the foyer, faint music is playing from Sarah’s office. I pull the phone away from my ear and call, “Hey, Sarah?”

Her voice drifts back, “Yeah?”

“Any packages arrive today?”

“Yeah, sorry.” She sounds disappointed as she pokes her head out the door. “I’ve been dealing with the gown returns, and I haven’t brought them upstairs yet.”

“No worries.” I smile at her.

“I put a few things on the island.” She gestures in the direction of the kitchen. “There’s a ton of mail, too. Congratulations bouquets from like twelve different studios.”

As I pad toward the kitchen, Jake is still talking, rambling on about special appearance and merchandising rights. Leslie chimes in occasionally, a grounding counterpoint to his enthusiasm. Sunlight pours through the glass doors overlooking the backyard and pool. When I step through the archway, my gaze flits over the large marble island and the bouquets of roses, lilies, and proteas.

I freeze, my bare feet suddenly fused to the floor as my breath catches in my throat.

A bouquet sits in the center of the island, arranged carefully in a crystal vase with a cream ribbon wrapped around the neck. The bright pink proteas are bruised and browning at the edges. A few of the stems are bent, the leaves on them crushed or torn. They look as though they have been pulled from the trash. My trash. A new cream-colored envelope is tucked between the stems.

My pulse thunders faster as I take the final few steps over to the island. I am unable to control the tremble of my fingers as I reach for the crisp envelope.

“Devyn?” Jake’s voice sounds distant.

My fingers numb and clumsy, I pluck the envelope from the bouquet and, full of dread, pull out the card.

My love,

I do not like it when you

soil what we have.

You’ll learn…

once we’re together.

—X

A violent wave of nausea hits me so hard I drop the card and double over, my lungs refusing to do their job. For several seconds, I can’t breathe, think, or even move.

He was here.

The realization slams into me like a physical blow, driving the remaining air from my chest. He wasn’t watching from beyond the gates or sending gifts through courier services. This time, he was here. Close enough to my home to rummage through the trash beside the garage. Inside my home.

“Devyn.” Jake’s voice is sharp and demanding now, cutting through the static in my head. “What’s wrong?”

I stare at the bouquet, proof that my stalker has breached the one place I should feel safe. “He was here.” The cracked and broken statement comes out barely as a whisper.

“What?” Leslie’s voice is full of worry.

I swallow hard, forcing the words past the constriction in my throat. “He was here.” My voice shakes, trembling like my hands. “He was inside my house.”