I nodded. The agreement had made history. She’d handed over film, TV, and print rights of her international bestselling novel, Concrete Rose. Ford Enterprises gave her several million dollars. It would take time for her to get the funds due to our lawyers and hers still going over the particulars, but the initial signings had been executed.
The first time I saw Carmen, I’d been intrigued but certainly not prepared. We’d had no idea the author was so beautiful until she walked into the conference room. Everyone stared at her. Every last dirty old man drooled. Those curves gave me pause. I babbled like an idiot when she said hello to me.
And her scent had me in a trance. She smelled like what roses should smell like–fruity and ripe for spring.
We all wanted her. Every last male in that room yearned to taste Carmen and slip their fingers between those thick thighs. But Dad got to her first.
And I couldn’t let that happen because she was more than Dad deserved.
Go find someone else.
I had a plan. Week after week, I wrote more lovely lines of poetry and gave them to Dad.
And I waited.
Dad built this sad relationship with her based on lies. I sat back and watched him, knowing his usual steps—date for a week, rush the courtship till the end of the month where he invited her to move into the mansion so she never got a chance to see what a pig he was until it was too late.
There were only so many weeks he could pretend to be the good guy.
Night after night, I followed behind Dad and Carmen without them knowing. During their walks, I always remained in the shadows in the park and even sat tables away from them as they dined in restaurants.
At no time did I believe my actions were normal. I’d always been good at realizing my own insanity.
Still, I followed them. Watching her became my nourishment. Like eating, I checked on Carmen three times a day. Evenings were the best. When Dad dropped her off at the end of dates, I stayed behind, sitting in my car across the street, imagining myself walking up to the door and confessing that I wrote the poetry.
“Carmen?”
“Yes.”
“I wrote those words to you.”
“Me?”
“Yes. You’ve become my muse. I can’t get you out of my mind. When I put my pen to paper, only my feelings for you come out.”
We would embrace, and I’d take her right there.
That never happened, of course, yet I continued to watch her. One must understand that I would never deny that I stalked Carmen. I had problems and could admit that. And with my money and looks, I got away with more than I should.
I monitored Carmen because I could.
Why does she make me so crazy?
It wasn’t just her looks that had me trapped. There had to be something else. Maybe it was the fact that she knew my Catharsis poetry; those obscure words had stuck in her mind.
More days passed.
I watched her, even on nights when she didn’t see Dad.
Carmen became my hobby. I gave any real work to my assistants and spent my days following her. Each week, I promised that it would be the last time. I never stopped. Some nights, I didn’t drive away until her bedroom light turned off. Some evenings, I slept in my car. That was when I got a therapist.
Dr. Engles says it’s stalking. I don’t know. Sometimes, stalking can be such a harsh word.
Meanwhile, Dad and Carmen continued to get closer.
I waited.
I waited for her to come to my playing ground. I knew Dad’s moves, and he didn’t disappoint me. He rushed the whole courtship with Carmen, as I assumed he would. He kept the deal for her money tied up with several legal mumbo jumbo obligations, enforced by his talented lawyers. He loved to make his women dependent on him.
I remained in the background, and Carmen moved into our mansion.
Her rose scent perfumed the empty halls. The mansion breathed—in and out, gasping with huge lungs. My hellish home shifted to heaven.
Plus, sleeping in the car was messing up my back.
With her safely in my home, I spent as much time with her as possible. We chatted during breakfast, joked around lunch, and debated in between wine-drenched giggles at dinner.
By now, Dad had become Dad.
Carmen bored him. He still enjoyed fucking her, but he didn’t like to talk or spend time with her.
He was fucking up, and I was moving in closer. Everything went as planned. Everything!
And then she caught me masturbating. Good job!
That morning had started off like every other one. She’d hurried down to the dining area while the staff served breakfast. Carmen fixed my coffee, a tradition she’d started on the first morning we shared together when I told her I preferred it her way—six Splenda, cinnamon, cream, and three chocolate kisses. Dad never came down to eat with us. He woke up early and ate in the office.