Goldie Locks: A Steamy Standalone Instalove Romance Read online

  “We’re getting to the bottom of this,” I tell her, trying not to let my anger show too much and failing.

  I know she doesn’t care about the clothes and everything else we bought but it’s the principle of it that makes me so mad.

  How dare someone, anyone, take it upon themselves to make someone else’s life so miserable.

  “Let’s just go get my things from my apartment and forget all about it, Max.” Phoebe finally suggests.

  As if by her moving away we can just forget about it.

  I know she’d like to just switch off from it, but this is escalating and fast. I don’t see whoever it is just backing off.

  No point upsetting her any more than she already is, and I don’t want us to start arguing about it, that’s for sure.

  “Alright,” I agree. “We’ll just go pick up your things, then maybe we can head out to the countryside after all. I’ve got a place there,” I tell her.

  But she’s more concerned about me missing my appointment with the realtor.

  “What about your office thingy? Don’t put that off just because of me. You can do that while I get my things organized.”

  “It doesn’t matter,” I mumble, “and I’m not leaving you alone for a second. No way,” I insist.

  “It’s right across the street, Max. The mall delivery was probably just a mix-up, it’s broad daylight anyway. Who’s gonna come creeping after me in the middle of a Sunday afternoon?”

  There’s a tone of caution in her voice too, reminding me she’s still her own person and how me taking charge all the time isn’t always what she wants.

  “Fine.” I agree against my own feelings. “But I’ll be right behind you. I’ll be in and out of that office in no time,” I tell her.

  “I thought you wanted to keep me on a short leash around the realtor anyway?” I ask, trying to bait her into coming along and staying with me. Both of us together.

  She rolls her eyes and gives me a sidelong look. “Nice try, Romeo. I was jealous, for about two seconds, but I think we can trust each other, don’t you Max?” she counters, cocking her brow and making us both laugh, although a little dryly.

  “You know you can,” I remind her. “But just come up to the office with me, please?” I beg, hoping that will work if she won’t take any of my bossiness.

  She doesn’t answer, picking up Trixie instead, she snuggles her face into her baby’s fur with her long golden locks covering the tiny dog as we drive the rest of the way in silence.

  My mind’s reeling by the time we get to the office block opposite her apartment. But Phoebe seems to have relaxed, and cheerfully points out a space she sees as it becomes available.

  “You don’t want any more parking tickets,” she tells me with a smile.

  Once we get out of the car, it’s clear Trixie wants to go do her business, and Phoebe produces the tell-tale black plastic baggie from somewhere.

  “Nature calls,” she chimes, and I move to follow them both but Phoebe looks up at the office, the huge ‘For Lease’ sign on the roof.

  “We’ll be up in a minute,” she promises me, and not wanting to hear her remind me how many years she’s survived without me acting as her shadow, I begrudgingly agree.

  “But only a minute,” I plead with her again, feeling nervous myself for some reason. Like every person passing by on the street could be her stalker.

  Feeling like there are eyes on us already.

  Against all my instincts, I turn on my heel and head up to the offices for rent.

  No sign of anyone else coming up for a look, and a single glance at the open front doors tells me the lock’s been forced.

  “Maxwell?” An over friendly, thick Californian accent calls out.

  The sound of high heels clip over the whining, nasally voice, and before I can reply, I’m face to face with what looks like a life-sized Barbie Doll.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Phoebe

  “It’s alright baby girl,” I console Trixie, kissing her head before I set her down and let her sniff the familiar street smells she knows from our neighborhood.

  She’s a shy girl, like me. And will only ever go when nobody’s watching and only if she has privacy.

  “Max is just worried,” I explain to her. As if I’m not trying to calm myself down by talking to my dog as if she’s really me.

  I’m a bundle of nerves myself and I hope it doesn’t show with Max too much.

  I’ve been jumping at my own shadow for months now, and it’s only gotten worse now that I’m with Max.

  I know as well as he does that whoever’s following me is sending us both a message by interfering with things like the mall delivery, and god knows what else.

  I gulp hard at the thought, hurrying back to the offices once Trixie’s done what she needs to.

  I find the floor easy enough, and as the elevator opens I hear a high-pitched, kind of whiny voice.

  It’s familiar, but I tell myself it was probably because I heard her on the phone with Max earlier.

  The voice is one thing, and my assumptions were correct.

  It’s a certain type of woman who has a voice like that.

  And as soon as I see her, as soon as I see Max with her, I almost breathe a sigh of relief.

  She’s everything in a woman that I’m not.

  She’s got the big chest and hair, sure.

  Lots of straight, platinum blond, right out of the bottle hair.

  I know my own all-natural golden hair is something most females are envious of even if they’d never admit it. It’s the only thing I do have going for me, or so I thought until Max showed me otherwise.

  But this… thing, she’s got the waist of an action figure and legs to match. Her flawless, heavily made up skin and eyes, her perfectly straight and over white teeth, those dull, painted eyes blinking under an inch of mascara.

  She looks like some sort of doll.

  Do most men want this?

  But looking over at Max, I can tell he’s glad to see me and not just because I’ve come back from my little walk in one piece.

  The woman has her hand all over his arm like she’s not wanting to let him go but he moves over to me straight away.

  “Phoebe,” he says loudly, gripping me by the arm and murmuring how I’m just in time.

  “This is your daughter, Mr. Bear?” The voice asks from behind him, sounding almost sympathetic and followed quickly by, “Ohhh, I’m sorry, but there are no pets allowed in the building. The dog will have to wait downstairs,” she adds with an icy tone.

  Max and I both look over and see the fake smile, the perfectly manicured nails tapping a clipboard with nothing on it but a blank sheet of paper.

  But those eyes.

  Cold and dead inside, her whole body only posing a silent question.

  Well?

  “We should be going anyway,” Max observes, checking his watch and telling me with his eyes that he’s had enough.

  Enough of the office and more than enough of this creature who seems to turn on us both once Max announces we’re leaving.

  “But you can’t go,” she snaps angrily, then suddenly pouting and making puppy dog eyes at Max. Doing her best to flirt with him while I can almost hear his flesh crawling at the thought of her touching him again.

  There’s something really odd about this woman. I can’t put my finger on it, but I’m more than happy to get out of here too.

  “I think I’ve seen enough,” Max responds dryly, taking my arm in his and turning to leave, only pausing at the door to make a parting comment.

  “I know a good locksmith if you need one, looks like someone had some trouble with their key getting in here,” he says, making me look hard at the door but not knowing what I’m even looking at, I forget about it as he walks us both to the elevator.

  “I’ll be in touch then, Max,” the Barbie doll voice wails out behind us both. Max puffing air out of his cheeks only once the elevator doors close and we’re heading back down to
the street.

  “What the hell was all that about?” I ask, amazed at how Max just brushed her off like she was something Trixie might leave on the pavement if we didn’t pick it up and bin it.

  “That was a realtor I’d never have dealings with,” he smiles, but I can tell it’s only for my benefit.

  “What is it Max, what happened?” I ask, my stomach knotting with anxiety without me even knowing why.

  “Nothing,” he assures me. “Just a waste of time but we’re here now, so let’s go get your things. Maybe I could drive over once we’re done. I could show you the city apartment?” he says, which is odd.

  It’s not like Max to want to show off or anything, but I shrug in agreement, already planning on maybe just taking everything I have that’ll fit in Max’s car and leaving the rest behind, hopefully for good.

  “You could’ve stayed up there, Max,” I try to tease him. “I can tell she wasn’t your cup of tea, but no point throwing off a deal just because she said no pets allowed,” I add.

  But he shakes his head in silence, his eyes focused on each person in the street as we cross the road to my apartment building.

  “You okay?” I ask him, worried now that I’ve said or done something to upset him.

  “It’s not you, Phoebe,” he assures me, stopping once we reach the sidewalk and hugging me close to him.

  “I’ll just feel better once we have you out of here,” he says with a crooked smile. Trying to look calm but I can feel how tense he really is through his clothes.

  A man the size of Max can’t be tense without someone across the street noticing it.

  His eyes move to a plain white truck parked right out front before he hooks his arm in mine again and after checking that Trixie’s alright too, he suggests we all head on up.

  “I can fit quite a lot in that jalopy of mine,” he jokes. The car I know is probably worth more than this whole floor of the apartment building.

  The same car I’m still paranoid about Trixie scratching the upholstery in, but again it’s something Max doesn’t even register let alone mind.

  Just as we turn to enter my corridor, we both freeze in our tracks.

  There’s a man in a dark baseball cap and a dark jacket sliding something under my door.

  “Wait here. Don’t move,” Max demands.

  My heart’s in my throat and I clutch Trixie closer to me, leaning back against the wall.

  The guy’s big, but as soon as Max is upon him, I can see at a glance who’s bigger.

  Max lifts the man clean off the ground by the scruff of his jacket.

  “The fuck man?” The guy calls out, growling and starting to swing his fists, but Max holds him outstretched with one hand, like a dirty bag of garbage.

  I feel myself breathe again, but a single glance from Max all the way down the hallway tells me to stay put.

  “Alright, asshole, talk,” Max snarls, lifting him a little higher in the air and even starting to shake him.

  A bunch of yellow envelopes fall from the man’s jacket pocket and then I can see the logo on his uniform.

  “I’m a fucking delivery driver asshole,” the man growls back at Max. “Got a message a whole bunch of parcels were to come here instead of the other address. I’m checking if the story fits,” he shouts, Max, lets him down slowly, picking up and examining one of the cards that fell from his pockets.

  “Delivery for Maxwell Bear?” Max asks him.

  The delivery guy looks taken aback, then even angrier as he straightens his shirt and jacket.

  “Yeah. Maxwell Bear. That you? ‘Cos you’re an asshole, you know that? Scaring the shit out of me like that. The fuck you think you are anyway, man?” the guy shrieks, all his bravado gone, his voice shaking now.

  “Sorry,” I hear Max tell the man. “Been having some trouble with someone leaving nasty notes, following us around, you see anyone else on your way up here?” he asks, reaching into his pocket and handing the guy a wad of folded bills and his business card.

  “If you could take the parcels to this address,” he stresses, scratching on the back with a pen from his pocket. “I’d appreciate it,” he says, waiting for the man to calm down some more and count out the money before he motions me over towards them both.

  “This is Phoebe Gold, she lives here,” Max explains. “If anyone else stops you to ask about any of this, I want you to call this number on the card, okay?” Max tells him a matter of fact.

  The guy looks me up and down then shakes his head as he looks over the money again. “What are you, some kind of cop?” he asks.

  “I’m her locksmith,” Max replies, deadpan. Like he might actually be thinking about returning to his old job.

  “Yeah, I can do that. And next time, maybe ask before scaring the bejesus out of a man, huh?” he sighs, and Max offers his hand, apologizing again before the guy makes his way out past us again. Muttering something about just doing his job, getting too old for this shit.

  Max looks at me, asking if I’m okay. His jaw still tense and something tells me he knows a lot more than I do somehow.

  He’s normally so calm, in control.

  But since we got to the city he’s been tighter than a coiled spring and I’m worried what’ll make him snap next.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Maxwell

  I should be relieved the delivery guy is just who he claims to be. But a part of me, a big part of me wants him to be Phoebe’s stalker.

  Wanting it to be him so we can just get on with our lives after I nail him to the wall and hand him over to the cops.

  But he’s legit. His story checks out and so does his truck full of the packages we bought yesterday.

  Phoebe looks more scared of me than she does about going back into her apartment, but once she sees another telltale yellow envelope next to the card the delivery guy slid under her door, I feel her hands clutching at my arm.

  “Max. Please tell me this is a mistake. Tell me that’s not another message,” she whines, a tremor in her voice that I hate hearing when I know she’s scared.

  “I’m right here. Phoebe. Nothing’s gonna hurt you, okay?” I ask her, bending down to pick it up and the card the delivery driver left, noticing he’s left all his personal and company details on it so we can arrange delivery of our goods.

  He’s not the guy, so then who the hell is?

  Someone’s coming into this building and treating it like a game. They know Phoebe’s with me, and they knew we were coming back. Hell, they even tried to have all our parcels delivered here to prove their point.

  I straighten thinking for a moment, wishing I had answers. Wishing I knew what to do next. Phoebe closes her front door and sets Trixie down, who seems as confused as the rest of us, sniffing the floor in two different spots where the envelope and the delivery card were.

  Two different smells, huh Trixie? I thought so too.

  But nothing I can sense apart from that.

  Phoebe starts to arrange some boxes from against the wall, and I tell her we can come back if we need to. “We’ll take everything if you want.”

  Wracking my brain for answers that just won’t add up, we both freeze and Trixie lets out a low growl when we hear a key in the door, the lock snapping open.

  I press a finger to my lips and switch out the light, Phoebe scoops up Trixie in an instant and makes for the bathroom for cover.

  I wait behind the door, ready to welcome whoever it is who’s behind all this once and for all.

  A familiar voice saves them from a beating at my hands, and as the lights flicker on again I’m left even more confused.

  “Well, at least this key fits…” The old man mumbles to himself cheerily, letting himself in.

  My hand’s balled into a fist and poised to strike, but as the door closes I can see exactly who it is.

  “Dad! What the hell are you doing here?” I ask, watching him jump out of his skin, a hand to his chest.

  “Jesus Christ! Max, it’s you… I should ask what
the hell are you doing here? In the dark too. Weren’t gonna slug me were ya?” he asks, looking as confused as I feel, Phoebe comes out from the tiny bathroom, clutching Trixie as I breathe out, trying to make sense of everything that’s happened today.

  “Phoebe, this is my Dad,” I tell her. “Dad, this is Phoebe Gold.”

  “I know, I know,” he tells us both, laughing nervously and extending a hand to greet her but shaking little Trixie’s paw instead.

  “And this must be your little baby girl,” he adds with an exaggerated tone. “Very pleased to meet you both,” he says, turning to look me up and down with a frown.

  “I spoke to Mrs. Peterson, brought up my master keys to try and see if one would work. I was trying to find out what happened to you both. I was in the area so I stopped by,” he explains.

  “You just happened by huh?” I ask, creasing the side of my mouth.

  “I did,” he replies instantly, honestly. “The owner of the building across the street called me up. Someone jimmied their door open sometime yesterday,” he says. “I was on my way over there but decided to come here first while I waited for the owner to arrive.

  “The owner?” I ask suddenly. “You didn’t speak to a realtor, did the owner mention her?” I ask.

  My dad shrugs. “Far as I know the owner does all the renting himself,” he says absently. “He’s on his way over from the other side of town.”

  “Been having a good old talk with Mrs. Peterson downstairs though. Sounds like you scared her half to death with all this talk of stalkers in her building,” he continues, wagging a finger at me, but I pull him up on that point.

  Hoping he won’t mention the delicate matter of Phoebe’s rent paid up for the next couple of months either.

  “There is someone Dad. Been hounding Phoebe for years now. We’ve got some proof, just haven’t caught them in the act,” I explain, filling him in on the drama so far, up to and including what’s just happened today.

  His look turns serious, and he doesn’t want us opening any of the envelopes.

  “This is a police matter now, son,” he says gravely, advising me to bag everything up, including Phoebe’s phone, and take it to the authorities and let them do their job.