I stayed late to finish a report and headed out to the staff parking lot to finally call it a night.
A big SUV laid on the horn like it had been waiting for me, and for a second I wondered if McQueen was out here for me. He’s tall and usually drives an SUV too.
“Or the manager? No, he clocked out ages ago.”
Puzzled, I walked up to the driver’s side—and Caesar lowered the window and met my eyes. I practically jumped out of my skin, and he gave me a faint, easy smile.
“Hey—!”
“I did say we’d probably see each other soon, didn’t I?”
Maybe he’d just come from a shoot: light makeup, hair up, sharp.
Even shocked, my first reflex was that he looked great. Which made me hate myself a little.
“Am I really this weak to visual stimuli…?”
While I was too flustered to speak, he tilted his face toward me and pointed at the passenger seat.
“Want to hop in for a minute? Or I can get out.”
That snapped my half-fled brain back into place.
“Are you crazy? If you get out here, you’ll be on the garage CCTV and every dashcam!”
“Then hop in for a minute? I want to talk.”
“That… that’s also a problem.”
What if I get in and someone’s hiding in the back?
Worse, if Caesar started driving, the passenger seat is a terrible place to escape from. One grab and he could pin my movement. Experience dealing with stalkers spun up a simulation on its own.
“The front passenger seat is risky in a bunch of ways… but this is also my shot to return the money.”
After a beat of deliberation, I opened the rear door. If I sat right behind the driver, I could bail fast if I had to.
Seeing me choose the back, Caesar murmured, “You don’t have to keep your distance like that.”
“I’m comfortable here.”
Even so, once I sat down he hit the auto-close and shut the door for me. The moment it latched, I quietly flipped the lock and asked:
“Why do you keep coming to find me? What do you want?”
He didn’t answer immediately.
After a brief silence, I pressed, sharper:
“I appreciate you saving my life. But you shouldn’t have stalked me.”
“Stalked you?”
“Finding my account when I never gave it to you, sending me money—things like that.”
He checked my face in the rearview mirror. I met his eyes in the glass and said, steady:
“It makes me uncomfortable. Don’t do it.”
“Ah…”
“I’ll return the money. I don’t have the guts to sit on cash that makes my skin crawl.”
He fell quiet, then gave a soft laugh and picked up a thermal bag from the passenger seat, offering it to me.
“If you take this, I’ll accept the refund.”
I took it on reflex. You get used to carrying customers’ bags.
“Damn.”
Heavier than I expected.
“What’s in here? Please don’t let it be a dead animal… I nearly fainted when that happened back in senior year…”
I froze with the bag awkwardly in hand, and Caesar explained calmly:
“I heard from someone named McQueen.”
He unlocked his phone and showed me the call log. There was a contact saved as Macaulay McQueen and a record of a thirty-minute call.
“He said you’d been struggling for days with that recipe.”
…McQueen, you little—!
My face went hot, and Caesar’s mouth tipped, faintly amused.
“He’s a good person. It was obvious how much he worries about you.”
He took the phone back and pulled something else up. This time he showed me a gallery cap.
“And I get the sense you think I obtained your information illegally…”
A closer look: documents served by a detective. The personal info I’d written when I joined the department store.
The allergy field jumped out—shellfish and walnuts.
Not actually true; I’d written it that way for convenience so I wouldn’t have to explain.
“I’m sorry I made you feel violated. That wasn’t the intent.”
“…”
“I had to file for victim compensation, so I requested disclosure of the victim’s information from the store. Given the case, it was approved immediately. I assumed you knew, since you signed consent forms when you were hired.”
So… “legitimately” obtained under current law.
I was too blindsided to speak, and Caesar added in a loose tone:
“I also have the assailant’s identity. If you want to apply for a restraining order, say the word.”
“No…”
“Then the misunderstanding’s cleared up?”
I’d branded him a stalker without knowing any of that. My face burned.
Deflated, I answered:
“I understand. But you should have explained before contacting me. And I already told you I don’t need compensation.”
While I spoke, Caesar unbuckled and turned to face the back seat.
“I do appreciate what you did. But this isn’t the way to handle it.”
One silver-bright eye fixed squarely on me.
“I’m sorry.”
Plain and simple.
His expression didn’t change, so I couldn’t read his feelings, but based on everything so far… he probably meant it.
My energy just drained out.
“As I said before, I have zero interest in getting tangled up with a celebrity.”
“So it isn’t that you dislike me.”
“…That line is making me start to dislike you.”
He chuckled, low in his throat.
“What about food I made for you?”
He was blatantly telegraphing he’d use the weakness McQueen handed him.
I wasn’t actually mad, but to avoid being led around I screwed my face up on purpose.
“Don’t treat me like a dog. You think I’ll wag my tail over a plate of food?”
Usually, pushing this hard makes people back off.
This man didn’t even blink—and had the nerve to joke back:
“I’m the one who wants to wag my tail.”
Thrown by the brazen comeback, I faltered—and Caesar folded the front seat forward and slid into the back.
He sat right beside me.
“If you just crook a finger, I’ll be there, tail and all.”
Close as he was, our fingertips brushed on the seat.
He tapped mine with his, light and testing—like someone offering a finger to an untamed cat.
Then he carefully took my hand, laced our fingers together.
“See? If you let me this close…”
Sirens blared in my head, but my body wouldn’t move. Like I was under his spell.
While I sat there blankly, his lips touched the back of my hand.
“…I’d hand you my heart, my guts, everything.”
I don’t usually lose a staring match this easily, but Caesar slipped right through my guard.
I turned my head to the window to hide how red my face was. He let out a quiet laugh.
“See?”
He murmured against my ear—no doubt flushed by now:
“You don’t dislike me.”
Ugh—ugh! I can’t! I’m going to die of secondhand embarrassment!
I yanked my hand free, bolted the door open. Caesar caught my forearm.
“At least take the food. No one else will eat it but you.”
“…”
“My job is what it is—I can’t just eat whatever I want.”
He was basically saying he’d let me run if I took the offering, but I was crimson from head to toe and couldn’t process it.
All I registered was the final line:
“Please. Take it.”
I snatched the thermal bag and fled.
I didn’t even say goodbye. From behind me, faintly: “Get home safe. I’ll message you for the account later.”
“Insane bastard.”
Freak. Weirdo. Acting like he’s charming while he toys with people…
“Why me, specifically?”
…What else? He wants to mess with me.
It’s weird enough that a celebrity is chasing a civilian instead of another celebrity.
“My face, my bank account—obviously I’m nowhere near his league. Why pick me?”
Clinging to someone who says they’re uncomfortable is probably the same impulse.
With that conclusion, I snapped open my own car door and muttered:
“I must’ve looked easy when I zoned out the first time we met.”
I slammed the door as hard as I’d yanked it.
“I’ll refund him and then block him again or something…”
No time to breathe; I started the engine and drove straight out of the garage.