“…0352.”
He typed it on his mobile, number by number.
“We’ll be in touch.”
He had smiled, nodded, and bid her goodnight. Mariah had stared after him, mobile in hand, expecting him to give her his. Instead, she saw him leave, back turned to her without once glancing back. She suddenly felt stupid.
I’d have to wait for a call or something.
She pocketed her phone and left the party that had suddenly become too loud for her tastes. After all, the only reason she had attended, albeit reluctantly, was because Amelia had told her that Chris would be there—
I’ll just wait until tomorrow.
And so she did. But no text came. No calls.
There is no way he had caught on that her interest stemmed not from attraction, but—
Despite being able to track him down easily, after all, she did have friends at the police department; Mariah had wanted it to look like a natural, man-to-woman conversation.
She would bat her eyelashes. Feign interest in investments. Feign ignorance when it came to it. He seemed to have caught the bait then.
Apparently not.
During the first few days, she had picked up her phone countless times to check for a call or text.
But then weeks passed.
She grew impatient.
He was astute.
Still, she could not waver. Not when she had made herself known to him.
She would go to Amelia at the depot. Amelia would smile as she handed out his contact details and “tell her so.”
She would, perchance, find herself dripping wet, conveniently before his apartment on Elmhurst Street, broken umbrella and all.
“Mariah!”
She shivered for effect. He looked at her, and she was surprised that he even remembered her name, despite not having contacted her for the past month.
Feign surprise.
“Chris? Is that you?”
Feign damsel in distress.
“Come inside! It’s pouring out here! I’ll lend you one of my umbrellas… and perhaps we can call for a taxi.”
Mariah smiled. But deep down, she smirked.
Her plan had worked.
When Plan A fails, move on to B, C, D…
After all, there were twenty-five more letters—and she had all the time in the world.