I Want Her
On screen, Susan Stone’s Facebook profile was open. Her face filled the display — a candid photo in natural lighting, smiling down at the camera, a group of laughing second-graders clinging to her arms.
“Susan Stone,” Eric murmured, letting the name sit on his tongue as though tasting it. “Age… twenty-four.”
He clicked the image. It zoomed in.
She wore a red scarf in the photo. No makeup. Freckles unhidden. Her eyes were almond-shaped, soft, and unaware. Innocent. The kind that couldn’t fake anything if she tried.
Eric leaned in slightly. His fingers moved over the mouse.
“Finished from Emerald College in Queens, New York. Graduated at twenty-three. What brings you all the way across the country to California, sweetheart?” he muttered, lips barely moving. “Work? Escape? Heartbreak?”
He then clicked on her “Mobile Uploads.”
The screen flooded with photos — recent images at Sanctuary Spring Academy, her arms around students, one of her kneeling beside a child tying his shoelace. Further down were choir pictures — white robes, wide smiles, hands mid-praise at Sanctuary Church in San Francisco. Then college group shots, and even deeper, grainy high school photos.
Eric’s brows furrowed.
He scrolled faster.
“No boyfriends?” he whispered, eyes narrowing. “Not one?”
He returned to her profile.
Relationship status: Single.
He leaned back an inch, brushing his fingers through his neatly swept blond hair, letting his hand fall behind his neck. His lips parted slightly as he shook his head.
“You look too damn hot to be single…” he whispered. “What’s the story behind that?”
He clicked through every album. Nothing.
“Not a single guy…”
His hand tapped rhythmically on the glass desk.
“You’re the innocent type.”
His fingers tapped again— harder this time— as he opened a new tab and typed quickly. He checked Instagram. Nothing. LinkedIn. Nothing. Dating sites? He tried three. Still nothing.
Eric exhaled slowly.
Leaning back in his chair, he stared at the screen. His jaw tensed. His fingers slid off the mouse and dropped onto his lap.
“No Instagram…” he muttered, almost disappointed. “No dating apps. No Twitter. Not even a TikTok thirst trap? Nothing.”
The breeze pushed again through the open slit in the glass, cooling the room.
Eric then rose from the chair, turning it slightly toward the window as he shook his head. “My boss won’t just break you— he’ll rebuild you into something unrecognizable.”
Stretching lazily, he raked his hand through his hair, and glanced toward the hallway beyond the glass door. A crooked smile tugged at his lips. “Such a pity,” he said softly. “You are far too easy.”
He walked, crossed the room, and pulled the door open.
Stepping into the golden-lit corridor of the Beverly Hills estate, Eric’s bare feet barely made a sound against the polished marble floor. The walls were lined with large canvases— abstract art, minimalist and cold. A staircase twisted upward beside a glass sculpture that shimmered like ice.
He moved swiftly through the corridors, passing archways and grand hall entrances, until he reached Joseph’s private wing.
The hall was silent.
He stopped at a massive ebony door.
knocked once.
Then again.
He raised his hand for the third—
“Yes? Who’s there?” came the voice from inside. Deep. Clear. Commanding.
“It’s me, sir. Eric.”
“Come in. Buddy.”
Eric opened the door and stepped into the master suite.
Joseph sat at the edge of his low king-sized bed, bare-chested, a towel slung loosely around his waist. Beads of water still glistened on his carved abs, trailing down the grooves of his stomach. His shoulders flexed slightly as he adjusted his damp hair, sweeping it away from his face.
Above him, white curtains billowed around the towering bedframe. Behind him, the golden city lights of Beverly Hills sparkled through the massive floor-to-ceiling windows.
Eric shut the door behind him.
Joseph looked up, eyes sharp and unreadable. “What brings you here?”
Eric stepped forward. “The girl,” he said simply. “Susan. The one you told me to look into.”
Joseph leaned slightly forward. “And?”
“She’s alright,” Eric replied, folding his arms.
Joseph’s brow twitched, amused.
“You’ll break her too easily.”
Joseph’s smile curled slowly— half smug, half curious. He reached for the glass of whiskey beside him and took a sip, the ice clinking lightly.
“Who says I want to break her?” he asked, voice low.
An awkward silence fell between them. The room felt thicker.
Eric’s gaze held his for a second longer, searching. Then he nodded, subtly.
Joseph’s smile didn’t fade. It deepened.
“Thank you, Eric,” he said quietly. “I want you to set something up.”
“Like what?”
“A date. Nothing formal. Something casual, natural. Coffee. Lunch. I want to talk to her. Get to know her.”
Eric then gave a single nod. “Okay, sir.”
Joseph stood up slowly, adjusting the towel at his waist. His body moved like water, each step silent, deliberate.
“If that’s all,” Joseph said, eyes drifting toward the window, “you can leave.”
Eric turned to the door.
He paused halfway.
“You sure you don’t want someone more… challenging?”
Joseph’s back was to him.
“I want her,” he said simply.
Eric gave a knowing nod to himself, then left quietly, the door closing behind him with a soft click.
Joseph stood there in the silence, the hum of the city outside, his reflection visible in the glass. His smile— cool, satisfied— never left.
Not once.