He Sees You When You’re Sleeping: A Dark and Steamy Holiday Romance of Obsession and Secrets – Where Desire Meets Danger in the Heart of NYC
He Sees You When You’re Sleeping: Chapter 5

It takes me a minute to recognize him. It’s not like I wouldn’t be able to spot him in the office setting, but at my house? Standing on my porch? “Tyler?”

He nods, shifting awkwardly from foot to foot. “Hey, Chloe. I, uh . . . I hope you don’t mind me dropping by unannounced like this.”

I blink, still processing the sight of the VP of marketing on my doorstep. “How did you know where I lived?”

St. George is nowhere near the office in Manhattan, so there is no way this is a “just in the neighborhood” type of situation.

Tyler’s gaze darts away, and he rubs the back of his neck. “I, uh . . . I may have looked it up the address in your contract. I know that’s probably crossing a line, but I really wanted to talk to you the last time you were in the office, but you rushed out and . . .”

A mixture of curiosity and unease floods in. Tyler and I have always been friendly at work, but we’ve never hung out outside the office. What could be so urgent that he’d track down my home address?

“Is everything okay?” I ask, my brow furrowing with concern.

“Oh yes, everything is fine. It’s just that,” he swallows hard. “well . . . the company holiday party is coming up and I was thinking.”

My stomach tightens. Is he about to ask me out? To the company party, of all places?

“Tyler,” I start, ready to let him down gently, but he holds up a hand.

“I know you don’t really do Christmas and all. Sloane told me why and . . . I’m sorry for that. But well . . .” His face is so red that I can’t tell if it’s from embarrassment or the cold. “I was wondering if you’d like to come with me?” Tyler blurts out, his words tumbling over each other.

The chilly December air nips at my exposed skin, but I barely notice it. My mind is reeling, trying to process Tyler’s unexpected invitation.

“I . . . I don’t know what to say,” I stammer, genuinely caught off guard. It’s true that I’ve avoided the company holiday party ever since my parents—well ever since. The idea of facing all those festive decorations, the forced cheer, makes my chest tighten.

But Tyler’s earnest expression and the hint of hope in his eyes makes me hesitate.

He must sense my reluctance because he quickly adds, “It doesn’t have to be a date or anything. I just thought . . . maybe if you had someone to go with, it might be easier. And I promise, no mistletoe or cheesy Christmas carols.”

“Look,” I say, softening my tone, “I appreciate the offer, I really do. But I’m not sure I’m ready for that yet.”

Tyler nods, his shoulders slumping slightly. I feel bad. He seems like a nice guy, I suppose. I mean . . . I wouldn’t really know. I’ve only seen him at work, but I do feel bad considering he came all the way to my house. He’s not bad looking. In fact, he’s quite handsome in a smart accountant sort of way, with his tousled brown hair and warm hazel eyes. I replace myself reconsidering, almost against my will. But then I remind myself that guys like Tyler simply don’t do it for me.

Too nice. Too straitlaced.

I’m not exactly looking for the bad boy. In fact, I don’t want that either. But I do want someone who can challenge me, someone with a bit of an edge. Someone who doesn’t follow all the rules.

Someone who has the same sexual interests as me.

And something about Tyler tells me that the man likes his coffee very vanilla.

“I appreciate you coming all this way, Tyler,” I say, trying to soften the rejection. “But I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

Tyler nods, his disappointment evident but not surprising. “I understand. I’m sorry for bothering you at home like this.”

As he turns to leave, a gust of wind whips down the street, rustling the bare branches of the trees lining my sidewalk. The cold air bites at my exposed skin, and I replace myself calling out before I can stop myself.

“Wait, Tyler. Do you . . . do you want to come in for a cup of coffee? It’s freezing out here.”

His eyes light up, and for a moment, I regret the invitation. But it’s too late now, and besides, it’s just coffee. What harm could it do?

As I lead him into my small living room, I notice how out of place he looks. His crisp button-down shirt and pressed slacks seem at odds with my eclectic decor and the general lived-in feel of my space.

“Nice place,” he says, his eyes roaming over the abstract art on my walls and the collection of vintage vinyl records that belonged to my father stacked in the corner.

“Thanks,” I reply, heading to the kitchen. “How do you take your coffee?”

“Black is fine,” he calls back.

I pause, my hand hovering over the coffee maker. Black coffee? Maybe there’s more to Tyler than I thought.

When I return with two steaming mugs, I replace him examining my bookshelf. He turns to me with a raised eyebrow. “The Marquis de Sade? I wouldn’t have pegged you for a fan of eighteenth-century erotic literature.”

I nearly drop the mugs. “Oh, that’s . . . that’s for research,” I stammer, feeling my face flush.

Tyler’s lips quirk into a small smile. “Research, huh? What kind of research requires the works of the man who gave us the word ‘sadism’?”

As I struggle to form a response, I realize that maybe, just maybe, I’ve underestimated Tyler. The fact that he even knows this is—

I set the mugs down on the coffee table, trying to regain my composure. “I like to read a bunch of things,” I say, aiming for nonchalance but hearing the defensiveness in my voice. “I’m interested in all kinds of literature.”

Tyler nods as he drinks his coffee, but there’s something in his eyes that unsettles me. A glint of . . . curiosity? Excitement? I can’t quite place it, but it makes me acutely aware that we’re alone in my house.

We drink our coffee in silence. Awkward, painful silence.

Tyler’s gaze jerks to the bookshelf, then back to me.

He’s harmless. Right?

“So,” Tyler says, breaking the silence. His voice is low, almost a purr. “What other interesting literature are you hiding on those shelves?”

I swallow hard, my throat suddenly dry despite the coffee. “Nothing special,” I manage. “Just your typical bestsellers and classics.”

Tyler sets his mug down and stands up, returning to the bookshelf. I remain frozen in my seat, watching as his fingers trail along the spines of my books.

“Typical bestsellers and classics, huh?” he says, pulling out a worn paperback. “Like this copy of Story of O? Another research project?”

My heart hammers in my chest. I’d forgotten that was there, nestled innocently between my Dickens and Austen.

“I . . . I . . .” I stutter, unable to form a coherent thought.

Had I known I’d have a surprise guest from work stopping by, I might have done a sweep of my house. The thought of what is or isn’t in my bookcase has never been an issue. The hermit in me has never been faced with this uncomfortable situation before.

Tyler turns to face me, the book dangling from his fingers. His eyes lock onto mine, and I see that glint again—definitely excitement now, mixed with something darker.

“You know,” he says, his voice low and husky, “I’ve always found that the most interesting people are the ones with the most interesting bookshelves.”

Tyler is weird. Plain and simple.

I should be able to discuss this book. I’m an adult for fuck’s sake, but I can’t seem to replace my voice. The room feels too small, too warm, and Tyler’s presence is suddenly overwhelming.

“I . . . I’m not that interesting,” I finally manage to say, my voice cracking as I do.

Tyler takes a step closer, still holding the book. “I beg to differ,” he says softly. “I think you’re very interesting. And I think there’s a lot more to you than meets the eye.”

My heart is thumping so hard I’m sure he can hear it. I should ask him to leave. I should stand up, take the book from his hand, and show him the door. But I can’t move. I’m transfixed by his gaze, by the way he’s looking at me like he can see right through me. Plus, I don’t want to upset him. I have to work with this guy.

Tyler stares at me—innocent but not— and I replace myself sinking deeper into the couch, as if trying to disappear into the cushions. He’s still holding Story of O, his thumb absently caressing the worn cover.

“You know,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper, “I’ve always believed that our deepest desires, our darkest fantasies, they’re nothing to be ashamed of. They’re what make us human.”

Ewww stop. He’s going to ruin this book for me.

A bead of sweat trickles down my back. The room seems to shrink around us, the air thick and heavy. I should say something, anything, to break this tension, but my mouth is dry, my tongue leaden.

“So,” I say, desperate to change the vibe of the room, “the recent designs lately are amazing. I’m excited to show them off. In fact, I’m going to go live as soon as you leave.”

The intensity in his gaze makes me squirm so I stand and head toward the door. This is not the same Tyler from the office, the one who blushes when someone tells a slightly off-color joke. This Tyler is . . . different. But not different in a good way. Different in a way that tells me I need to gracefully get him out my door.

Tyler takes a step closer, his eyes never leaving mine. “Going live? That sounds interesting. Maybe I could stick around and watch?”

The air in the room suddenly feels thick, oppressive. I take an involuntary step back, bumping into the bookshelf behind me.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” I say, trying to keep my voice steady. “I’ll get too nervous knowing someone is watching.”

He doesn’t move.

“Thanks for stopping by, though.”

For a long moment, he stares at me, his expression unreadable. Then, just as suddenly as his demeanor changed, the mask of the affable executive slips back into place.

“Of course,” he says, forcing a laugh that doesn’t reach his eyes. “I’m sure you have a lot to do.”

I nod, relief washing over me as Tyler sets down his coffee mug and moves toward the door. But as he reaches for the handle, he pauses and turns back to me.

“If you change your mind about the party . . .”

As he finally exits, I close the door behind him and lean against it. Why was that so weird?

I shake off the unsettling feeling and double-check that I’ve locked the door. Something about that interaction has left me rattled, but I can’t quite put my finger on why. Maybe I’m just paranoid after recent years of living alone.

Trying to push Tyler out of my mind, I focus on setting up for my livestream. I arrange the latest Moth to the Flame designs on my desk, adjusting the lighting to showcase them perfectly.

I take a deep breath, centering myself before going live. This is my element. This is where I shine.

“Hey everyone!” I say brightly as the red light blinks on. “Thanks for joining me tonight. I’ve got some exciting new pieces to show you . . .”