Page 118 of Fame and Obsession

“We both know that’s not going to happen, don’t we, Chad?”

He looks like a fucking Chad. Actually, he looks like a middle-aged Heath Vaughn, which brings back memories of the night I met Phoebe.

Now I really want to hit him.

“My name’s Ollie, asshole,” he hisses, snatching the camera out of my hand.

“Thanks, Chad. Now I have a name to add to the police report.”

“Police? Are you fucking crazy? I’m well within my rights to do my job.”

“You’re exactly right,” I say, nodding to the security guard beside us and then pointing to the door. “Out there you have rights. In here, you’re a trespasser harassing an employee. Isn’t that right, Miss Ryan?” I glance over my shoulder, waiting for her agreement. What I get are pursed lips and narrowed eyes.

Shit. What now?

“Phoebe?”

Sighing, she moves in beside me. “He’s right. You can’t be in this building without checking in with the guard or without having one of these.” She flashes her access badge in his face.

“He said he was your father, Phoebe.”

All three of us turn toward the security guard, who’s apparently been watching the exchange. I quickly turn my focus back on Phoebe only to find all the color has drained from her face.

“He did what?” she asks softly.

“He said he was Daniel Dalton and wanted to surprise you,” the guard says. “I gave him a pass.”

Phoebe’s hands fist, tension radiating off her in waves. “Hey, Ollie,” she says, her voice shaking with anger. “I wouldn’t name drop that one if I were you. If the wrong people heard you, your ass would be behind bars faster than you can say restraining order.”

I’ve never seen such a violent mood swing in her before.

Running a hand down her forearm, I pull her to me. “Let it go, Phoebe.”

“No.” Shrugging me off, she shoots a heated glare at the security guard. “I want him arrested, Gus.”

At his bewildered look, I shake my head.

“Phoebe, calm down. Gus is throwing him out, and we’re leaving. I’m sure fifty bucks for a new memory card won’t kill your bank account, right, Chad?”

“It’s Ollie, motherfucker.”

“Okay, Chad, you have yourself a good day, now.” Pressing a few twenty dollar bills in his hand, I usher her to the elevators.

After slamming her palm against the call button, Phoebe stares straight ahead, her face expressionless.

“What the hell was that?”

She glances up, staring as the numbers tick away at the top of the elevator. “Just don’t, Julian. Not now.”

The doors slide open, and I guide her inside. Once they close and we begin our ascent, I brush the back of my hand across her cheek. “Are we going to talk about this whole Ryan/Dalton thing?” She pulls away, but I take hold of her chin, turning her to face me. “We’re having a baby, Phoebe. Knowing about each other’s family is important, don’t you think?”

“Don’t pull that parental shit on me,” she hisses, storming out the opened doors. “I’ve stressed over it a lot longer than you have.”

“Well, that wasn’t a choice I made myself, was it?”

I regret the words as soon as they’re out of my mouth.

Her marching comes to a dead stop. Slowly, she turns around, fire in her eyes. “There’s a stalker trying to kill me, I’m pregnant with some man’s baby I barely know, and you want to play the martyr?”

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