Page 91 of Fame and Obsession

Julian

You pointed your gun in the wrong direction. I didn’t. Lose the bitch. Last warning.

Making Phoebe vulnerable had been a mistake.

She followed us to the range and then used another burner phone to text me, again. This could no longer remain hidden behind a mailbox, or shoved in my pocket as my dirty little secret.

She’s kicked the threat level up so many notches my anxiety has imploded.

Screwing with me is one thing, but whoever’s stalking me had directly threatened Phoebe twice in one day.

It took finding Phoebe for me to pull myself out of the black hole of losing Lam. Losing her would finish me.

“Want to tell me what’s going on now, Julian?” Phoebe asks.

She’s sitting in Helena’s office with her arms crossed. She’s pissed, not that I can blame her. Back at the range, I’d pretty much told her to get in the car and shut up.

It was hardly the hearts and flowers I’d planned.

“I would if I knew,” I say, staring at the text again.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means what it means.”

“You’re not making any sense!” she shouts, slamming her hands on the armrests.

“I know!” I shout back. She recoils at the bite in my tone, and I immediately regret it. Leaning back, I rub a hand over my forehead. “I’m sorry, all right? I’m just on edge. Helena didn’t say what this was about when she called.”

“You didn’t say what any of this was about.”

“Did you hear what I just said, Phoebe? I don’t know anything.”

“Don’t get pissy with me, Julian. I’m the one in the dark over here. We get shot at, you guard your phone like you’re the fucking FBI, then you—oh, God.” She slaps a hand over her mouth, trapping a muffled gurgle. Before I can say anything, she bolts out of the chair, almost tripping over it as she rushes out of the room.

“Phoebe? Where the hell are you going?”

Her answer is to throw her other arm up in a dismissive wave as she turns the corner.

“Shit!” My chair flies out behind me as I take off after her.

Fucking women.

I’ve barely cleared to the door when I see red. Literally. Red hair fills my vision, and Helena shoves me backward into the room.

“Sit down, Julian,” she says, the corners of her mouth turning downward.

“I need to check on Phoebe,” I explain, trying to move around her.

She easily counters my steps and blocks the door. “You need to sit down and listen to me. It’s better that she’s not in the room for what I have to say. I might stab her with my letter opener.”

“Have you been drinking?” I say, cocking an eyebrow.

Shutting the door behind her, her fingers tighten around a rolled-up magazine. She points to the chair I just vacated. “Do I look like I’m in the mood for jokes, Julian?”

Reluctantly, I sit back down. “What’s your beef with Phoebe?” I lean forward, my elbows on my knees, my legs bouncing up and down with nervous energy.

She makes me crazy with her cryptic shit.

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