Page 26 of Fame and Obsession

“You have to tell her. She’s going to have your ass for holding back this long.”

“Tell me something I don’t know.” Helena scares me more than any obsessive fan.

Ty drops the paper on the mixing board. “Man, put this shit in a Ziploc or something. Don’t you watch cop shows? It’s evidence, and we’re fucking up any fingerprints every time we touch it.”

I continued to stare at the offending letter as if it were laced with poison.

“Tell her,” he repeats, raising his voice for emphasis. “If you don’t, I will.”

“Fine,” I mumble, rubbing my forehead.

“I’m not screwing around, Jag.”

“I said fine, didn’t I? Lay off.” My mood darkens, but I don’t elaborate. Even I’m not stupid enough to pick a fight with a guy twice my size.

Picking up his jacket, he walks behind Tanna and drapes a brotherly arm around her slender shoulders. “Come on, I’ll get you settled before I crash.”

She rises slowly, giving me an unsure glance. “You sure you’re going to be okay?”

“Yeah,” I say, forcing a smile. “Get some sleep. We’ve got a big night tomorrow.”

Leaning down, she kisses me on the forehead. “No more worrying.”

We both know that’s not going to happen, so I don’t insult her with a lie or a nod.

I simply smile.

After the door closes behind them, the room falls silent. Alone with my thoughts, the main one I’ve been avoiding rushes back in a wave of coconut scented anxiety.

Phoebe Ryan.

Her name, her face, and the fact I know all of it now, haunts me. She lives in an old brownstone in Murray Hill. I’ve memorized the damn information like a treasure map.

Phoebe Nicole Ryan. Born, October 28, in Shallotte, North Carolina. At eighteen, enrolled at Dreighton University with a full academic scholarship. Attended August-October before withdrawing. Completed online degree two years later.

Why did she withdraw after only three months when she had a scholarship? It makes no sense.

Cursing, I rub my temples. Damn, my head hurts.

Folding the letter, I shove it back into my pocket. Too many questions and not enough answers. Story of my fucking life.

With a groan, I drag my jacket off the floor. “Stay in your own lane, Bale,” I mutter to myself.

Unfortunately, just as I cross the room, the studio door opens, and I collide with a familiar blond with shitty timing.

“We’ve got to stop meeting like this, sugar.”

I heave a heavy sigh. “Not now, Viv.” I attempt to maneuver around her, only to be blocked by a tanned arm and the smile of a coiled cobra.

“You haven’t called, Jules,” she purrs, sliding her opposite hand up my chest. “Keep this up, and I may not stick around.”

“My name is Julian,” I say, removing her hand.

But Vivian is nothing if not persistent. Gathering my face in her hands, she turns my attention toward her. “After you took off, do you know what happened, Jules?”

“It’s Julian. And, no.”

“Zane hit on me, baby.”

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