Page 47 of Fame and Obsession

My eyes widen. “Is Bieber in town?”

She chuckles softly. “I think most of them are from MetroGroup. They seemed anxious to speak with you.”

A nervous twinge hits my stomach. Feigning disinterest, I walk away before she can ask any questions. “Later, Patty, don’t work too hard.”

Clutching the messages in my hand, I make my way down the hallway. I keep my head down as I pass Castellano’s office. I’m still irritated by his “equipment” comment and can’t help but wonder if someone said something to him about my Club Vanquish disaster.

The thought of Heath Vaughn calling my boss makes me cringe.

Just as I pass the Vinyl editorial offices, my phone vibrates. I glance at the number and frown. I don’t recognize it, so I decline the call and shove it back into my purse.

FEDS training also taught me to not answer calls that come up as unknown or unfamiliar.

The phone barely hits the bottom of my purse before it’s vibrating again.

“What the hell?” I study the same number again, warning bells going off in my head.

Jesus, stop being paranoid.

Declining the call once more, I take a step forward when it vibrates again. Same number, but this time I’m not apprehensive. I’m pissed.

Against my better judgment, I accept the call, jerking the phone to my ear just as they hang up on me.

What the hell?

I stare at it as if it’s grown horns and a tail.

Bad mood now worsened, I stomp the rest of the way to my desk. Flopping down, I throw my purse in the metal drawer, then slam it shut with Herculean force.

The MetroGroup messages are crushed pink balls by the time I toss them on my desk. Smoothing one out, I try and decipher Patty’s serial killer scribbling while waiting for the computer to boot.

I reach for the desk phone when it rings so loudly I jump, knocking the receiver off with my forearm. With the less than stellar start to my morning, my usual professional phone greeting flies out the window.

“What?” I snap.

“Well, aren’t we a little ray of sunshine this morning?”

I grip the receiver until my knuckles turn white. “You.”

“You seem surprised, princess.”

“Why are you calling me at work?” I demand.

“You wouldn’t answer your cell, and I need to talk to you,” Julian says calmly.

My mouth falls open. “That was you?”

“You were expecting another guy?” There’s a hint of agitation in his tone.

“How in the hell did you get my cell number?”

He ignores my question. “Are you interested in what I have to tell you?”

“I’m not interested in anything from you, Julian. A date, an obligation, or anything else.” My mind spins a hundred different directions. “You also ran off the other night before I could tell you to stop acting skeevy when you have a girlfriend. That’s a special kind of shitty.”

“I had to get back to the concert I ditched running after you, which I’m still having to kiss ass for doing, thanks for asking.” There’s a brief pause. “Did you just call me skeevy?”

“I never asked you to come after me.”

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