Page 66 of Fame and Obsession

At first, I can see the rage flaring in her eyes. Phoebe doesn’t like to be told what to do—ever. And despite where we are, I’m ready for battle.

But then, she flips the script.

Those volcanic eyes turn sultry, and she softens her tone. “Julian, do you want me?”

“What kind of fucking question is that?”

“An honest one.”

I know what she’s doing. It still doesn’t stop all the blood in my veins from rushing straight to my dick. “What do you want me to say, Phoebe?”

“The truth.”

Be careful what you ask for, princess.

“You want the truth? Fine. I want to fuck you so bad, all I can think about is what it would feel like to be inside you.”

Her eyes widen in shock. After a few moments of silence, she moves closer and trails her nails down my chest. I want to shake the shit out of her, then kiss her senseless.

“Then let me do this,” she whispers. “And maybe you’ll find out.”

I have to give her points for a creative diversion attempt.

“No.”

The volcano returns. “Are you kidding me?”

That hardened shell of hers is starting to splinter.

“It’s not worth it.” I shrug. Lies. Bold faced lies.

“This date is over,” she bites out, her focus returning to the entrance. “This business relationship is over. I can deal with a lot, Julian, but victim compliance isn’t one of them.”

“Phoebe!” I call out after her, but she flips me off and storms down the hall.

How in the hell am I supposed to counter that? I can’t show her the text I got. On top of everything else, how did that crazy bitch get my unlisted number?

I hit redial on the number, and as I suspected, only minutes after the text came through, the phone number has been disconnected.

Burner phone.

Fear for the safety of the woman who just walked away returns as I read the words again.

Pretty date. Get rid of her. Didn’t think I would out myself to the press, did you? Don’t underestimate me. I know everything you do and who you do it with. Ask Phoebe Dalton about her daddy.

“Fuck!” Turning around, I slam my fist into the drywall.

Eighteen

Phoebe

Hiding out behind a line of palm trees for over an hour gives a person a lot of time to think. Too much time, as it turns out. Especially when they’re trying to avoid anyone connected with Ralston Media.

By the time I pull myself together enough to remember I have a job to do, Julian’s band has already played their obligatory opening—no Phoebe to be found.

That’s going to be a fun conversation on Monday.

Whatever happens, I’ll accept it.

---