Page 84 of Fame and Obsession

“Fucking bitch!” Anger seeps out of every pore in my body. It appears she’s no longer content with electronic threats. She’s leveled up.

A thick brown substance is smeared all across the windshield of my Corvette. Worse than that, there’s a sickening stench coming from the hood. Leaning in, I take a tentative whiff.

Shit.

Smeared across my goddamn windshield, in what appears to be dog shit, is a message.

Lose the piece of shit whore.

Initially filled with rage that the bitch defiled my car, my blood runs cold when I remember where it’s parked.

I slept here last night. My car has been parked outside of Phoebe’s apartment here in New York—not my house in New Jersey.

Oh fuck…

My stalker knows where Phoebe lives.

She’s been following me.

I don’t think twice. Pulling out my phone, I text Phoebe to stay inside. The last thing I need is for her to read the vile words already on repeat in my head.

Holding my breath, I climb inside and drive to the nearest carwash. It ends up taking three cycles to remove all traces of animal shit.

By the time I pull in front of Phoebe’s brownstone, she’s waiting in front of it with her arms folded across her chest.

This should be fun…

Taking a deep breath, I open the passenger’s side door and motion her inside. “It’s not a horse and carriage, princess,” I joke, trying to crack that stoney look on her face. “But it’ll have to do.”

Her gait slows as she pauses at the car door. Lifting onto her toes, she wraps her arms around my neck. “You can make it up to me later.”

My best course of action is ignorance, so I smile against her lips. “Is that right? What’s in it for me?”

She wrinkles her nose. “What’s that smell?”

Fuck. I keep my mouth shut, hoping silence will work to my advantage for once.

Shrugging, she presses close against me. “Well, if you have to ask, Julian, I’m not doing it right.”

Crisis averted…

“Oh, trust me,” I say, swatting her miniskirt. “You’ll get no complaints from me.”

Phoebe starts to get in the car when she turns back to face me, her lips pursed. “What the hell, Julian?”

I freeze, paranoid I’d left a word scribbled across the hood or something. “Something wrong?”

Her eyes sweep over me then narrow. I know what she’s thinking. When I walked out of her apartment I had on dark jeans and a black button-up shirt. Now, I’m in tan cargo shorts, a camouflage T-shirt, and black sneakers.

“Julian, why the hell are you dressed like you’re going bass fishing in Afghanistan?”

I can’t hide my grin. She’s so screwed. “I dressed for our date, princess. I know you didn’t forget the date you promised me at the album release party, or how I told you to dress last night.”

She glances down at her outfit—sexy as hell and ready for a night on the town. “You told me to be dressed to kill.”

“That I did.”

“So what are you dressed for?”

---