Page 150 of Holiday Hire

He blows out a frustrated breath, offering, "Phoebe, if she wants to keep making herself look like a fool, I can't do anything about it. But I told her it was over."

"When did you tell her it was over?"

"The last time she texted me, after you and I decided we were going to see where this goes. And I, for one, want to see where this goes. But what about you? Do you no longer want to be with me because of Cheyenne acting like a child?" he questions.

My heart beats faster. My pulse bangs between my ears. My chest tightens to the point I can barely breathe. Everything inside me trembles harder. I turn toward the window and put my hand over my face, unable to stop the barrage of tears.

Alexander slides his arm around my shoulders. "Phoebe, come on, this isn't how tonight's supposed to go. I would never want to hurt you. I told you about the arrangement Cheyenne and I had, and there's nothing else to say about it. I made it clear to her our situation was over. I'll show you the text message I sent her the last time she contacted me."

I sniffle, trying to stop crying.

He turns my chin toward him and asks, "Do you want to see the messages? I reiterated it three times, and all I kept saying was, 'It's over. Stop contacting me.' Do you want to see them?"

My voice cracks. "I don't know what I want."

His face falls.

Tension mounts between us.

I can't stand his gaze on me anymore. I turn back toward the window and softly ask, "Can we go, please?"

"Pheebs..." he says with desperation in his voice.

"Please, I want to go," I say, hating myself for being so emotional, detesting how Cheyenne acted like I was nothing and dug up all my old ghosts, and loathing the way Alexander's looking at me.

All I want is him. But the thoughts of him with that woman, and especially when she so confidently claimed she knows what he needs, drives me insane. Add to it her adamant insinuations that I'm not good enough for Alexander, and it makes me wonder if I am enough for him.

What if she is better for him than I am?

He reaches for me, putting his hand on my thigh. "Pheebs, look at me."

I try to, but I can't. I look away with more tears rolling over my cheekbones.

"Please look at me," he begs.

I admit, "I can't right now. Please, let's just go."

Another moment passes. He slowly lifts his hand off my thigh and starts the truck. Country music blares into the cab, and he quickly shuts it off.

We drive in silence. I barely notice my surroundings. It's dark out, and I can't look away from the window. I try to calm myself the entire time, taking deep breaths and telling myself Cheyenne and what she said don't matter.

I attempt to convince myself he doesn't want anything to do with her, but it's hard. She didn't seem to think he didn't want anything to do with her. And I still can't fathom what kindof woman sits there continuing to hit on a man when they've already been told that person doesn't want to be with them.

The questions keep coming and coming, pummeling me until I feel semi-crazy. When Alexander stops the truck, I feel no better or calmer. I'm still silently crying.

He gets out, and I blink a few times, staring out into the darkness, unsure where we are. He comes around the truck and opens my door.

"Where are we?" I question, wiping the tears from my face.

He unbuckles my seat belt and turns me toward him. He puts his hands on my cheeks, answering, "We're on one of our acres on the north side of the ranch."

"Is this where you bury my body?" I try to tease, but it's emotion filled.

His lips twitch. He answers, "I'm only burying your body if you're next to me."

"Don't say stuff like that," I blurt out.

He arches his eyebrow. "Pheebs?—"

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