Page 63 of Fire

Her phone rang a few hours later. Putting down her e-reader, she plucked it off the nightstand then looked at the screen. A giddy thrill raced through her at the sight of Blake’s name, yet still, her thumb hesitated over the accept button, worried answering it would only lead to more heartache. But why else would he be calling if not because he saw reason and wanted to patch things up?

Right?

The phone was on its fourth ring, and if she didn’t answer it soon, the call would forward to voicemail. Maybe that was best. Wait to see if he left a message.

The choice was soon out of her hands when the ringing stopped. She waited for the telltale beep to alert her she had a new message. It never came. Instead, it started ringing again, startling her so much, she nearly dropped the phone on her lap.

Fuck it. She slid her finger over the screen and brought the phone to her ear. “Hello?”

“Who was the man you had lunch with today?”

Seriously, that’s why he was calling? Hey, wait a minute. “How would you know that? Did you follow me?”

“It doesn’t matter how I know. Just answer my question.”

“Not until you answer mine.”

She heard a frustrated huff over the line. “Someone saw you at Chintz and told me about it.”

Who could that have possibly been? Someone from the club maybe? His friend Scott? “And did this person also tell you Allie was there, too?”

“Yes,” spoken more like a growl than an actual word.

“Then you know it wasn’t a date, so it’s none of your concern. Not that if it had been a date it would be your concern either. We broke up, remember?” God, saying the words aloud hurt so much worse. Her eyes welled and a lump clogged her throat.

“I’m well aware.” Did he sound angry? What the hell did he have to be mad about? That he lost a fuck buddy?

She swallowed hard and fought off the tears. The last thing she wanted was for him to hear her cry. “Why do you even care?”

“Gwen, just tell me who the fucking guy was.” Yep, definitely angry.

Knowing from his tone he wouldn’t let it go and not wanting to prolong the conversation more than necessary, she answered. “Frank Evans. He’s a producer on Allie’s show.”

“So, you were there for Allie.”

It wasn’t really a question, and she should have left his assumption as such, but she found herself saying, “He offered me a job.” After all, hadn’t she wished for his advice?

“What kind of a job?”

“In costuming, but he wouldn’t tell me more unless I signed an NDA.”

He was silent a moment, and then said, “I’ll go with you and read the contract.”

Did she want that? It would be a chance to see him again. Was she that pathetically desperate? Sadly, the answer was yes, but nobody but her would ever know that. Not even Allie. And especially not Blake. Hell, it was embarrassing enough admitting it to herself.

But as much as she may want to see him, she couldn’t. Not after the way he treated her. She may be pathetically desperate, but she did have self-respect.

“That’s not a good idea.”

“I don’t want you signing something like that without me looking it over first. When are you planning to go?”

“I haven’t yet.”

“Call and tell him we’ll be there when you get off work tomorrow. I’ll come pick you up.”

“I don’t—”

“I’ll be there at five.”

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