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“Oh, just call me Norma,” the senior woman said. “Nothing’s changed but my name,” she said. “How are you, Quentin?”

“I’m doing just fine. How was your New Year?”

“Oh it was great, I hate that you missed it. You know we had the party at Chandler Center. Mostly everyone was there, except for you, Phoebe, and Jordan. By any chance were you three together?”

“Phoebe and I were together. I can’t speak for Jordan’s whereabouts.”

“Hmm, probably with Selena,” she mumbled. “Anyway, would you like to speak with Christopher?”

“Yes, I would, thank you.”

“Just a moment.”

Norma disappeared from the line, and Quentin cleared his throat. Standing in the office of his fitness center headquarters, Quentin tugged at his tie and undid the first two buttons on his shirt as he stared out the window to the street below. Cars passed going about their usual day and sunny skies and strong winds greeted the city of Chicago.

“Hello,” a deep voice barked into the phone.

“Mr. Rose,” Quentin began.

“Good afternoon, Quentin. How are you, son?”

“I’m better than ever,” he responded.

“And your New Year?”

“The best,” Quentin quipped.

“And my daughter?” Christopher asked. The phone fell silent, and the question prompted Quentin to move into the conversation.

“From what she tells me, she’s happy.”

“What does she show you?” Christopher inquired.

Quentin cleared his throat again. Talking to Christopher Lee didn’t usually hold discomfort. Although he had a mother and father of his own, Quentin had grown to love Christopher like he was also his father.

“She’s happy,” Quentin said. “Phoebe and I would like to talk to you and your family in person.”

“My family,” Christopher ruffed out. “I thought my family was your family. Why the specifics?”

Quentin released a long breath. Christopher wouldn’t make this easy for him, and he didn’t expect anything less.

“I was,” Quentin said then stumbled back, “I am. I figured in this instance, specifics were required. Sir, I want nothing but the best for Phoebe—”

“And you think the best is you?” Christopher cut in.

“I do,” Quentin said with firmness.

“Okay,” Christopher said. “When would you and Phoebe like to have this conversation?”

“I know everyone has their own schedule, so I’m thinking Friday. If that’s still too soon, we’ll find another date.”

“Friday’s fine, son,” Christopher said with finality. “I’ll make sure they’re all here.

“Thank you. See you then.”

“Goodbye.”

Quentin sat the phone on his desk and slipped his hands inside his pockets with eyes cast out the window. Thoughts of Phoebe and their departure this morning slipped through his mind. The entire time they’d been in France, Phoebe’s phone had been powered off and Quentin hadn’t had a clue. As soon as she powered it back on, Phoebe had been hit with thirty voicemails and a few text messages from Jordan.

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