Page 87 of Mine

Chapter Twenty-Four

Her phone rang nonstop throughout the night. And every time the smooth sounds of Musiq Soulchild rang from her iPhone, Phoebe would silence it and stuff her face back into her pillow. Her world had come crashing down so fast that it made her delirious, and the agony in her heart was more than she could bare. Every time she replayed her strange encounter with Quentin, it never made sense.

He acted as if he was clueless that there was a naked woman in his bed. He seemed so genuine Phoebe almost wanted to believe him. Almost. Truthfully, what did she expect him to say or do? Furthermore, why would he give her a key to his place if he planned to see other women?

An image of Cindy trekked through Phoebe’s mind, and she frowned. It amazed her that Quentin slept with his assistant. It was so cliché and tacky. Phoebe thought about how Cindy stretched out across his bed, her back arched with a peer over her shoulder. There was no doubt they were sleeping together, or else why would she be comfortable enough with him to strip down and wait for his return?

For all Phoebe knew, they’d had sex before he left, and Quentin was coming back to finish the job. Too bad Phoebe interrupted them. Her mind traveled to the love they made at his apartment and in Paris. It was irresistibility amazing to Phoebe, but maybe Quentin wasn’t satisfied. Her frown deepened as her thoughts darkened, and she questioned being enough for him.

“Phoebe.”

Phoebe snapped her head up to Jordan, then glanced around the conference room.

“Um, what was the question?” she asked.

Jordan’s brows dipped slightly. “Can you have Mike draw up the papers with the official statement written on it?”

“Yes. I’ll get on that right now.” Phoebe stood from the table and excused herself. Jordan resumed their meeting, but his thoughts stayed with Phoebe.

In her office, Phoebe braced her elbows on the desk and sank her fingers in her bone straight hair. Focusing on anything other than Quentin was becoming impossible, and at any moment she felt like she would scream. Besides that, Quentin would not let up on the calls. Every time she glanced at her phone, there was a missed call or text message.

In her heart, Phoebe wanted to hear him out. But the image of Cindy in his bed added an extra dose of fortitude in her, and she held out. The day moved at a snail’s pace, and she feared Jordan busting in and playing 20 Questions with her, so Phoebe hightailed it out of the office by 4 p.m. In her Mercedes, she drove across town to the Ritz Carlton and rented a suite for the week. It was crucial that she get her mind in order, and she couldn’t do that with people breathing down her neck.

When she didn’t come home the first night, her phone was flooded with calls and text messages from her sisters.

I’m okay will call later. She’d responded in a text with no intentions to call anytime soon. The next day at Rose and Garnett LLC, another bouquet of roses were delivered to her office. Phoebe almost tossed the note without looking but curiosity got the better of her, and she opened it up and read it.

I’m sorry. Please give me a chance to explain. Just one. – Quentin

Locking her jaw tight, Phoebe ripped the note and tossed it. She paced around her desk and hit a button on her phone that dialed her assistant.

“Yes, Ms. Rose?”

“Mike, would you mind taking these roses to the break room and replacing them with the ones from yesterday.”

“Sure thing.”

“Thank you.”

Phoebe folded her arms and glared at the beautiful flowers. As mad and hurt as she was with Quentin, none of that stopped the constant fluttering that carried on when she thought of him. She sighed and went on about her day, keeping busy for apparent reasons. That night when Eden called but didn’t get an answer, she left a threatening voicemail.

“If you don’t call me and tell us what’s up, I’m going to the police and telling them someone has kidnapped you and they’re holding you for ransom.”

Phoebe shook her head. Leave it to Eden to be that dramatic. Instead of calling, she sent another text.

I love you. I’ll see you Friday.

It didn’t take long for her to get a response.

This is about Quentin, isn’t it?

Phoebe sighed and leaned back, her MacBook Pro resting on the lap of her crossed legs.

I’ll see you Friday.

Then she powered off her phone and closed her eyes in a desperate attempt to drown out her thoughts.

The 1966 Ford Mustang pulled to a stop in front of Christopher Rose’s compound. Quentin reached to withdraw the keys from the ignition, shutting the pristine vintage automobile down on the street. Quentin glanced at himself in the mirror then peered back at the front door. He had planned to do this with Phoebe—talk with her family and tell them of their mutual love.

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