Page 53 of Fame and Obsession
She glance around, and once she realizes we’re standing three hundred feet away from her office building, she pulls back. “Julian...”
No. Not today.
Quickly dipping my head, I take her lips in a commanding kiss. The movement startles her, and her eyes widen in shock. Tracing the seam of her lips with my tongue, I wait until she gasps to take my entry, tasting every inch of her mouth. Her body relaxes, and she embraces me so fiercely, I can barely breathe.
Hell if I care. She can do whatever she wants as long as she keeps making those soft moans. She whimpers as we kiss like we’re the only two people on the street. I demand and take without asking.
It’s physically painful how much I want her right now.
“Jesus,” I growl, “do you have to go back?” Everything aches for more. Our kisses turn so intense people stop on the street to either gawk at us or snort in disgust. None of them matter. I have no power to stop it.
A discreet but purposeful cough catches my attention. A guy pushing unkempt blond hair out of his eyes raises his hand beside us in a nervous wave. An annoying blush creeps up his neck.
“Um, hi, Phoebe.”
I imagine how we must look, making out like horny teenagers on a public New York street. Any other time, I would laugh. However, I don’t find this interruptive asshole amusing, nor do I like the way he eyes Phoebe up like she’s his dessert.
Pulling a hand from my neck, she dangles her fingers at him. “Hi, Nate. How are you?”
“Fine, busy,” he says with a stupid grin I want to smack off his face.
Phoebe peels herself out of my grasp, smoothing the back of her hair where my fingers had been. “Julian, this is Nate Jacobs. Nate’s the photographer who worked the album release with me.” She motions to him. “Nate, this is Julian Bale, he’s—”
“Lords of Lyre.” Nate’s eyes darken as he finishes her sentence. “We met at the press conference. My cousin is a huge fan.” He sticks out his hand awkwardly, not out of courtesy, but because that’s what he thinks she wants.
That’s why, instead of breaking off his hand like I want, I grit my teeth and squeeze the shit out of it, while giving it a firm shake.
“Always a pleasure to meet a fan.” I give him an icy smile, accompanied by a “fuck off” glare.
“I never said I was a fan,” he says coolly.
Oh, so we’re playing this game, are we, dickhead?
Phoebe is mine, and he can go fuck himself.
“I’ll see you in the staff meeting, Nate.” She turns back to me but is interrupted when Nate’s voice rings out again.
“I wanted to suggest that we go to the Ralston Gala together, Phoebe. You know, since we both have to be there. We might as well go together.” He laughs nervously.
Before she can answer, I grab her hand. “That won’t be necessary. Phoebe already has a date.” My jaw twitches in anger.
We stare holes into each other. Phoebe’s eyes dart between us, obviously sensing the tension. Finally, Nate breaks the standoff, softening his stupid gaze as he turns it toward her.
“I see. Well, I’ll catch up with you in a bit, Pheebs.” Walking up the stairs, he disappears into the building.
Phoebe’s stare is like concrete. “Are you finished comparing dick sizes?”
A smirk plants itself on my face. Her Southern accent takes center stage when she’s mad. “Ah, there’s my Iris Queen. Beauty, charm, and a little Jersey Shore attitude thrown in.” I’m about to tease her again when my phone buzzes in my jacket pocket. I look down, furrowing my brow. It’s from Tanna—and it isn’t good news.
One Surge Chatter poster is a ghoster. The rest of the accounts check out.
I respond quickly.
Ghoster?
The three dots blink, then disappear, then blink again before her response pops up.
Think of it as identity theft. Did a little digging. Account originated as some lady in Bakersfield. Password was reported hacked, account stolen and put up for sale on the black market.
