Page 75 of The Wildcard

Now I’m pissed. “What the hell do you mean some man?”

“Is everything okay, Phoebe?”

We both look up to find the receptionist peering at us through the wire-rimmed glasses balanced on the end of her nose.

“It’s fine, Patty,” Phoebe says, walking past her at breakneck speed. “Everything’s great. But why don’t you ask Julian, since he knows everything?”

I’ve heard about pregnancy hormones making women volatile, but I’ve never seen them in play.

Phoebe’s scares the shit out of me.

I take off after her. “Phoebe, wait…”

Halfway through the office, she turns around with tears in her eyes. “As far as Castellano knows, the autobiography is right on schedule, all right?”

“Sure, of course.”

“And you’re going to tell him he’s not being sued?”

My fingers trace her cheek. “Anything you need.”

Nodding, she spins back around to face the double glass doors. Grasping the door handle, she exhales softly. “I’m sorry. I can’t control my emotions anymore, and it’s pissing me off.”

When she stomps her foot, I can’t help but chuckle.

“What the hell are you laughing at?”

“You.” I kiss her temple. “You’re going to be a great mom.”

“Don’t patronize me, Julian. I’m acting like a psychopath.”

“You’re an adorable angel.”

“Yeah.” She snorts. “That’s me, all right—an adorable, psycho angel. Your psycho angel—me. Maybe I can get that changed on all my bylines and start using it as a pseudonym to combat that Blogosphere bitch.”

My blood runs cold. Her words are eerily reminiscent of the signature I’d seen in months of threatening letters and texts.

“What did you say?”

“I said I was psycho. You heard me the first—”

“No… You said your angel—me.”

“So?” She gives me a hesitant look.

I don’t know why I didn’t put it together sooner. The signature on the letters. Of course, she’d use it.

She wanted me to recognize her.

Fuck my stupidity for not looking at those screen names closer.

Phoebe sighs as I take her hand and lead her back toward the elevators. “Julian, what the hell are you doing?”

“We’ll come back,” I tell her, my pulse racing as the elevator rises to meet us. “We have to go to Helena’s office.”

Her face falls. “Oh goody. She’ll be so welcoming when she sees me returning to the scene of the crime.”

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