Page 15 of The Billionaire's Secret Heart

"Yeah, once. That was it. She never heard from him again," Emily shouted, trying to wrestle her hand back from him, this time unsuccessfully.

I could speak for myself, probably should have, but I was fascinated by the interaction between Emily and Tate. Not that I was letting it go on. She deserved better. But I couldn't remember the last time I saw her go head to head with a stranger. Friends or teammates on a project, sure. But not strangers, especially strange men.

"He's called her three fucking times a day," Tate said, tugging on Em's hand for emphasis. "Left her messages. Now, he looks like someone kicked his fucking puppy, and I'm pissed."

I stared at Tate in shock as he looked at me and demanded, "What iswrongwith you?"

I didn't say a thing, my head reeling. He hadnotcalled me three times a day. He'd called me once, and I'd called him back. I may have even texted him—something I hadn't told Emily—and he hadn't responded to that either. Before I could jump in to defend myself, Emily wrenched her hand out of Tate's grip and yelled,

"Nothing is wrong with her. She came back on Monday all moony eyed over your cousin, then he blew her off and went out with some redhead. What's wrong withhim?"

"He didn't go out with anyone," Tate said, looking at Emily as if she were unhinged.

"Darren showed Jo a picture. I looked it up. Tuesday night, he was out with a redhead while Jo was crying herself to sleep."

"Hey," I said, affronted. They both looked at me, annoyed I'd interrupted. "He doesn't need to hear that part," I directed to Em. She set her jaw and folded her arms, resolute.

"It's the truth," she said. "He should know what a jerk his cousin is."

"Show me the picture," Tate said. "Holden didn't go out with anyone Tuesday night. He was shut up in the office with me, dealing with a crisis."

Emily pulled her phone from her pocket, tapped on the screen for a minute, then shoved it at Tate. He studied the picture for a second before hooting with laughter. He handed her back her phone, pulled out his own, tapped a few times, and showed Emily the screen.

"That picture is a reprint. And here's Holden, with me, his brother Jacob, and hissister, Charlie," he said, sounding smug as Em studied his phone with a suspicious gaze. She shoved the phone back at him without a comment. Finally, Tate looked at me.

"He's called you. Seriously, he called multiple times."

Afraid to hope he was telling the truth, I stared a him for almost a full minute before walking to the kitchen table, picking up my phone, and handing it to him.

"Take a look," I said. "I haven't gotten a call since Monday night."

Tate tapped his way through my phone, I'm sure checking the call history and text messages. He finally said, "You could have erased them."

I threw my hands in the air, then grabbed my phone back. "Why would I do that? I'm not the one playing a game here."

"Someone is," Tate said, an ominous tone in his voice. "Because Holden definitely called you. I know his phone works. I used it myself this morning, and he'd know if something was wrong with it."

"I've made calls on mine. Look." I handed the phone back to Tate. "I texted Holden yesterday."

Emily gave me an accusing look. "You didn't tell me that."

I looked away, feeling my cheeks heat. I normally told her everything, but she'd been so pissed at him on my behalf, I hadn't wanted to confess my weakness.

"Sorry," I whispered. "I couldn't stop myself."

Emily, never one to hold a grudge, at least not against me, wrapped her arm around my shoulders and gave me a squeeze, whispering back, "Something is up. I actually believe him."

"I kind of do too," I said, afraid to hope Tate might be telling the truth. I'd missed Holden with a hollow ache that was only getting worse. It was too much to imagine he might be feeling the same way.

Tate finished with my phone and handed it back. "Holden didn't get that text," he said. "I was with him when you sent it. We were in the office, and both of our phones were out. I would have seen it come in."

I stared down at my phone, my mind turning the odd problem over and over, looking for an answer. There was no way the phone had spontaneously decided to malfunction on specific calls. If it were broken, it would be dropping calls randomly. Not one phone number. Pulling up my call history, I double-checked Holden's record and found it wasn't blocked.

I liked solving puzzles. Like a sleepwalker, my brain occupied with the mystery, I headed for my laptop in the living room. I took a cable from the drawer in the coffee table, hooked my phone to my computer, and opened a jailbreak program that would let me get into the operating system of the phone. Everything looked normal. Whatever was wrong was hiding from me.

Following a hunch, I opened a virus program a friend had been working on. Emily, peering over my shoulder, said, "Good call."

The program took a few minutes to run, and the three of us watched its progress on my screen, our breath held as numbers rolled by, a line of green getting longer as the software scanned my phone and found nothing. I started to sit back, defeated, when a red STOP sign popped up and my laptop gave an angry beep.