But of what?
“You know she used to work for the firm your former in-laws used. The one you have a bad feeling about,” Bear said cautiously.
“I know, but she left months ago, before they hired the firm, so I don’t think there’s any way she could realistically be involved.”
“So, you just giving up on her?” Brick asked.
Was he?
Phoebe had said no, and he wanted to respect that. If she wasn’t interested in him then he didn’t want to pressure her into doing something she didn’t want to do. And yet, he couldn’t deny that when he’d seen her today, touched her, that infatuation he’d felt had only grown.
“Maybe I should have given her a little time before asking her out,” he admitted. “She went through a traumatic experience yesterday, she’s probably still shaken up about it. I should have just thanked her and left it at that, gone back another time to ask her out. Or given her my number, talked to her a bit first, let her get to know me, it wasn’t like I made the best first impression.”
The problem was could he overcome that?
He knew Phoebe said she had forgiven him for hurting her, and he honestly believed that she had, but that didn’t mean she was willing to trust him. Without trust there could be nothing between them.
And he wanted something with her.
For a guy who thought he’d had his one chance at love, it was a disconcerting feeling to find himself drawn to a woman again. Mouse had no idea if anything would ever happen between him and Phoebe, but he knew he couldn’t just walk away without trying at least one more time to see if she would give him a chance.
What was the worst thing that could happen?
* * * * *
February 15th
6:54 P.M.
Her neck was aching, her head thumping with a persistent headache, and her eyes starting to blur after so long staring at a computer screen.
With a small moan of pain, Phoebe pushed back in her chair, lifting a hand to rub at the tight muscles in the back of her neck, and was surprised to see it was dark out her window. Glancing at the clock she saw it was almost seven.
Wow.
The last thing she remembered was running to her office after Asher had asked her out. She’d come straight in here, jumped right onto her computer, and started working on her cases. Burying herself in work was the only way not to melt into a puddle of embarrassment and shame, so she hadn’t even stopped for lunch.
Not that she had much of an appetite.
Asher was everything she used to think she wanted in a man, but now he was everything she feared.
At least it was done now, over with. He’d asked and she’d said no, there was no reason for her to see him again or have to talk to him again. It meant no more going to any Prey functions with Hope, but maybe that was for the best.
It was time she started rebuilding her life.
That meant putting a little distance between herself and her cousin. Not cutting Hope out of her life or anything like that, she’d never give up her best friend for anything, but she needed to find her own place, buy her own stuff, and maybe even look for a job that Hope didn’t get Falcon to find for her.
She had to stand on her own two feet again.
With that plan firmly in her mind, Phoebe gathered up her things, slipped into her coat, put her purse strap over her shoulder, and shut down her computer. Tonight, she was going to clear her mind of everything and get herself a good night’s sleep. Surely if she was well-rested everything would look better in the morning.
The building was quiet and dark, everyone else seemed to have gone home for the night, and it felt kind of spooky in here.
When she pressed the button for the elevator, she fidgeted nervously and couldn’t help looking over her shoulder. Anyone could be hiding behind one of the closed doors, or behind one of the desks.
Paranoid.
She’d become completely paranoid, and it wasn’t a good look on her. Maybe it would be a good idea to find a therapist and talk through everything that had happened with her ex. When she could afford it anyway.
The lift doors opened, and Phoebe stepped inside. When she’d left California, she’d taken only a suitcase of clothes and a couple of personal items she hadn’t wanted to leave behind. Not that the apartment she’d lived in with her ex had much of her stuff anyway. When they’d moved in together, he’d told her they should have all new things to start their lives together, so most of her things were in storage in her parents’ garage. At the time, she’d thought it was sweet, but then she hadn’t known he was a psychopath.
Crossing the lobby, she stepped out into the cold evening and already felt exhausted by the thirty-minute walk back to her apartment, and she hadn’t even started yet. When she spotted a cab pulling up and someone hopping out, she hurried over. It was a splurge she couldn’t really afford but the walk home was just too daunting tonight.
Tomorrow. She’d be strong tomorrow. After a good night’s sleep she’d be stronger, clearer, and then she was going to write down a plan to rebuild her life. Her ex might have hurt her, but he hadn’t destroyed her. She wouldn’t let him.
Even with traffic the taxi ride cut her journey in half, and fifteen minutes later, Phoebe paid and dragged herself into her building. Despite skipping lunch, she wasn’t hungry. As soon as she got home, she’d jump straight in the shower and then climb into bed. Sleep was what she needed the most right now, everything else would be so much easier to deal with when she was well-rested.
Phoebe hummed in relief when she stepped out of the elevator and walked down the hall.
Almost there, she consoled herself.
Soon she’d be snuggling under the covers and shutting her mind down. It sounded like heaven. In fact, she was so busy dreaming about how lovely it would be to rest her head on the feather pillow, snuggled under luxurious expensive sheets that she didn’t realize anyone was behind her until she unlocked her door and pushed it open.
The next thing she knew she was swung around and slammed up against the wall hard enough the air left her lungs.
“Miss me, sweetheart,” a voice sneered.
Her ex.
Dexter Hunt in the flesh.
Six feet, two hundred pounds of pure muscle. He could bench press double her hundred- and ten-pound five-foot two-inch frame. Golden blond hair, eyes as bright blue as a summer’s sky, and dimples, he looked like he just stepped off the set of a photo shoot. IQ of one hundred and thirty, he was genius-level smart, and a brilliant actor to boot. A lawyer who worked custody cases for Hollywood elite, he was everything she thought she had wanted.
Then turned it into a nightmare.
Now he was here.
In Manhattan.
In her apartment.
With his hand around her throat.
Of course she hadn’t missed him. She’d lived in terror for the last eight weeks and two days constantly expecting him to show up. If she told him that he’d beat her to a bloody pulp, then probably drag her back to LA with him.
“I gave you time, sweetheart. Time for you to come to your senses and come home, now, I’m sick of waiting for you. I think I’ve been more than fair. I let you spend time with your cousin, allowed you this little running away from home tantrum, but enough is enough. Pack your things and let’s go.”
Go?
She wasn’t going anywhere with him.
Going back to LA and allowing this man to resume controlling her would end only one way.