“All right, then, I guess I’ll just start with the first one from last night,” she said as she clicked on the first message.
The man was thirty, with dark hair and green eyes. He was worth quite a bit of money and owned a law firm in Boston. She skimmed through the other details, then back up at his picture. Boston was a bit far from where she wanted to go, so she politely messaged him back and said it was too far away because she didn’t have a way to get to Boston. She went through a few more e-mails, a few making her laugh until she cried at the age of these men. Sixty and seventy years old? She was desperate, but she still had class…and a bit of self-respect.
She made a pot of coffee after another hour of looking before she finally reached the e-mail from the last guy they’d checked out. There was no picture, and when she searched his name online, nothing popped up. But it said he worked for one of the top internet security firms in the country.
“Hmm, guess you can’t show your face,” she mused. “Or your name…wonder if yours is fake too then, Mr. Wayne.” She thought about replying but a new message came in, distracting her. “Well now, who are you?”
His picture popped up, and she leaned back into the couch cushions, enjoying the sight of him. He had buzzed hair, but it looked good on him in his black suit and red shirt. His smile was gentle and almost sweet. The brown of his eyes was light, a bit on the hazel side. Phoebe read through his profile and nodded in approval to find him in the city.
Another message window popped up on the screen. There was just one word typed in it: Hello.
He’s online right now? He can see me?
Her hands froze on the laptop as she glanced around the apartment as if someone would see. Quit being stupid, Phoebe. Take a breath. He couldn’t actually see her, so what was the harm in chatting a little? She clicked in the box and said hi back.
It took a second before another message popped up: I was just checking my messages and saw you on. Hope you don’t mind, lunch break.
“Ah, lunch break,” she mused and told him she didn’t mind. She was currently on vacation from work. “What is it you do at your company?” she whispered out loud as she typed. She took a long sip of her coffee and waited before another message came up. He told her he was VP of marketing within Grayson and Grayson Holdings.
Phoebe nearly spit her coffee all over the computer. That was the largest stocks and accounting business in the state, and he was the VP? Why was he even talking to someone like her? He didn’t even know what she looked like!
“Just keep it together,” she muttered. “Stay calm. This is what you were hoping for, right?”
Where’s Charlotte when I need her?
She glanced around the apartment, trying to figure out what to say, when her eyes found a picture of her and her mother from just a few years ago. They’d been happy, been a family. Now, she was watching her mother die a slow and painful death. Losing a bit of herself every day. She couldn’t stand to watch that happen. Not when there was something she could do about it.
“Okay, Phoebe, just be a sophisticated version of yourself,” she said, then started typing. “Just keep it simple.”
An hour later, Phoebe signed off and closed the laptop, any thought of messaging her mysterious other man forgotten. She needed to call Charlotte, check in on her mother and then…then she had to get ready for a dinner date.
Tonight.
Chapter 7
Riley’s head pounded as he buried it beneath the pillows on his bed again. Too much…why do we always have to drink too much? He had no idea what time it was or where Ben had gotten to. All he remembered was stumbling around the place after his grandfather’s funeral, whiskey bottle in hand, muttering curses about women and marriage. There was a time he’d had dreams about such things. A time when that was all he wanted. A wedding to the woman he loved.
Then the accident happened, and all thoughts of happy endings disappeared in a puff of smoke.
A door opened somewhere in the expansive penthouse and he cringed. “Go away!”
“You don’t even know who it is.”
Riley lifted his head, wincing at the pain of moving his head, and opened one eye enough to see Ben standing in the doorway to his bedroom. “Yeah, I do. My worst nightmare. I don’t want to talk about it. Go away.”
“Sorry, but it’s three in the afternoon.” Ben strode across the room and, before Riley could manage to fully hide his face again, he slid the curtains back to reveal floor-to-ceiling windows and the bright afternoon sunlight.