Page 68 of Fame & Obsession

As if reading my mind, he raises his hand to my chin, lifting it to meet his eyes. In that moment, I know Julian Bale has too much power over me. I can’t allow it to continue.

No matter what it costs me.

Closing my eyes, I tug my chin out of his grasp, waiting for my stomach to stop churning. When I open them, I focus on my new resolve while gathering my dress in my hands. “I’m sorry, Julian,” I say. “This isn’t going to work—professionally or otherwise. We have an honesty issue here. You don’t know what I’ve been through, and I can’t trust you enough to tell you. If you won’t deal with your own problems or let me help you fix them, I can’t put myself in a situation to be at the mercy of some crazy person.”

Julian opens his mouth, but fearing an impending breakdown, I pull away and run toward the side door behind him. Everything blurs, and I quicken my pace, a strangled sob tearing from my throat as I stumble outside.

The night air smacks me in the face as I step out on the fire escape. Walking to the edge, I grip the iron railing, the wind swirling my tangled hair around my shoulders. A shiver crawls down my spine as I close my eyes and lean forward.

The peace is fleeting. Synchronized car horns and heated insults from below drag me back to reality.

Opening my eyes, I take in the streets of New York from eighteen stories above Manhattan. Everything seems so small from this height. Reality ceases to exist in this little, solitary side-world nestled in the heart of the American Dream.

I laugh to myself. Dreams of silly, little girls who knew nothing of the world—of what horrors those dreams could hide. Dreams that haunt them and rob them of peace, normalcy, and security.

Love.

The pounding in my chest speeds up, and my vision blurs as I lean against the railing. As I bend my elbows, my heels suspend above the concrete, and the city takes on an eerily peaceful quality from my horizontal position. The rush of taxis and lights below make me feel like I’m floating.

I don’t hear the door open. I only feel the swoosh of suctioned air and the rush of coolness as it feathers across the scandalous dip of my backless gown.

I know he’s there. I sense his presence.

“Phoebe?”

I frown at the trepidation in his voice. He’s standing behind me, but doesn’t move. I can sense him calculating his next move, frantically thinking four steps ahead of what he thinks he sees.

He really knows nothing about me.

That’s when it finally hits me. Julian Bale and I are a fantasy based on nothing but physical attraction and intrigue.

I don’t bother moving my position before I speak. Instead, I keep my eyes trained on the street below. “Relax, Julian. I’m not going to off myself if that’s what you think.”

“I never said you were,” he says, inching closer.

“You didn’t have to.” I sigh. “We’re poison, you know. We’re going to hurt each other. The question is, how bad and how permanently.”

He moves again. “You haven’t even given us a chance to begin.”

Tightening my hold on the railing, the scent of spice and sex floats by me. Involuntarily, my body gravitates backward, and as I turn my cheek, I catch the faint smell of tequila. “Have you been drinking?”

“Can’t you feel how right this is, Phoebe?” he says, ignoring my question. “I knew the minute I saw you, I wanted you. You felt it too. Don’t lie to me.”

My resolve weakens by the minute. “Don’t say things like—”

“Like what?” His tone hardens. “Like how you feel in my arms? How you come undone when I kiss you?”

“Don’t…” I beg, vulnerability seeping through the cracks he’s caused.

“Too much for you, princess? Well, too fucking bad. This is what you’ve done to me. I can’t think of anything but getting you in my bed.”

“I’m not one of your groupies, Julian!” I yell, teetering over the railing. “I don’t give a shit who you are… I don’t belong to you.”

“You can’t walk away any more than I can,” he challenges calmly.

“I’m not fighting about this anymore.” Glancing down, I watch my knuckles turn white from gripping the metal railing. “I can’t afford to lose my job, so I’ll write your autobiography. I’ll do a fantastic job because for better or worse, I need MetroGroup in my good graces. But if you won’t let me help you stop a crazy stalker from ruining your life—and trust me when I say shewillruin it—I can’t be a part of it.”

“You don’t know what you’re saying.” His rough voice is thick with emotion.