her he loved her until the day he had proposed. In Galaway, he
purchased and activated a new cell phone and cringed when he
heard that his voice mailbox was full. Before his flight took off for London, he’d listened to every hang up and message he’d
missed. The concerned calls from Scot and his family members.
Angry calls from his manager, Bret, and the record label. Worst
of all were the messages from Steph. At first she sounded tired
and exasperated, then the messages progressed to teary pleading.
Then anger. After that she left nothing but hang ups.
As soon as his plane touched down in London, he was on
his way to Abbey Road Studios. He owed the band the apology
of a lifetime, and he knew right where to find them. His reap-
pearance was met with a mixture of anger and relief. He slapped
down the stack of songs in front of Bret and launched into a
well-practiced monologue about how he’d needed the solitude to
refocus.
“Well, you could have bloody called us.” David threw a
drum stick at his head. Phillip deftly dodged it and gaped at David.
“We need to get back to work before the studio rips up our
contract.” Bret remarked, putting out a cigarette. Phillip nodded.
“There’s just one more thing I have to do, then I’ll move a
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TAMMY COONS & MICHELLE PACE
bloody cot into this studio and live here—I promise.” Nathan
rolled his eyes at Phillip’s oath of loyalty.
“We’ll believe it when we see it.” He lit up a smoke and
waved his cigarette in the air. “Alright, then. What’s so im-
portant that we can’t get right to it?”
“I have to talk to Stephanie first.” You could hear a pin drop
in the studio. No one looked at anyone else.
“Well, I just happen to know where you can find her.” Scot
chimed in as he plucked a few notes on his bass. “She and Chey-
enne are backstage at the Toxicity concert as we speak.”
Nathan gasped overly dramatically and played the first four
notes of Beethoven’s Fifth Symphony on his keyboard. Phillip’s
stomach hit the floor. It was like finding out his arch nemesis
had her in a tower with no doors. He thought about his uncle’s
words (anything worth having is worth bleeding for), and his
resolve didn’t falter. He hopped in the passenger side of Na-
than’s Ferrari, and they sped off toward the address Scot had
provided.
The loud splashing sound as someone dived into the pool
pulled Phillip back to present day. Cheyenne surfaced before
him, and the look she wore was homicidal.
“What the hell?” he asked, looking around to see if they had
an audience. Scot smiled and holding up two drinks, saluted him.
“I don’t know. You tell me ‘what the hell’.” She snapped.
With an eye roll, he started to swim away from her, but she
grabbed him tight by the wrist. “Did you say something to upset
Steph?”
Phillip bit down hard on the inside of his cheek. “I don’t
have to say anything to upset her. My very existence pisses her
off.”
“We’re here for Yara and David. Try to keep the drama to a
minimum.”
“Steph’s already informed me of my role and what my
place is here. I bow to her wishes.”
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She scoffed. “You are such an asshole. Steph always said
she’d never get married. She doesn’t believe in marriage. Not at all. Did you know that? Nope. And why is that? ‘Cause you never bothered to take my advice and actually talk to her about it.”
His face must have betrayed his surprise, because Chey-
enne’s sour expression transformed to one of sympathy. She said
nothing for a minute, but she seemed to be having some sort of
internal debate.
“Steph’s different now, Phillip. She’s a lot healthier in
many ways. I think she’s finally found some happiness. She de-
serves some. What’s done is done.” She turned from him and
swam toward the far edge of the pool where Scot and David
were doing a drunken strip tease before simultaneously cannon-
balling into the water. Phillip shielded himself from the splash as he made his way to the steps. Emotionally exhausted from all the painful memories and awkward conversations, he was ready to
go back to his bungalow for a second nap.
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CHAPTER SIX
As Stephanie slipped into her heels, she watched dusk settle
over the Sueste Bay. She’d slept through the legendary sunset
and was pissed at herself for it. She’d had to take a prophylactic dose of migraine medicine before lying down. Speaking to Phillip had taken the wind out of her sails, and the two-day journey to get to the island had finally caught up with her.
The orange and amber glow from the bungalows below
caught her eye. She wondered which one of them was Phillip’s
and wondered what the sheets felt like. One such thought led to
another, and seconds later she wanted to slap herself in the face.
The palm trees swayed gently to the strains of samba music
wafting up from the patio below. She knew she needed to get
down to the restaurant; Cedric would arrive soon for the dinner
and cocktail welcome reception. But she had to call Christopher
first.
It was eight p.m. local time, so it was midnight in London.
Feeling sheepish for the late-night call, she decided the need to hear his voice outweighed her fear of being rude. She winced as
she pressed the call button on her cell. He picked it up after one ring.
“Hello, beautiful.” He sounded wide awake as his highbrow
Oxford accent popped through the phone as if he were next door
and not on the diagonal side of the globe.
“Hey. Did I wake you?” She imagined him kicked back on
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RAGE
his leather sofa with his laptop, wearing his favorite football jer-sey. It still took some getting used to, seeing him out of a three piece suit. Not that she’d seen him “completely out” of the suit.
Not yet. Steph blushed at her train of thought. “I was going to
Skype you, but I overslept. I figured you’re in bed, and that
would be just plain mean.”
His deep voice rumbled with a throaty laugh. “So what are
you saying? It’d be cruel to see me in bed, or that I look unfortunate with bed head?”
Steph smiled coyly and bit down lightly on
