Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 89142 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 446(@200wpm)___ 357(@250wpm)___ 297(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89142 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 446(@200wpm)___ 357(@250wpm)___ 297(@300wpm)
It never really mattered.
The only thing that matters is the fact that not ever seeing Phantom again makes me feel…
Things I shouldn’t be feeling.
“Tell me, angel of music,” Phantom says. “Would you join me here again tomorrow evening?”
My heart flips. Perhaps I will see him again.
“On a Sunday evening?” I cock my head. “I work on Monday.”
“So do I,” he says.
“What do you do?” I ask.
He curves his lips slightly upward. “I haunt an opera house in Paris.”
Can’t blame me for trying.
“What do you do, angel?” he asks me.
“I’m a junior editor at—” I let a slow smile spread across my face. “I’m a soprano ingenue.”
Phantom laughs then, that deep, husky laugh that I’ve already grown to love.
“So you are.”
The game is amusing, but I believe he was truthful when he said he had to work Monday. So what does he do? Something exotic, probably. Maybe an international spy. And that’s why he has to disguise himself when he goes out. Or he could be a model. Maybe I’ve seen him on the pages of my own magazine.
No. I’d never forget those eyes.
Maybe he works at Black Inc. with my soon-to-be brother-in-law, Jackson Paris. He could be a software engineer or a lawyer. Maybe a marketing executive like Jackson.
He could be anything.
Which is clearly the point.
For some reason, he wants to hide his true self. Why?
Perhaps there’s no other reason for it than to have fun.
Because I admit… I’m having fun, too.
Wouldn’t it be amazing to be an opera singer, the ingenue of the Phantom of the Opera? In my mind’s eye, I’m floating with him toward his lair as he sings to me.
The music of the night…
“You haven’t answered me, angel. Will you meet me here tomorrow night?”
I jerk out of my daydream. “Just here? At the bar?”
“Yes. It’s masquerade night.”
“Apparently every night is masquerade night for you,” I say.
“True. But tomorrow is masquerade night for everyone.”
“It’s kind of strange that it’s on a Sunday.”
“What’s so strange about it?”
“I told you already. We all have to work the next day.”
“The party ends at eleven.”
My self-imposed curfew on a work night is midnight, so what the heck? I have a strong desire to see this man again. A very strong desire—one that’s directed right between my legs.
“All right.”
“Where do you live? I’ll pick you up.”
“Oh no,” I say. “You’re not getting my address—or my name—if I don’t get yours.”
His eyes widen slightly. “I’m impressed. You have nothing to fear from me, but you’re a very intelligent woman who’s concerned about her own safety. As you should be. Why don’t we meet here at eight?”
“All right. That sounds fine.” I wipe my mouth once more.
I gobble down my burger, cleaning my plate. Good thing he likes women who like to eat.
Maybe it’s time I worry less about gaining an extra pound and worry more about making myself happy. I don’t need to eat a hamburger every night to be happy, but it sure is a nice treat—one I don’t often allow myself.
Phantom signals June for the check. She brings it, and he hands her several bills.
No credit card. Of course not. A credit card would bear his name.
Once the check is paid, I rise. “I should go. I’ll grab an Uber, and I’ll see you back here tomorrow evening.”
…
“I think it sounds fabulous,” Gigi says at brunch the next morning.
My two besties, Isabella Phillips and Gigi Frost, always meet me for brunch on Sundays. It’s one of our things.
“Yeah, but it was kind of strange. Like everyone at that bar knew him only as Phantom. Who does that kind of stuff?”
“Sounds a little psycho to me,” Isabella says in her monotonic voice.
I don’t like the words Isabella uses, but admittedly, I considered it myself.
“Exactly why I didn’t give him my address,” I tell them. “I kind of wanted to. I’m wildly attracted to the guy.”
Gigi giggles. “How can you be attracted to a man you haven’t even seen?”
“From what I can tell, he’s gorgeous, but that’s not even what was so intriguing about him. It was his demeanor. He made me shiver just the way he looked at me. And he quoted F. Scott Fitzgerald.”
“And you, the English major.” Gigi giggles again. “He must have ESP.”
“Still sounds a little creepy.” Isabella takes a sip of her mimosa.
“Don’t listen to Izzy,” Gigi says. “You go for this. Go to that masquerade. In fact, what bar is this?”
I open my mouth but then close it. Do I want to tell them? Gigi loves a good party, and she might show up. That’s not necessarily a bad thing, but she’ll talk constantly and try to drag Phantom’s identity out of him.
Then again, just in case, it’s probably good for someone to know where I’ll be.
“It’s on the ground floor of that Black Inc. residential building uptown.”