He’s right next to me. I want him to hold me. I want everything she said to be a lie. My hands tremble. My bottom lip quivers, but I smile to hide it. “Just feeling a little off, I guess.” I shrug and look at his chest then up to his shadowed jaw. The distress coming from his white blue eyes makes me question why I would let her make me feel like this. It’s exactly what she wants.

I wrap my arms around his bare chest. “I’m lying,” I confess. I blow out a deep breath.

Masen picks me up like a baby and carries me back to the bedroom. “I know you’re lying, Little One. I just don’t know what about or why.” His voice is soft. Would he be so sweet if he knew I just went through his phone violating his privacy? I contemplate how to get through this without tears or hysterics. “Please tell me what’s wrong?” He sits down but keeps me in his lap.

My fingers toy with the hem of my borrowed shirt. “Your phone was ringing this morning. I’m not sure if it woke me, or I woke then heard it. It just kept ringing and ringing so I assumed it was important. I wanted you to be able to sleep so I went to answer it.” He hasn’t spoken a word. He doesn’t seem nervous; he does seem worried for me. He strokes my arms and back as I continue speaking, “It was Roxanne.” There’s no change in his body; no tensing, no sudden intakes of breath. He doesn’t seem guilty.

“Did she say why she was calling? Is there a problem?” he asks, seeming confused.

“Did you know I talked to her yesterday? That when I lost my phone, I had no way to get ahold of anyone so I called information. They gave me your residence and Black industries. When I got the receptionist, she wouldn’t give me your cell or patch me through to you, only your assistant.” He stills. Now his large hand frozen over my wrist where he was soothingly stroking my pulse point. “She said you couldn’t come to the phone, that you were indisposed. She was giggling and playing grab-ass with someone in the background,” I shake my head in disbelief, “She knew who I was and wouldn’t let me talk to you, wouldn’t give me your direct numbers. I was so upset, still scared from that jerk grabbing me, and she just kept talking all professional, pretending to be nice when she was really being nasty. She said if this call is of a personal nature Mr. Black gives his number to those he wants to have it.” I sneer, copying her words and tone.

“What did she say this morning, Little One?” he asks, his voice calm, but he sounds angry.

I huff. He just expects me to answer him. “She was frantic, repeating your name. I told her you were indisposed,” I admit sheepishly. Rushing on, I say, “she yelled at me for you fighting with Sniffer last night. She accused me of a few things. She was angry.”