Hearing this, Phoebe Faulkner whipped her head around and glared viciously at Jace Lennox.
'How does he know?'
'Could he be the one behind this?'
Jace watched Phoebe look at him as if he were her mortal enemy. His brows furrowed. He set down his magazine, stood up, and asked, "What's with that look?"
'Trying to force me to talk to you?'
Phoebe looked at Jace, who stood before the sofa—tall, elegant, and infuriatingly dapper. She scoffed inwardly. 'I won't fall for his tricks. I will absolutely not forgive him, and I will absolutely not speak to him.'
'So I don't have a job. Big deal, I'll just find another one!'
Phoebe defiantly lifted her chin, shot Jace a look, and, like a proud little peacock, turned, straightened her back, and marched proudly upstairs.
Watching Phoebe's proud and stubborn display, Jace didn't know whether to laugh or cry.
'Upstairs, then draw.'
'I'll look for a job tomorrow.'
And just like that, the decision was happily made.
