Not anymore at least.
Truthfully, he’d imagined she was much smarter, taking his attempts at ghosting her as a sign that she needed to give up, to throw in the towel and cut her losses. There were plenty of other fish in the sea, and it wasn’t as if she was unattractive.
Quite the opposite.
With her luscious brown locks, eyes the color of melted chocolate, and a body that was all soft curves, a firm ass and perky breasts, she had the kind of body most women would kill for her, yet with her, it seemed almost effortless.
A genetic blessing, no doubt.
A few weeks ago, he’d met her at a bar, and they hit it off instantly, with him ending up back at her place and fucking her till they both couldn’t stand, panting heavily, sweat pouring down their back steadily.
He remembered her stretching out next to him then promptly getting up, her mouth parting open slightly in a yawn.
Eventually, he’d started getting dressed, making it clear that he wasn’t interested.
To his surprise, she’d been okay, offering him some coffee before he left. All in all, he’d considered it to be a success, up until she started calling him, at all hours, leaving a plethora of messages, asking him to call her back urgently.
Studiously, he avoided all her calls and deleted the messages, barely bothering to skim through before he emptied his inbox, not wanting it to be any harder than it should be.
She’d been relentless the past week, not taking the hint or understanding that his silence was an answer in and of itself. For some odd reason, she stubbornly held on, determined to be able to catch him one way or another.
Well, no siree, he wasn’t about to be duped.
Just because he was sitting alone at a wedding didn’t mean he needed a girlfriend. In fact, he was doing perfectly well without one and didn’t really see the point. No one would ever really understand him in that way anyway, so it wasn’t for lack of trying.
No, this was much simpler.
Still, he wondered if it was time to answer her calls, if only to avoid causing any kind of scene at the office. She did know who he was, or at least she had an idea, and although she didn’t strike him as the desperate type, he really couldn’t tell for sure.
And Moxley was never going to let him live it down or forgive him if this turned into a thing. If there was one thing they could both agree on, without any kind of pushback, it was that they needed to keep their private lives private.
No paparazzi or tabloids or scandals that would tarnish their company’s name, and in that endeavor, they both did rather well, all things considered. Sure, Moxley was photographed with many women, but he was always discreet.
Now, it was Phoenix’s turn to prove he could do it, too.
He pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger and exhaled deeply, pressing the phone to his ear. “Hello?”
“Phoenix. It’s Darby. I’ve been trying to get a hold of you for a while now.”
He released his nose and pressed his fingers to his temples, a small stab of pain breaking out across the back of his skill, a headache creeping in. “Yes, I know.”
It was better not to beat around the bush or sugarcoat it.
“Look, Darby, I had a great time, and you seem like a nice woman, but I’m not interested in anything serious right now. I thought I made that clear.”
“I’m not calling because of that.”
Phoenix frowned, running his hands over the rim of the bottle. “Then why are you calling?”
“I’m pregnant.”
Vaguely, he was aware of the phone slipping from his hand, landing with an audible crack on the floor below.
Billionaire: A Billionaire Boys Club novel Page 7