The Ivy House - By Drea Stein Page 0,70

that’s a bad thing?” Lynn asked.

Phoebe shook her head. “It would be if Chase was behind it. I told him that I didn’t want to be known as Savannah Ryan’s granddaughter anymore. I have to stand on my own two feet, on my own talent.”

“Surely you don’t think?” Lynn asked.

Phoebe shrugged. She hadn’t had a chance to ask. And besides, Chase had promised he wouldn’t, but perhaps he couldn’t be trusted.

“For what it’s worth, it totally seems like he’s into you,” Lynn said carefully, taking a sip from her water bottle.

Phoebe leaned back against a box. “I don’t know. Maybe.” She looked at the picture again. She wondered how the press had gotten onto her efforts to restore Ivy House? And would this be the last of it? The story did mention Ivy Lane’s website. She’d already seen a jump in orders today. Perhaps, it would be good for business to play up this angle.

Lynn shook her head. “I don’t know, but I think the way he keeps showing up here, finding you at the flea market, buying all of that stuff…I think he wants to be with you. Phoebe Ryan—you—not anyone else.”

Phoebe wanted to believe her friend, she really did.

Chapter 32

Chase found her, after dark, in the attic. Phoebe looked up, startled, hearing the tramp of steps and then was reassured when she heard his voice calling up the stairs. She had forgotten to lock the door again, and there was Chase’s head popping up into the opening of the attic.

She had turned on the light and plugged in one of the lamps that was lying around, so she hadn’t noticed it growing dark outside. Phoebe was annoyed that so much time had passed—she had meant to see what the light looked like in the living room around dusk. She felt herself filled with nervous anticipation when Chase fully emerged into the attic.

“You’ve been busy,” he said, by way of a greeting.

She looked at him, standing there with his hands shoved in his pockets, rocking back and forth on his feet, looking like his usual cocky, assured self.

“I brought dinner. Chinese, I guessed,” he said, still smiling, “Since you didn’t bother to answer your phone or reply to my texts.”

She shrugged. “Chinese is fine,” she answered coolly.

“What are you doing?” he asked, one eyebrow arching up.

She had to swallow to bring her body under control. Had she really thought that just once with him would be enough? That she could respond to him calmly, rationally.

“Just sorting through some old things. Savannah left a treasure trove of stuff here.”

He came over closer to her and she could smell him, his warm dusky scent.

“Is that a photo album?”

He took it from her. “You do look a lot like her, you know.”

Phoebe nodded. “My poor mom. She was dark, but my dad was light. I got all of the Ryan genes. Whenever I was with Savannah, people thought I was her daughter. She liked that better than being called a grandmother. Always concerned with what people thought.”

“Is that why you’re against using her name?” he asked.

“Savannah lived and died by what the public thought of her. She was obsessed with it. She let them paint her as a home wrecker, a bitch—a slut, even—if she thought it would keep them interested. She was always the actress, never herself, because she was always playing a part.”

Phoebe looked up at Chase, who was holding her tight in his arms. “I don’t want to do that. I don’t want to be someone’s publicity piece or be used to sell something. I want to be myself. The papers will take anything and turn it around. You’ll say it doesn’t matter, but if it starts to make you money, you feed into it, you let it happen because you think it’s for some greater good. And what’s more, people believe it. The most outrageous things, they’ll believe, and then you start to buy into it.”

“If they want a show, give it to them.”

“Exactly,” Phoebe said, looking down. Her hands were dirty and she probably had dust smudges on her face. “But I don’t want to be the show.”

“Hey,” he said, catching her chin in his hand, “what’s bringing all this on?”

“I told you I’m not an actress, Chase. I’m Phoebe, not Savannah. I’m not some sexy blond bombshell with a smart mouth and a plucky sense of courage.”

He smiled. “I like you just the way you are. Sure, I liked Savannah’s movies, but unlike all those Hollywood