The Ivy House - By Drea Stein Page 0,80

the clinic; we had a thank you ceremony for all the sponsors.”

It had been almost a week since the story broke and she had been hounded by calls from reporters. She had refused them all, even unplugging her phone and letting everything on her cell go to voicemail. Besides, she’d been too busy trying to fill all the new orders that were coming in. The story had been good for business, just as Chase had said it would be.

Phoebe stiffened and then said nonchalantly, “He was one of the sponsors, so it was nice of him to come.”

Lynn looked at her in the fading light. “I don’t think he was there to check up on his donation.”

Phoebe shrugged, trying to show that she didn’t care. Why, then, did she want to cry all of a sudden?

“I think you should talk to him.”

“What?”

“He looked upset.”

Phoebe snorted. “He’s upset because his little ploy backfired. He knew…” Phoebe stopped herself.

“Look, I know you think he was using you because of Savannah and maybe that’s how it started, but I don’t think that’s the way it is. You didn’t see the look on his face.”

Phoebe swallowed.

“Lynn, I just can’t. I don’t think I can trust him again.”

Lynn was about to say something else, but there was a knock on the door. Phoebe looked up, her heart jumping.

“Are you expecting anyone?” Lynn asked. Phoebe shook her head tightly, but she knew, even as she walked to the door, that Chase wouldn’t have knocked.

“Dean.”

“Phoebe, there you are.” Standing on her porch was Dean Grant.

“Dean.” She gave him a hug, feeling a small surge of pleasure. All of a sudden, it felt nice to see an old friend.

Dean gave her his typical European greeting, a kiss on each cheek, before holding her at arm’s length.

“The salt air seems to agree with you,” Dean said. He was impeccably dressed, as always, in a light jacket, matching trousers, a robin’s-egg blue shirt, with a paisley pocket square that complemented everything.

Phoebe was glad that the dusk hid her flush. She knew that Dean was lying. If anything, the recent turmoil with Chase had left her with some sleepless nights.

“Dean, this is my friend Lynn Masters.”

“Pleased to meet you,” Dean said politely, but all his attention was on Phoebe.

“You haven’t returned any of my phone calls. And…” he lowered his voice, with a glance at Lynn, “I need to speak with you.”

Phoebe sighed. She didn’t know if Dean was being dramatic, but she hadn’t returned his phone calls either, which, he supposed, was why she needed to be tracked down.

“OK,” Phoebe said. Dean hesitated.

“You know what, why don’t I just clean up this stuff for you,” Lynn said. “You two can just run along.”

Dean flashed a smile of perfectly white teeth. “An excellent idea. How about dinner, Phoebe? There’s this cute little place up the road, the Osprey Arms? Do you know it?”

Did she ever, but Phoebe just nodded. She wasn’t exactly dressed for dinner, but it was Dean and not a date, so she supposed that in a few minutes, she could make herself presentable.

Dean had waited for her patiently at the house while she cleaned herself up, and then they walked down to the Osprey Arms together. For a moment she panicked, but then calmed down. She was pretty certain she wouldn’t run into Chase because he mostly ate in his room. And so what if she did?

“So, Chase Sanders?” Dean looked at her over his scotch, his gaze unreadable.

Phoebe didn’t really want to talk about her involvement with Chase, so she took a sip of her wine instead.

“Last I heard, you thought the man was the devil incarnate,” Dean pointed out, but his voice didn’t hold any bit of lightness.

“Things change,” Phoebe hedged.

“They do. I leave you alone for a couple of weeks, and I find you’re reliving the romance of the century. In every way?”

Phoebe decided to ignore that question. She didn’t want him to get the wrong idea, but there was no use denying the fact that there was something downright date-like about the corner table and the low lights of the Osprey Arms’ formal dining room.

Phoebe smiled at that. “It’s like you said: the fresh air, springtime. It does something to a girl.”

“Well, I hope that your designing is going well?”

“I’ve been working on some designs,” Phoebe hedged.

“You know, I’ve been talking with CallieSue. She’s very intrigued now…” Dean said.

“Is that what you wanted to talk to me about? I told you I wasn’t interested