Once Upon a Date - Susan Hatler Page 0,36

nice there.”

“You need to confront him, Michelle. Tell him exactly what’s on your mind. No filtering.”

I chewed on my bottom lip. She had a point about Phillip taking over his own problems. It would be an enormous weight off my shoulders to not have that additional responsibility hanging over my head.

I nodded. “You’re right, as always.”

She narrowed her gaze, and scrutinized me. “That’s not all that’s bothering you, though, is it?”

I shook my head. “There’s also the book thing, and . . .”

“You don’t have to say it.” Courtney picked up a cloth and started wiping down her already pristine coffee machine. “I saw Brooks this morning.”

I cringed. “Oh?”

“Yeah, I’ve never seen him so upset. What’s going on?”

I told Courtney about how he had agreed to publish my book, but then pulled the rug from under me by saying that I should take the other offer.

“I just don’t get it, Courtney. What happened?”

She stopped wiping. “Life is short, Michelle. Way too short to be walking around with a sad face. Talk to Brooks, confront him, and tell him exactly what’s on your mind.”

“I already tried that and he pushed me away.” I gave a mirthless chuckle. “Confronting him a second time is going to be a lot easier said than done.”

“Don’t think, just do it.”

“I’ll give it some thought,” I said, stepping aside as another customer approached her cart.

Chapter Fourteen

After walking around window shopping (aka: hoping to bump into Brooks), I decided to take Courtney’s advice and headed over to Phillip’s place. Thankfully, the apartment was a lot quieter than the last time I had been there. In fact, I wondered if Phillip was even home, but after buzzing for the third time a voice came over the intercom.

“Hello?” a voice squeaked.

I stepped back and looked at the button I had pressed, thinking I must have pressed the wrong one. I jabbed it again, the same one as before.

“Hello?” the squeaky voice said again.

I leaned in toward the speaker. “Phillip?”

“Oh, Michelle. Thank goodness it’s you,” he said, his voice changing to a more normal tone. The door opened and I went in. “Sis, so good to see you!”

“I wish I could say the same thing,” I said, as he pulled me inside, checked left and right outside, and then closed the door.

I put my hands on my hips. “Did you just answer the buzzer in a woman’s voice?”

He had the good grace to look embarrassed. “Um, kinda.”

My eyes widened. “What on earth for?”

He grimaced. “Well, a few people are chasing me for money I owe them. I pretend to be a little old lady to make them go away and it’s worked twice.” He grinned and shrugged. “It’s a good voice, though, right? I totally had you fooled.”

“This is beyond ridiculous.” I crossed my arms. “Phillip, we need to talk.”

His face fell, and he dropped down on the couch with a sigh. “Uh-oh, sounds serious.”

I remained standing. “It is serious, Phillip. You have no idea how much trouble you’re in, and you’re dragging me down with you. This isn’t the Titanic, Phillip. I’m not a musician in the band. I’m getting out now, while I still can.”

I hadn’t intended to blurt my thoughts out, but I couldn’t help it. Phillip sat with his head in his hands, and I sank down next to him.

“Look, Phillip, you’re my brother—”

“Stepbrother,” he said miserably.

I put my hand around his shoulder. “You’re my brother and I will always be here for you, but I can’t help you financially anymore. You need to start standing on your own two feet. It’s not fair that I use my book advance to pay for your rent, while you squander even more money away in stores I can’t afford to shop in.”

He looked up sharply. “Uh, what?”

I nodded. “I saw you at Taylor & Sons the other day. You were buying up half the store.”

Phillip looked mortified. “Why didn’t you say something?”

“I was on a date, Phillip. My life can’t keep getting sidetracked by you and your irresponsible ways. This has to stop, once and for all.”

“You’ve never talked to me like this before,” he said, his bottom lip quivering. Shockingly, he started crying, pressing his palms to his face. “I can’t help myself, Michelle. I’m not talented like you. I need something to make myself feel better.”

“Shopping makes you feel better?” I asked.

“Yes, in a way. I feel more successful with nice things.”

“Phillip, you don’t have a job. How can you expect to feel successful?”

“Exactly,” he said,