Accidental Tryst (Charleston #1)(6)

Phillip raised his eyebrows at me again but shrugged.

"Or on your phone," I continued. "Which I'm pretty sure I have. And I'm sure you want it back. Okay . . . okay, bye."

I handed the phone back.

"Well," said Phillip. "That was awkward."

I leaned down and banged my head with a solid thunk on the counter.

Mortified. That's what I was. Mortified and hopeless. What the hell was I going to do? I took a few steps and leaned my back against a pillar then slowly sank down to the ground. I needed to sit for a few minutes and think.



* * *



"Miss?" I jumped and turned my head to see Phillip. "Phone call for you, I think."

"You think?"

"You didn't leave him your name, so I'm assuming the red-haired hippie girl is you?"

"I'm not a hippy!" I snorted indignantly, getting up. "Wait, how the hell does he know what I look like?"

Phillip shrugged. "I suggest you ask him. And I suggest you hurry. He doesn't sound like the most patient person."

I followed Phillip to the counter. He handed me the phone while attending to another customer.

Taking it, I took a deep breath and held it to my ear. I heard muffled talking, as if his hand was covering the microphone. A man and a woman's voice.

I cleared my throat. "H-Hello?"

"Hold on," I heard through the muffled sound. Then, "Thank Christ," a male voice said loudly.

I jerked the phone away as my eardrum sang.

"Who is this?" the voice barked.

What the hell?

I cautiously brought the phone back to my ear. "If you can refrain from yelling—"

"Sorry. I'm sorry. Who is this, please?" The male voice had a British flatness to the enunciation and sounded as if the act of apologizing caused him immense pain. A vision of slate gray eyes and strong hands flashed in my mind. Oh, no.

At least he immediately apologized, which was unexpected. Also his accent was not purely British. He'd been in America for a while by the sound of it.

"Hello? Hello? Christ," he snapped. "Hello?"

"Yes. Yes, I'm here."

"Do you have my phone?"

"Do you have mine?" I asked, indignance crawling up my throat.

There was a long sigh, and I realized my error.

"Of course you do," I mumbled, embarrassed at my stupidity. "That's why . . . you, uh, got my message and called me here, on this phone."

"Riiiight. So I don't mean to be an arse, but what the hell is going on?"

I pulled his phone out of my purse. "It's still on Airplane Mode. I'll turn that off if you want to call it and check. But I'm assuming it's yours. And I'm sorry. I was late for my flight, so I only realized once I was on the plane with no time to come back."

"Uh huh." He sounded anything but understanding. "Turn Airplane Mode off. I'll send myself a text."

I tapped the airplane symbol and watched service bars come back to life. "So can I ask how on earth you managed to take my phone?" I couldn't help asking.

"Took your phone? Lady, I picked up the only phone left charging, which I assumed was mine since it was where I plugged it in. So if anyone took the wrong phone first it was you."

The phone in my hand beeped. I looked down.

UNKNOWN NUMBER: Who the hell doesn't recognize their own cell phone?



* * *



My mouth dropped open.



* * *



I angrily typed back: Spoiled, suit-wearing monkeys who think screens magically fix themselves.



* * *



A puff of air, suspiciously like a short laugh sounded over the line. "Great point," he said, his voice a purr. "My apologies."

"Accepted. And . . . I'm sorry too," I said gruffly.

"Listen, we need to make a plan. I'm . . . I'm late." Feminine laughter sounded in the background again. "And for some lunatic reason you all but begged me not to cancel my phone." Clearly he was late for a date of some kind. An irrational feeling of jealousy made me frown as I wondered what type of woman this enigmatic, apologetic, temper-filled, silver-eyed, man was attracted to. Then I shook my head.

"I know, I'm sorry. I can't be left without a phone. I'm in New York City. I can't afford a new phone right now, and I didn't back mine up to the cloud. I'm home in three days, then I can mail your phone to you, and you can do the same?"

"Three days? You must be out of your mind. I'm in the middle of a deal to sell my business."

"Where are you?" I pressed on, determined to make this work. "I mean what city?"

"Charleston, South Carolina."

"That's where I live!"

"Yeah, well, you're not here now, are you, and I don't plan on staying here longer than I have to." He followed this statement with an inhalation of breath that sounded as if he'd surprised himself with his admission.

"What's wrong with Charleston?"

"It's fine. Nothing. So-"

"For real. Be specific. Why don't you like Charleston?" Stunning architecture, restaurants to die for, beaches . . . he obviously didn't appreciate the same things I did.