Phoebe's POV
At the appointed time, I walked out of the house wearing my usual athletic gear, my worn backpack hanging off one shoulder.
Right by the gate, I bumped into Sergio dragging himself home from work. The guy looked absolutely wiped out—hunched shoulders, sluggish steps like he was forcing himself to move.
Honestly, seeing him look so defeated actually made me feel a bit better.
Sergio gave me this pathetic glare but kept his mouth shut.
He didn't even bother asking where I was headed—clearly still steaming about whatever went down at the office today.
I pretended he was invisible and kept walking. If I hadn't already committed to dinner with Harold, I might've hung around just to rattle Sergio's cage a little more.
The second I hit the main street, Harold's luxury ride rolled up right on time.
The window slid down, showing off his gorgeous face. "Get in, Phoebe," he said smoothly, like we'd been doing this routine forever.
