Talk about wham-bam-thank-you-ma’am…
Zach crumpled the note in his hand.
Talk about things that were insulting…
His cellphone beeped. His brows knotted. Where in hell was the effing thing? He patted his pockets. Checked the shelves.
The phone stopped beeping.
Good. He wasn’t in the mood for—
Beep. Beep beep. Beep beep.
“Shit,” he muttered, and strode into the bedroom. Where was it? Not on the dresser, not on the night table.
There it was. On the floor beside the bed. He snatched it up, glared at it, didn’t recognize the number or the caller’s name, and jammed the thing against his ear.
“What?” he barked.
“Mr. Castelianos?”
The voice was male. Smooth. Authoritative.
“Mr. Zacharias Castelianos?”
“Listen, pal, if you’re trying to sell me something—”
“A word to the wise, Mr. Castelianos, and is that not a ridiculous idiom? If you were wise, I would not have to offer you this word.”
Zach took the iPhone from his ear, glared at it, then put it to his ear again.
“Who is this?”
“My name is Steven Young.”
“Well, listen and listen well, Mr. Young. You have the wrong—”
“Jaimie is my fiancée.”
“Huh?”
“The woman with whom you spent the night, sir. My fiancée.”
“I don’t know what in hell you’re talking—” Zach caught his breath. “What?”
“She and I are engaged to be married.”
“Engaged to be—”
“I love her very much. And she loves me. But…” The other man cleared his throat. “But, she has a problem. She is—there is no polite way to say this—she has issues. Sexual issues.”
Zach sank down on the side of the bed.
“Have you taken your meds today, Stevie?”
“I am not going to ask you what you and my fiancée did last night, Mr. Castelianos. What I will ask is your assurance that you will not see her again.”
Zach unfolded the note. Read it a third time.