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“Tate?” Crap! She glanced at the phone as if it could explain why the voice on the other side didn’t belong to her fiancé. How long ago had it been since she’d talked to Tate? Three months or more?
“Who else still calls you princess?” She heard the smile in his voice. “Sorry to surprise you. I take it you were expecting someone else?”
“Not at all. What do you want?” She didn’t care she let her crummy mood filter through. But Tate Dawson was the last person she needed to know some things weren’t as rosy in her rose garden as she pretended them to be where Robbie Jefferson was concerned.
“Hell, Jamie, I’m only calling to wish you a happy birthday. I wasn’t expecting to have my head bitten off.”
“I’m sorry, Tate.” She sighed and looked at the white designer gown. Was her mood really coming from not hearing from Robbie this morning? “I guess–” I feel trapped. “I’m just not very happy with the idea ofturning twenty-five.”
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