"Philip, we need to talk," Bianca's voice came through the phone, sharp and to the point.
Philip straightened, his back against the railing of the balcony outside, the edge clutched in his hands so hard his knuckles had turned white. He'd known this call was coming. He just hadn't expected it to hit this hard.
The city lights twinkled below him, yet it seemed as though the world was closing in.
He exhaled a sigh, his throat working around the lump forming in his throat. "Bianca, can this wait? I'm dealing with -"
"No, it can't wait," she cut in. Her voice was as cold as the night breeze cutting across his skin.
"Months, I have waited. You have been out gambling, fighting with investors, drowning yourself in whiskey, and God only knows what else. And where have I been? Just waiting."
