What? For a moment Phoebe could do nothing more than gape at him. Then she snapped her mouth shut and told herself to hang on before leaping to the wrong conclusion. ‘If you’d wanted to draw up conditions about how I raised the money,’ she said with a calmness she really didn’t feel, ‘you should have mentioned them before.’
‘I would have had I thought you’d resort to such obvious measures.’
That was it. The disdain in his voice tipped her over and a sudden explosion of anger erupted inside her. She’d done everything he’d demanded of her and for him to then turn round and accuse her of flirting… A swirling mass of incandescence and hurt and something strangely like disappointment boiled in her veins. How could he even think that was what she’d been doing? Hadn’t he learnt anything about her?
‘I wasn’t flirting,’ she said icily. ‘It’s called taking an interest. Conversation. The exchange of information. Not that you’d know much about that.’
Alex let out a humourless laugh. ‘So the people you set your sights on just doled out the cash in a sudden fit of generosity?’
His voice dripped with sarcasm and Phoebe just wanted to get as far away from him as possible. ‘No, they didn’t. They offered things. Jewellery. Holidays. Wine.’
‘I bet they did. To you?’
‘No, of course, not to me,’ she snapped witheringly. ‘For the auction you’re going to have at your charity event. So good luck with that.’
Alex went very still. Good. She hoped he froze to the spot. She slapped her notebook against his chest barely noticing it fall to the ground. She didn’t care if she never saw him again, the arrogant, patronising jerk.
She turned on her heel but then stopped suddenly and whipped back. ‘And just for the record, those donations? Three quarters of them came from women.’
Oh, hell.
Alex watched Phoebe storm off into the house and called himself every name under the sun. He wanted to hit something. Hard. Preferably himself.
He bent down to pick up the notebook and flicked through it as he straightened. Page after page of handwriting detailed each donation, the estimated value and the contact details of the donor.
He totted up the total. Phoebe hadn’t just completed his challenge. She’d raised double the original target. Dammit, he was impressed. So what on earth had prompted him to attack her like that?
Alex thrust the notebook into his pocket and strode after her. He took the stairs two at a time and found h
er in the guest wing, whirling round the room like a dervish, flinging things into her bag and muttering furiously under her breath.
He stopped in the doorway. ‘Phoebe.’
Phoebe spun round. Her cheeks were red and her chest was heaving, but she didn’t stop moving. ‘Go away.’
Alex had no intention of going anywhere. The need to finish what had started beneath the pergola clawed at his stomach. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I shouldn’t have implied that you’d sell yourself to bring in business. It was a careless thing to say and totally unfounded.’
‘No,’ she said. ‘You shouldn’t. So why did you?’
He ran his hands through his hair. ‘I was angry.’
‘About what?
‘That dress would tempt a saint.’
That stopped her in her tracks. She stuck her hands on her hips and glared at him. ‘So now it’s my fault?’
He frowned. ‘Were you aware of the looks you were attracting?’
‘The only looks I noticed were the filthy ones you kept flinging in my direction.’
‘You smiled at and talked to everyone yet you avoided me. All night,’ he ground out.
Phoebe’s lip curled. ‘You sound jealous.’
Alex blinked and felt faintly stunned. He’d never experienced jealousy, but it certainly explained a lot. ‘You’re right. I was.’
Her eyes flashed. ‘Again, not my fault.’