Her slender thumb hovered over the illuminated screen for what felt like an eternity. Phoebe's bright, analytical eyes remained fixed on his name, yet she couldn't bring herself to press the call button.
A violent storm raged inside her chest, colliding with every ounce of composure she had fought so hard to maintain throughout the evening. Her fingers trembled almost imperceptibly, caught between instinct and hesitation, while her breathing grew increasingly uneven within the quiet isolation of the VIP lounge.
Again and again, she forced herself to calculate every possible consequence of contacting him. Yet no matter how hard logic attempted to regain control, the relentless intuition clawing at her heart proved far stronger than her carefully cultivated high-society restraint.
Unable to suppress the overwhelming urge any longer, she finally closed her eyes for the briefest moment before authorizing the speed-dial command.
