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  I had to watch the ad for ten seconds before it closed, and I could get James’s video to load.

  It opened with a single shot.

  One that made the scotch churn in my stomach.

  I shot back several more swallows and continued to stare at James on her knees with those pouty lips wrapped around a cock.

  Jesus Christ.

  I had to keep watching; the intro could just be a series of Photoshopped pictures.

  But then the video began to play, and James walked out of a door that looked like a bathroom, wearing a pair of red lace panties and a matching bra, moving slowly across the carpet. There was a guy sitting on the end of the bed, naked. His face was blurred, making it impossible to see his features or anything that would identify him.

  “Get over here,” he said in a voice I could tell had been altered, “and get on your fucking knees.”

  I gripped the neck of the bottle as she put her hands on his thighs and slid to the floor, her mouth opening to take in his crown.

  I can’t fucking believe I’m watching this.

  She took it fast, deep, and played with his balls after he ordered her to. And, just as she established a rhythm, he pulled her by the hair, lifted her off the floor, and tossed her on the bed. He wasn’t gentle when he yanked off her panties or downed the straps of her bra instead of unhooking it in the back.

  He didn’t kiss her tits.

  He didn’t finger-fuck her pussy.

  He put a condom on, flipped her onto her stomach, and spit on her cunt. Pumping his cock a few times, he slid in behind her and rammed it in.

  She moaned.

  It wasn’t the same noise that she’d made with me.

  Not even fucking close.

  The sound was to please him.

  He told her to get up on her knees and stick her ass in the air.

  She did.

  He told her to move up higher, so he could pump her deeper.

  She did.

  He wasn’t trying to make her feel good. He didn’t give a fuck about her.

  He wanted to come.

  “James,” he groaned. “James fucking Ryne.”

  He turned her onto her back so that her profile now faced the camera. She rolled her head to the side and looked straight at me.

  Her lips parted.

  Her eyes were full of pain.

  The world would think that was how she looked when an orgasm was building in her body. Her sounds were convincing enough.

  I knew better.

  I knew what she looked like when she came, and that wasn’t it.

  “James,” he groaned again, giving her fast thrusts, squeezing her tit like he was testing a goddamn piece of fruit. “Oh God, James.”

  He shook.

  He stilled.

  He climbed off.

  He walked to the bathroom.

  James stayed on her back for a little while, appearing as though she were catching her breath. When she finally sat up, she spread her legs for just a second before she tucked them against her chest and wrapped her arms around them.

  In the short amount of time that her legs were open, I saw what I had been looking for.

  The small, dark freckle on the inside of her thigh.

  It was her.

  That mark had confirmed it.

  There was still fifty-eight minutes left of the video. That meant they’d had sex more than once, and if this guy could only keep it in for four minutes, then there were several more sessions like the bullshit I’d just witnessed.

  I tossed the tablet across my couch.

  I’d believed her. The flirting, the begging me to come visit, the wanting of what I could give her body. So, my assistant had rearranged my whole schedule to get me to LA as fast as possible, I’d reached out to one of my favorite chefs, and I had been seconds away from outing myself to all my friends…for nothing.

  Because, the whole time, she had been out fucking another dude.

  I pulled my phone from my pocket and looked at the screen. There were texts from the guys and Scarlett, wanting me to show up at the bar they were at. There were messages from clients, from my team and support staff.

  I ignored them all.

  I clicked on James’s last text. She’d been blowing up my phone for a few hours. She’d even called, and I’d sent her straight to voice mail. I hadn’t been ready to talk yet.

  I was now.

  Me: What the fuck did I just watch?

  James: Brett, I’m so sorry.

  Me: I’m done.

  James: We need to talk about this. You can’t be done. We have something here; you know we do. Just hear me out; let me tell you what happened.

  James: Brett…

  James: Brett, please.

  James: Please talk to me.

  James: Don’t do this to me.

  I left my cell on the couch and stood. Holding the bottle like it was a leash, I moved through the living room and toward the master suite.

  I didn’t want to see another word that came across the screen of that phone.

  I didn’t want to send another call to voice mail.

  I was a man of my word, and I’d just given her my last one.

  9

  James

  “Listen to me, James, this is exactly what you need,” Eve said as she squeezed my hand, walking me through the front door of a friend’s house.

  A friend who had promised Eve that she would only have a few people over, and it would be a quiet and relaxing night.

  That was all I could handle.

  Because, for the first time in three days, I had actually left my closet.

  In the time I’d spent in there, not only had I learned my Dior contract was canceled, but I’d also lost endorsement deals for a shampoo and conditioner, perfume, and teeth whitening kit. It was where I’d been told my two upcoming movies in pre-production dropped me, and they were recasting my role.

  My entire world was exploding, and I could do nothing to stop it.

  While that had all been happening, my manager, attorney, agent, and publicist had all stood around the island in my closet—the one covered in my jewelry and sunglasses—and told me how I should move forward, what statement was going to be released, and the things I needed to say to the police whenever I met with them to press charges.

  I hadn’t heard any of it.

  Because I had been on the floor, buried underneath all my clothes, reading the vile things that people were saying about me online. The pictures they’d created, the memes, the GIFs—it all made me sick.

  It made me hurt.

  It made me want to give up.

  Eve couldn’t take another second of me being in the closet. So, after my team had left, she’d pulled me out of the clothes pile, stripped off the outfit I’d been wearing since the Dior shoot, and put me in the shower. She’d stood by the glass door and told me to wash my hair and scrub my body, or she wouldn’t let me out. When I’d finished both, she had gotten me ready and handed me a straw that she’d stuck in a glass of wine.

  She’d told me to suck.

  I had.

  A total of three glasses.

  Man, was I drunk.

  And it felt good.

  And I knew everyone who was at my friend’s house, which was the biggest relief because Eve could tell the small group to lay off the questions and that I’d talk about it when I was ready.

  They all seemed to understand.

  So, we sat around and played drinking games. I listened to them tell stories about their families and the trips they were planning, and I laughed for the first time in days.

  But, after two stories in a row about botched boob jobs, I looked down at my cup, and it was empty.

  I needed it full.

  I needed the alcohol to continue taking all this pain away.

  Pushing myself off the couch, I rushed into the kitchen and saw so many bottles on the counter. I chose a pretty green one and a sexy red one, pouring them in together, and I topped it wi
th some juice I’d found in the fridge.

  As I was mixing it with my finger, I heard Eve say, “Jaaames.”

  “Eve,” I replied and turned around, throwing an arm across her shoulders. “This is the most perfect night. Such a good call on bringing me here.”

  If I kept telling myself that, I would believe it. I would feel normal. I would forget what was really happening and just focus on my friends.

  “Told ya, bitch.” Her fingers clenched mine. “Now, let’s go have more fuuun.” She released one of my hands but still clung to the other and dragged me through the kitchen.

  “Eve,” I panted, trying not to fall in my heels, “I’m going to spill my drink.”

  She gazed at me from over her shoulder and said, “We can’t have that now, can we?”

  I kneed her in the butt, and she laughed.

  When we got to the living room, she climbed on the back of the couch, and from there, she jumped onto the buffet table.

  “Turn on the music,” she said, pointing at one of the girls. “Let’s dance.”

  The music started, and the lights dimmed. Suddenly, everyone was on their feet and dancing. Eve kept calling out my name while I was shaking it with the other girls, and I finally turned toward her.

  “Get up here, woman,” she demanded.

  I kicked off my heels and got on top of the couch, the same way she had, and I jumped to the table. I squealed as I landed, my foot sliding on the wood, almost taking the both of us out. But Eve caught me and steadied my body, and then neither of us could stop laughing.

  The alcohol made the minutes blend together. It made the faces around me seem like they were all smiling. It made my body flow seamlessly from one beat to the next every time a new song came on. It made the group of people who had gathered below us not seem out of place even though they hadn’t been here when I first arrived.

  “Give me your butt,” Eve said. She stuck hers out and waited for me to grind mine against it. “Yaaas.” She laughed. “Get it, girl.”

  We both turned around to face each other again, our arms rising above our heads, fingers linked.

  “God, I love this music,” she said, our movements matching, our hips swaying, our hands swishing.

  “Me, too,” I agreed just as a guy jumped on the table on the other side of her.

  He was dancing behind her, and I was dancing in front of her.

  When the song changed, I heard a girl say, “Why the fuck would she let a guy tape her during sex? Didn’t she learn anything from watching reality TV?”

  I knew the voice had come from somewhere nearby, but there were so many people standing in the living room now—girls I’d never seen before, guys who weren’t familiar at all.

  I grabbed Eve’s arm and whispered in her ear, “Who are all these people? And where did they come from?”

  She glanced around the room and shrugged. “I have no idea, but don’t worry about them.”

  I tried to follow her advice, but then I heard, “She’s obviously trying to get into porn.”

  “Nah,” another guy said. “She just wanted the whole world to see her naked.”

  Oh my God.

  “Don’t be so hard on her, guys,” a different voice said. “She does have one hell of a body, and if I looked like that, I’d be showing it off, too.”

  I couldn’t place the voices or see where they were coming from. There were just too many people in here.

  “Fucking pathetic—that’s what she is.”

  Don’t they understand this wasn’t my fault?

  That I didn’t do this to myself?

  That I’ve been working since I was thirteen to get to where I am?

  Had it been my choice, I certainly wouldn’t have ruined my career and reputation over a sex tape.

  “Eve—” My voice halted when I felt my back pocket vibrate. From the amount of times it had gone off, I knew it had to be a phone call. Hoping it might be Brett, I pulled it out and saw my agent’s name on the screen.

  “Eve,” I continued and turned her around to face me. “Help me down. I have to take this call.”

  She gave me her hand, and I used it to step onto the back of the couch. Then, I released her to rush down the cushion and weave through all the people to get to the hallway where I opened one of the closed doors.

  “Hello?” I answered and shut the door behind me.

  “Are you at a fucking party right now?”

  There wasn’t any music in here, and I was alone.

  How does he know?

  “Yes,” I said. “But it’s—”

  “I don’t want to hear what you’re about to say. I’m calling to tell you, I’m resigning as your agent. And I just got off the phone with your publicist, and she’s doing the same. Official resignations are in your inbox.”

  Done?

  No.

  Brett was done.

  Brett had abandoned me when I needed his voice the most.

  My agent and publicist couldn’t do that to me, too.

  “I need your help. I—”

  “I can’t help you, James,” he said, cutting me off. “Best of luck.”

  “Hey, wait—”

  I stopped talking when the phone went dead.

  I set it on my palm, staring at the screen, willing it to light up with my agent’s name.

  Call me back.

  Text me.

  Please.

  Seconds passed. Minutes. The only things that came through were more social media tags, more pictures and memes and GIFs.

  More words I didn’t want to read.

  Everyone was done with me.

  I was done.

  The room started spinning, my stomach hurting more after each twirl. My body was so heavy, and my chest felt like it was going to crack.

  I had to get out of here.

  I went into the hallway where there were even more people than before. I felt their stares as I passed them. Their skin, their shoulders, their hands, their clothes—it all brushed against me.

  “Take me doggy-style,” one of them said.

  Their lips were close. Their voices stung.

  They were mocking what I had said in the video.

  “Fuck me harder,” another person blurted out.

  “Stop,” I whispered, knowing they couldn’t hear me but still needing to say it.

  “You have the sweetest cunt,” a guy said, his breath on the back of my ear. “Let me show you what it feels like to have a real cock inside you.”

  I wiggled, trying to get his mouth away from me. Those movements brought me to the other side of the hallway where someone stepped on my bare foot, causing me to jerk forward and slam into the person in front of me.

  “I want you in that red lace getup while you wrap your lips around my cock.”

  His hands were now on my ass, his face in my neck, and he was turning me around.

  I couldn’t stop him, but I tried like hell.

  “I’m going to fuck you so hard.”

  I didn’t even see what he looked like. I just pushed both hands against his chest, shoving him as hard as I could, and I stumbled backward and fell into something.

  Something wooden.

  A door.

  I quickly opened it and closed it behind me. I leaned my back into it as I tried to find my breath.

  They had all seen the video. Every one of them out there.

  They knew how I sounded when I begged. When I faked an orgasm. When I got on my knees and opened my mouth and gave head.

  They knew my pussy was bare.

  They knew the color of my nipples.

  Now, the whole world was judging me.

  I couldn’t handle it.

  Not even realizing I was standing in the dark, I searched for a switch and flipped it on. I blinked and then a second time, the light blinding me, which only made my stomach feel worse.

  There was a knock.

  “Hurry up. I’ve gotta take a piss.”

  I said nothing back to him and l
ooked around, seeing that I was in a bathroom.

  A wave of heat came over me, and my mouth watered. I darted over to the toilet and lifted the seat. Everything that had been in my belly came up. With each heave, I saw the tweets I’d been tagged in and the pictures and memes and GIFs.

  Disappointment.

  Unemployable.

  Slut.

  Whore.

  I flushed, and as I went over to the sink to wash my mouth and hands, I caught a glimpse of my face. The retching had caused my makeup to run, my hair was sweaty and wild, and my eyes were bloodshot. I couldn’t stop staring at my reflection, at this girl who was gazing at me, because she looked nothing like me.

  Disgusted, I turned on the water, and just as I did, my phone lit up with a text.

  Eve: Where the hell are you?

  Me: Bathroom.

  Eve: Which one?

  I scanned the small room.

  Me: Black-and-white-striped wallpaper.

  Eve: I’ll find you.

  I washed my hands and dried them, and then I held on to the edge of the sink, keeping my face toward the door so that I wouldn’t catch my reflection. Before I knew it, there was a knock.

  “James, it’s Eve. Let me in,” she said.

  I reached for the knob, hitting the small button that released the lock. “Close it,” I said once she came in. “Lock it, too.”

  She immediately came over and hugged me. “Did you get sick? It smells like puke in here.”

  I pulled away. Her skin was too clammy, and it was making me hot again.

  “Eve, my agent just fired me, and so did my publicist. People are saying the most horrible things about me out there. I can’t…” I tried to take a breath. “I can’t be here anymore.”

  “Oh, honey, what did your agent say?”

  “He said the same thing as Brett. He’s done.” My chest was rising so fast, and my stomach was still so tight. My feet didn’t at all feel steady on the floor. “I have to go home.”

  “Someone said the paparazzi are outside. They’re covering the whole front lawn and driveway.”

  My belly churned and flipped.

  Oh my God.

  “They want a picture of me, don’t they?”

  “I’m afraid so.”

  I couldn’t go out there. They’d already gotten enough of me, and I refused to give them more.