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“Love doesn’t seem to be my strong suit,” she answered at last. “I always pick the wrong guy.”
Luca resisted the urge to fist pump the air. Once again, Harper was putting herself out there. Maybe if she kept sharing, eventually Conor would feel comfortable doing the same.
“Always?” Conor asked.
Harper blew out a slow breath, then gave them both a rueful grin. “I lost my virginity to a popular modeling agent I was familiar with—not mine,” she hastened to add. “I was eighteen, he was forty.”
“Damn.”
“Yeah. We snuck around, hooking up in various cities for the better part of six months.”
“Why did it end?” Conor asked.
“My manager, Bradley, found out about it and lost his shit, told me the guy was married, something my ‘boyfriend’,” she air-quoted the word, “failed to mention to me.”
“You didn’t know he was married?”
“He said he’d gotten a divorce. Turns out that was a lie. He was hoping to entice me to drop Bradley and sign with him.”
Luca scoffed. “What a douche.”
“That he was.”
Conor grabbed the wine bottle, topping up their glasses. “That must have hurt.”
She nodded. “Unfortunately, that wasn’t the worst relationship. I dated Fulton Tevin for almost a year.”
Fulton had burst onto the rock scene about a decade ago, but Luca wasn’t a fan of his music. Felt like the guy screamed more than he sang.
“He was fairly new, still trying to make a name for himself. Not the mega star he is now,” Harper explained. “After a couple weeks on a shoot in Paris, I returned to the States and drove straight to Fulton’s apartment in Brooklyn. I had a key, which I thought meant something. I walked into the middle of a freaking orgy. Fulton was stoned out of his mind. He invited me to join them. When I called him every name in the book, broke things off, and threw his key at him, he acted like I was pissed off over nothing. He seemed to think I knew the score.”
“The score?” Luca scowled.
“Apparently, Fulton was of the opinion our relationship was a marketing ploy. He imagined us being some sort of super couple. He even tried to give us one of those stupid connected names like Brangelina.”
“I’m afraid to ask…” Luca prompted.
She rolled her eyes. “Harton. He liked it because if you changed one letter it spelled hard-on. Should have realized what a douchebag he was when he suggested it and made that joke.”
“Was that true? About the marketing ploy?” Conor asked.
“If it was, it came from Fulton’s camp because he didn’t let me and Bradley in on the scheme.”
“Fulton was the one who benefited from going out with you, not the other way around,” Conor pointed out. “You made his career. He didn’t do a damn thing for yours.”
Harper touched Conor’s hand. “Thanks for saying that. I wouldn’t mind, but the asshole sent me dick pics for months after. He would not give it up.”
“You didn’t block him?” Luca asked, aghast.
“Of course I did. Two seconds after the first one arrived with a text “reminding” me of what I was missing out on. When he figured out I’d blocked him, he started using other people’s phones. Finally, I just changed my number. Every now and then, he mentions me in an interview, claiming I’m the one who got away and that he’s going to win me back one day. I like to refer to my Fulton days as my period of low self-esteem because seriously…how could I not realize what an idiot he was.”
“You’re telling the truth? He’s not still bothering you?” Luca was ready to track down the rock star and teach him a lesson in how to treat a woman.
“I blocked him on everything. If he’s still trying, I don’t know, so it’s all cool.”
Luca wasn’t sure he agreed, but he let it go.
“Please tell me Fulton was the worst,” Conor said.
