Page 23 of Mr. Wicked

My hands shook as I tapped the notification, and then an article appeared with Grayson Tanner on a Megayacht with Six Unidentified Women as the headline.

I gazed up at my friend, my face turning as fiery as the blood swishing through my veins.

“What did I tell you?” She rimmed a glass with salt. “Put your phone away and skip the article. Seriously. It’ll do you no good to read it.”

I stepped back until I felt the edge of the bar and gave it most of my weight. “I need to be reminded of how much I despise him.”

“You don’t need an article to do that. I’m pretty sure you can just replay the last few minutes you guys were together and that’s all the reminding you need.”

The moment I’d gotten home from Grayson’s place, I’d rushed to the fridge and grabbed the only booze I had—a bottle of champagne I’d been saving for when I reached three hundred thousand followers. I carried it to the couch, popped the cork, and that was where Sloane found me, hours later, taking the final sip. Within minutes of her arrival, I was purging every detail of my evening with Grayson. Given that he was a regular, she knew who I was talking about, and once I finished telling her everything that had gone down, she explained exactly who he was.

I hadn’t slept with a man who worked a typical nine-to-five and was looking for a woman to spend the rest of his life with.

I’d chosen a man who was one of the founders of the largest hook-up app in the country and was allergic to dating. And who, according to Google, had invented the app with his best friends because they were tired of putting so much time and effort into women.

As the days passed, I spent more time reading about him, locating articles that had appeared in different news outlets, interviews he’d done, reports that showed the growth and success of his business.

Instagram had been the most telling.

The forever playboy had quite an interesting life. He dined at Boston’s top-rated restaurants, had box seats at every sporting event, was backstage and front row at concerts, was always shaking hands with celebrities, and traveled the world.

What I didn’t see in a single photo was a woman.

Because he didn’t care about them.

And that confirmed everything he’d told me had been correct.

A man who didn’t believe in commitment. Marriage. Or any of that shit.

When it came to females, Grayson cared about only one thing.

Sex.

But looking back, aside from the way things had ended, the beginning and middle felt like so much more than a one-night stand.

They felt like the start of something epic.

Like the foundation of my parents’ relationship.

Except, somehow, I’d read the situation all wrong.

I was too romantic.

That was why I needed to see the article. I needed to face that Grayson wasn’t the guy I’d made him out to be. That what I’d thought we had wasn’t real.

I released the air that I’d been holding in my lungs. “I have to read it, Sloane.”

Besides, I was aware he was on a yacht. I’d seen the picture he posted of the giant ship. I just didn’t know he was with other women.

Or six, for that matter.

God, I hated myself for stalking his Instagram profile, but I checked it every night before I went to sleep. I couldn’t help myself, nor could I stop myself. I didn’t know if I found his life entertaining or if I was just obsessed with where he was and what he was doing and that he wasn’t with me.

“It’s going to sting.”

“More than it already does?” I shook my head. “Impossible.”

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

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