“Color me surprised,” I deadpan, crossing my arms across my chest over Lori’s threadbare T-shirt.The girl loves me, what can I say?You can practically see my bra through the worn cotton—the only bra currently in my possession, the same one he peeled from me last night. It’s only a hop and a skip of his thoughts for him to realize I’m not wearing panties.Thanks to him destroying them.And that’s hardly a Sunday afternoon conversation.
“You didn’t seem too concerned about my personality yesterday. Aren’t you going to invite me in?” His gaze drops briefly to my mouth.
“Not until you tell me how you found me. And probably not even then.”
“You took a hotel car. I asked the concierge for the address after I woke this morning.Alone.”
“And you thought, what? My leaving must’ve been a mistake.” Check me out, all cool and feisty, as though I totally wrote the one-night stand rule book.
“Why did you leave, incidentally?”
“To save us this.” I gesture between us.
“Are you embarrassed?” He shifts his weight onto one leg and makes aVacross his chin with his hand. “Because I remember you being much less inhibited last night.”
His tone vibrates under my skin. At least until a passerby does a double take, no doubt catching his meaning. “Hush!”
“Youareembarrassed,” he says with a low, delighted chuckle. “How charming.”
“The concierge wouldn’t have told you where the car took me,” I retort, ignoring my burning cheeks. “Unless you bribed them.”
“Bribery is unnecessary when you own the hotel.”
“You—what?”
“I own the hotel. Relax, Eve. This isn’t the start of a stalking campaign.”
“That’s exactly what a stalker would say.”
The look he slides me isn’t exactly complimentary. Can’t say I blame him as I stand here in my borrowed, unattractive activewear, my face free of makeup and my hair resembling a tumbleweed. A serious stalker would probably run the other way.
“I’m here because I need to speak with you.”
“Why?” Disquiet pokes at me as he reaches to his back pocket, pulling out his phone.Better than my torn panties.He hands it to me wordlessly, and my eyes dip to the screen. “Pulse Tok?” The popular social media app is already open. “I wouldn’t have pegged you as the type.”
I have it on my own phone, mostly for video makeup tutorials and people doing crazy dances. Maybe I’m expecting something like that, and that’s why it takes my brain a moment to compute. To make sense of what I’m seeing. The sound isn’t on, not that I need it, as I recognize my wedding dress. Yep, that’s me, full of vengeance and experiencing (what looks like) a mental break.
“Oh. Oh no.” I press a hand to my mouth as a wave of nausea rises through my insides. Oliver reaches for me as I sway, but I’m not about to faint. Or maybe I am, as my butt hits the door and I find myself sitting heavily. “This is ... so bad.”
“Is it?” He crouches down, his gaze level with mine, but there’s no sympathy in those striking eyes.
“You’re kidding, right? Look at the number of times this has been watched!” I demand, extending his phone. So much for consoling myself that a small wedding meant fewer people witnessed my disgrace.What a joke.
“Six million, last count.” His hand retracts when it becomes clear I’m not ready to give it back to him. “But I’m sure most people watch it more than once.”
“How is that helpful? And it’s eight million now! Is there anyone left in London who hasn’t seen this?”
“I’m told viral can mean regional or worldwide.”
“Oh my God.”Home?My heart begins to bang against my rib cage like it’s trying to escape. “Hey, no! I haven’t finished,” I complain as, this time, he successfully tugs the phone away.
“You’re familiar with how it ends.”
“Me and half the world!”
“That’s not really true. There were only two of us in the hotel room last night.” There’s a smoky hint in his voice, yet his words seem vaguely threatening.
“Your hotel, you mean.” I’m annoyed he didn’t say, though I’m not sure why I find the news surprising. The rich are such an untrustworthy bunch.
