Page 74 of Sexy

Jesus Christ.

And Fletcher. He said he was helping me get Cole’s attention, but the whole time he was setting up his other client with Cole?

I feel sick. So sick, I lift the lid of the toilet and dry-heave into the porcelain bowl for several minutes. I wait out the revulsion, the cramps in my stomach and the hurt in my heart. I wait until the knotted-up tension in my neck becomes a full-fledged ache in my head.

Fletcher set me up. He used me. He played me. Like a fucking chess piece.

And not only that… he humiliated me. How many other people here know about our deal? How many other people here know about Cole and his women?

I sit back on my butt and wipe the sweat off my forehead.

How stupid do I feel right now?

I have no words to describe it, but crushed comes to mind. Broken, maybe. Mortified. Embarrassed of my naivety, ashamed of my trust in men.

And not just these two men. All men. My mother was right to marry my father and forget about the worthless piece of shit who couldn’t get out of the picture fast enough.

She was right. Love is a dream some people were never meant to have.

I don’t cry, and that surprises me. Instead, I get up off the floor, take a deep breath, and go looking for Fletcher Novak.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

I head to the elevator and take it down to fifteen. The walk down the hallway to his suite—his free suite that my hotel provides for him—feels longer than it should considering it’s only thirty feet. But by the time I pound on the door, my heart is racing, my armpits are sweaty, and my mouth is dry.

No answer. I press my ear against the door, almost afraid I’ll hear the moans of women in the throes of passion. But there’s nothing but silence from the other side.

He’s not here.

Well, he’s here, I bet. Somewhere in this hotel. And I’m gonna find him.

I go back downstairs and peek into the restaurant, but Cole and that blonde woman are gone. Thank you, God, for small favors. I cannot see him yet. It’s not his fault he was a pawn in Fletcher’s game. I mean, we weren’t a couple, right? Cole was just doing what men do. Trying to get as much as he can from as many women as possible.

I can almost forgive him for that. It’s in their nature, after all.

But Fletcher is something altogether different. Fletcher is a conniving liar, a conman, and a grade-A scumbag for what he did.

And he needs to pay.

I dial his number, but it goes to voicemail. Does he know I’m on to him? That waitress had to know she said too much. So if Fletcher came by, she might’ve pulled him aside and given him a heads-up.

I try the front desk. There’s a young girl free at one of the computers and she greets me by name with a smile. “Good morning, Miss Preston. Are you having a nice day off?”

Her smile seems genuine, but I’m clearly not well-versed in the appearance of good intentions. I give her the benefit of the doubt anyway, and force a smile. “Have you seen Fletcher Novak? I have to talk to him about his schedule.” The one he will no longer have after I get done today.

“Oh,” the girl says, pointing at the door. “I think he just called the valet for his car. Try outside.”

Valet. It pisses me off to no end that Fletcher Novak thinks he can come into my hotel and—Later, Tiffy. Focus. “Thank you,” I say with my sweetest fake smile.

Then I power-walk over to the front doors of the lobby, searching the valet line for his blond hair and tall build.

I spot him getting into that classic red Camaro near the front of the line, and before I can even shout his name, he revs the engine and pulls out towards the street.

I whistle at a taxi that is just pulling away after dropping off guests, and he slams on his brakes as I run towards him and hop in the back seat. “Follow that red car, please.” I try to sound calm and not like some dame in a noir movie from the nineteen forties, but I’m not sure I succeed, because the driver shoots me a look over his shoulder. “I’m serious, don’t lose him!”

“Sure thing, lady.”

I sit back and try to keep the car in my vision. He gets ahead of us a few times as he turns corners, but we find him again on US-50 going north up the shore of the lake. The driver keeps glancing back at me, but each time, I just say, “Keep going.”