Avery turned on him, anger burning away the shock. “You had your chance to strategize.” He took a step forward. “You fuckers ambush me and wait until now to drop this bomb on me? I—” He shook his head. He was wasting time. “Fuck you all.”
Dropping Marcus’ phone on the couch, Avery shot toward the elevator. He had to get to Jo.
God, Jo.
This was exactly what she’d asked him not to do. To be fair, it was before he agreed not to fuck around. Not that he had, and not that it mattered.
The picture of them together at the library benefit had gone viral, and social media had painted a romantic tale of her as his girlfriend. This goddamn picture would make it look like he cheated. She’d look like a fool. She was gonna be pissed.
He swung back around and jabbed a finger at Marcus. “You’re the fucking PR Specialist. Get that shit down. I don’t care what it costs.”
Outside the elevator, he slid the drive into his pocket, pulled out his phone, and paced the gloomy foyer that mocked him. He’d thought nothing Nick would say or do would wreck his good mood. Hell, he didn’t need Nick to do that. He’d fucked up all on his own.
How the fuck was he going to explain this?
It’s not what it looks like?
He scoffed. She’d never believe it.
And yet that was the text he fired off to her.
The messages he’d sent earlier showed as delivered with read receipts. This one failed to deliver. His gut twisted, tighter, sharper with every second that passed. By the time he reached the parking garage, he knew he was fucked.
She’d fucking blocked him.
****
“When are you going to unblock him?” Brooke fingered the petals of the first bouquet of roses to hit Jo’s doorstep this morning.
“I dunno.” Jo stuck a sheet of white chocolate chip macadamia nut cookies in the oven and set the timer. “Maybe after he’s done a little more groveling.”
“Much more groveling and you’ll be opening up a flower shop instead of a bakery.”
Jo laughed as she took in the half dozen vases of flowers. They’d arrived every hour on the hour. How he’d gotten the florist to deliver on Sunday was beyond her.
Oh wait. He’s loaded. He could buy the damn flower shop if he wanted to, just to prove a point.
And she might just let him, if only to see how far he’d go to convince her of something she’d already decided, and that was to believe him. Compensation for mental anguish.
Brooke’s ringtone had woken her from a deep sleep after the best orgasm she’d ever had. His seductive voice and filthy words had painted a fantasy so real that she’d come as hard as he promised and gone to sleep eager for more and determined to get it. To finally block her grandma’s voice and the fear ofrepeating her mother’s mistakes. To surrender her body to him for the four weeks they’d be together.
But seeing how social media had blown up overnight with pictures of Avery at Pulse with a girl had put a kink in that plan for a hot minute. And despite the voice of reason telling her he was free to fuck whoever he wanted when she was off the clock, she’d blocked his texts and let his calls go to voicemail, then deleted them without listening.
More than angry, though, she’d been hurt. The asshole had done exactly what she asked him not to. Granted, the photo was taken before she extracted his promise not to fuck around with other women until their arrangement ended.
But she wasn’t hurt because she had feelings for him or because he’d kissed her stupid up against his truck, then gone out to satisfy his needs with someone else. What hurt was that every possible imagined scenario of how last night might have played out ended the same.
The girl rejected him, so he’d settled for what he could get from Jo. Phone sex.
He’d already screwed the girl in the bathroom or on the dance floor—it happened—and he’d left her shortly after the picture was taken. Jo was merely an after-dinner mint, a palate cleanser, a glass of wine before bed to take the edge off so he could fall asleep. Phone sex.
Or he could have fucked the girl in the parking lot minutes after the picture was taken, a quick and dirty up against his fancy-ass car. As soon as he was done and behind the wheel, he received her texts. Probably only called her to ask why she called him an asshole, probably afraid she was mad and thinking of backing out of their deal. But then her simpering request formore bases had whet his insatiable appetite, and boom—phone sex.
In every scenario, Jo was second choice. That was the part that hurt.
Humiliation had come flooding in after that, one text at a time.
Georgia: Thanks for ruining my wedding. What did you do to drive him off? Chase said it’s because you won’t put out.
