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A woman is with him. She’s a little older than him, but has the kind of elegance you only see on the big screen. She has her head tilted to the side, as she murmurs something to him.

Then she leans forward and wipes a bead of rain off his skin, the action so completely intimate, it makes my stomach turn.

Oh my God. He’s with another woman?

“Would you like me to get you a table?” a waiter asks me, as I stand in the doorway looking at the two of them talking so intimately it’s obvious they haven’t just met.

“No,” I whisper. “I think I’ll just go to bed.”

“Very well, madam.” He steps back.

My eyes sting. I can’t believe Theo’s being so blatant. Or that he spent the evening with me and now he’s drinking cocktails with another woman.

Oh God, he’s obviously a player. Does he flirt with all the single guests? Did he take her out for dinner on a different night?

My cheeks start to burn. I’m such an idiot, falling for his stupidly charming English lies. I swallow hard and turn on my heel, heading back to the elevator. It’s a good thing, I tell myself. At least I found out before I could make an idiot out of myself.

Or before I let him into my bedroom.

It still hurts, though.

As the elevator arrives, I decide that I’m not going to tell Jennifer about this. If she asks, I’ll tell her I had a nice evening and that’s it.

It was just dinner. And a much-needed reminder that not everybody is honest or upfront.

Still, I hope he chokes on that stupid cocktail. He deserves it.

I spend the night bouncing between embarrassment and fury. Why am I constantly attracted to cheating assholes? Okay, so we aren’t in a relationship, but seriously, who takes a woman out to dinner then treats a different woman to drinks at the same damn hotel the first woman is staying in?

God, he could have at least gone to a different hotel bar. Or maybe he gets a discount here. Either way, I hope he gets found out and somebody chops his stupid dick off.

I’m imagining that particular delight as I step out into the lobby the next morning, determined not to let last night spoil my trip.

I’ve dealt with worse things than this, after all.

Before I head into breakfast I get the grand idea of checking with the concierge about what time the pianist is scheduled for tonight. I can coordinate my day to avoid being here at the same time. I can even order room service if I need to. Either way, I never want to see him again.

I walk over and wait for the daytime concierge to finish up with the couple ahead of me, as he organizes for tickets to the theatre for them, and explains that he’ll have a town car waiting for them at seven.

“Ah, Miss Ingram,” he says, giving me a wide smile. At least someone in the staff here is happy to see me. “What can I do for you?”

“Will the pianist be playing this evening?” I ask.

He doesn’t even blink at my question. Maybe they’re trained to be this discreet. “Yes, I believe so.”

“Do you know what time?”

He opens a thick journal, running his fingers down the page. “Ah yes. Miles will be with us from four until ten today.”

“Miles? Not Theo?” I say, relief rushing through me. At least I’ll be able to walk through the lobby without seeing his stupidly talented fingers. Or imagining how they would feel cradling my face as he kisses me.

Or wanting to chop them off.

“Miles is our pianist, yes.” He nods. “Mr. Hunt only plays occasionally.”

It takes a second for his words to land. When they do, they make me gasp. “Mr. Hunt?” I say, my voice thin. I glance at the Hunt logo on his jacket.

“That’s correct. Theo. Mr. Hunt.” He nods. “He plays to let off some steam in the evenings on occasion.” He beams at me. “He has a hard job, I think playing the piano helps him relax.”