I left my car at the office, too fucking buzzed to drive it to my place, and had the company driver give me a lift home. When I got inside my condo, I dropped my briefcase at the door, grabbed a bottle of scotch from the bar and my tablet from the counter, and collapsed on the couch.

I didn’t know how I’d made it through the last few hours while the guys watched some more of the tape, and Scarlett had eyed me as I tried to keep my fists calm.

She knew me too well.

She always observed, unlike the other two.

I was sure she’d call my ass out soon.

Especially since I’d lied to Max, and I knew she’d seen right through it. I’d told him that an email came through, and I had to cancel my trip to LA. He must have forgotten about the hotel I’d asked him to get because he hadn’t brought it up again. Regardless, I wasn’t getting on that fucking plane.

While I’d sat in my office, the guys watching some of the video, I’d felt every goddamn minute that passed. I’d had to force myself not to tear the phones out of their fingers.

Knowing they had seen James naked made me fucking crazy.

Knowing another guy had had his hands on her skin and his cock in her pussy made me even crazier.

I liked her.

I liked her a hell of a lot more than I wanted to admit.

So, why the hell was I torturing myself by putting my tablet on my lap with the celebrity alert on the goddamn screen?

I had to watch it.

I had to see her with my own eyes before I reacted.

I unscrewed the bottle of scotch and swallowed down several mouthfuls, resting it on my knee while I clicked the video link at the bottom of the article.

Advertising popped up. Those fuckers were probably spending five grand a click to have their product appear before the soon-to-be most-viewed sex tape in the world.

I had to watch the ad for ten seconds before it closed, and I could get James’s video to load.

It opened with a single shot.

One that made the scotch churn in my stomach.

I shot back several more swallows and continued to stare at James on her knees with those pouty lips wrapped around a cock.

Jesus Christ.

I had to keep watching; the intro could just be a series of Photoshopped pictures.

But then the video began to play, and James walked out of a door that looked like a bathroom, wearing a pair of red lace panties and a matching bra, moving slowly across the carpet. There was a guy sitting on the end of the bed, naked. His face was blurred, making it impossible to see his features or anything that would identify him.

“Get over here,” he said in a voice I could tell had been altered, “and get on your fucking knees.”

I gripped the neck of the bottle as she put her hands on his thighs and slid to the floor, her mouth opening to take in his crown.

I can’t fucking believe I’m watching this.

She took it fast, deep, and played with his balls after he ordered her to. And, just as she established a rhythm, he pulled her by the hair, lifted her off the floor, and tossed her on the bed. He wasn’t gentle when he yanked off her panties or downed the straps of her bra instead of unhooking it in the back.

He didn’t kiss her tits.

He didn’t finger-fuck her pussy.

He put a condom on, flipped her onto her stomach, and spit on her cunt. Pumping his cock a few times, he slid in behind her and rammed it in.

She moaned.

It wasn’t the same noise that she’d made with me.

Not even fucking close.

The sound was to please him.

He told her to get up on her knees and stick her ass in the air.

She did.

He told her to move up higher, so he could pump her deeper.

She did.

He wasn’t trying to make her feel good. He didn’t give a fuck about her.

He wanted to come.

“James,” he groaned. “James fucking Ryne.”

He turned her onto her back so that her profile now faced the camera. She rolled her head to the side and looked straight at me.

Her lips parted.

Her eyes were full of pain.

The world would think that was how she looked when an orgasm was building in her body. Her sounds were convincing enough.

I knew better.

I knew what she looked like when she came, and that wasn’t it.

“James,” he groaned again, giving her fast thrusts, squeezing her tit like he was testing a goddamn piece of fruit. “Oh God, James.”

He shook.

He stilled.

He climbed off.

He walked to the bathroom.

James stayed on her back for a little while, appearing as though she were catching her breath. When she finally sat up, she spread her legs for just a second before she tucked them against her chest and wrapped her arms around them.

In the short amount of time that her legs were open, I saw what I had been looking for.

The small, dark freckle on the inside of her thigh.

It was her.

That mark had confirmed it.

There was still fifty-eight minutes left of the video. That meant they’d had sex more than once, and if this guy could only keep it in for four minutes, then there were several more sessions like the bullshit I’d just witnessed.

I tossed the tablet across my couch.

I’d believed her. The flirting, the begging me to come visit, the wanting of what I could give her body. So, my assistant had rearranged my whole schedule to get me to LA as fast as possible, I’d reached out to one of my favorite chefs, and I had been seconds away from outing myself to all my friends…for nothing.

Because, the whole time, she had been out fucking another dude.

I pulled my phone from my pocket and looked at the screen. There were texts from the guys and Scarlett, wanting me to show up at the bar they were at. There were messages from clients, from my team and support staff.

I ignored them all.

I clicked on James’s last text. She’d been blowing up my phone for a few hours. She’d even called, and I’d sent her straight to voice mail. I hadn’t been ready to talk yet.

I was now.

I left my cell on the couch and stood. Holding the bottle like it was a leash, I moved through the living room and toward the master suite.

I didn’t want to see another word that came across the screen of that phone.

I didn’t want to send another call to voice mail.

I was a man of my word, and I’d just given her my last one.