I exited out of the text and checked the time. It was past two in the morning.

I didn’t remember falling asleep, but I was on top of my bed, still in my clothes, my computer on my lap, and a half-bottle of scotch lying next to me. There was another one on the nightstand from the night before.

I’d spent the entire day in meetings and had so much work to catch up on. So, when the guys and Scarlett had left to go to a concert that Max’s client was headlining, I’d bailed and come home to get shit done.

I walked to the front door and pulled it open, not even waiting to see her face before I turned around and headed for the couch.

I heard her follow me, coming in from the other side of the sectional to take the seat beside me.

She slid off her heels and put her feet on the ottoman, turning her head toward me. “You missed a fun night.”

“I’m pissed I had to skip it. I’m fucking drowning in work right now.”

“I know. I’ve never seen your team submit this many contracts before.” She tossed her purse a few cushions down. “But that’s not why I’m here. We need to talk.”

I sank down even further, resting the back of my head into the top cushion and crossing my feet next to hers. “What do you want to talk about?”

She waited until I looked at her and said, “James Ryne.”

My chest started to pound, and I had to wait a few seconds before I responded, “There’s nothing to say about her.”

“I came to your house at two in the morning. We’re going to talk about her because you need to.”

I said nothing.

“Fine then, I’ll do the talking, Brett. You know I’m good at that.”

“Jesus Christ.”

“I’m going to guess that you met James during your last trip to LA. Probably at the Chateau Marmont because I know that’s where you and Smith were supposed to talk, and I know you didn’t end up meeting with Tony across town, so you were busy with someone. I’m thinking that someone was James. You two spent the night together, and then you flew back the next morning.” She leaned forward and slid all her hair onto one shoulder. “When I saw you that night at the bar, it was James you were texting back and forth with. If you plan on denying it, don’t. I saw her name on your phone. Anyway, I know you feel something for her, and she makes you happy. I saw that as well over the past few weeks. And then I saw your face when the celebrity alert came through. I thought you were going to start throwing punches.”

“I almost did.”

“Was I close to getting it all right?”

I turned my head to look at her. “You’re in the wrong fucking career.”

“It’s because I’m a woman, and I have good instincts, but I would make one hell of a PI, I know.” She tapped her thumb into my arm. “Is it because of her age? Is that why you didn’t tell us?”

I reached up, pulling at the collar of my T-shirt. “I haven’t told you because there isn’t anything to say about it. James and I fucked. We talked on the phone for a month. I was going to see her in LA, and when the alert came out, I canceled my trip. End of story.”

“Stop avoiding my question.”

I turned my head away from her and sighed. “Jesus, Scarlett, I was on the front page of Miami Magazine as the most eligible bachelor in the city. She’s America’s sweetheart. She’s eighteen. I have no fucking business getting involved with her.”

“But you like her. I can tell. So, obviously, her age didn’t matter when you spent the night with her.”

“I gave myself a one-fuck pass.”

“Then, what would you call this week?”

I gritted my teeth together. “A fuck that never happened. We’re done here.”

I went to lean up, and she stopped me by putting her hand on my chest.

“We’re almost done. Do you know anything about the video?”

“No.”

“Well, did you give her a chance to tell you about it?”

“No, Scarlett, I didn’t call her and ask her to give me every fucking detail about the dude who was fucking her. And don’t tell me I should have because the thought of that makes me want to throw this ottoman out the window and watch it fall down the thirty-five stories.”

She pushed against me a little harder. “You’re a stubborn prick, you know that?”

“I know I didn’t get to where I am because I’m a nice guy. I know the chick I was talking to was banging some other dude and just so happened to get busted.” I bit into my bottom lip. “I should have gone to meet Tony. Taking her back to my place was a fucking mistake.”

“Maybe. Or maybe it wasn’t. But I think you should talk to her about it.”

“Here we go with all the, You’re making the biggest mistake of your life, Brett. You’ll regret this, Brett.”

Now, it was her turn to sit up, but it was only to get a better view of my face. “I think you’ll regret it, yes, because I don’t think you’re giving her a chance.”

“I don’t want to hear her apologize. We weren’t together. We weren’t anything. There was no reason she shouldn’t have hooked up with him.”

“Then, why are you upset?”

“Because I fucking liked her, and it’s bullshit that—”

A sound came through my phone, a ringtone that was reserved for celebrity alerts. I didn’t want to fucking look, but it could be about a client, and that was why I took my phone out of my pocket.

I held the phone out, so Scarlett could see the screen, and I clicked on the headline. A picture of James appeared. She was standing on a table with the girl she had been with at the bar. James’s arms were in the air, her knees bent.

She was dancing.

Grinding.

And she was smiling so goddamn hard.

“Can you fucking believe this?” I snapped. “I’m torn up because America’s sweetheart has a sex tape that’s ruining her career, and she’s out there, celebrating.”

Scarlett shook her head. “Why isn’t her team advising against this? Doesn’t she know this is making it worse? That all the attention she’s bringing to herself is only fueling the media more.”

“It’s not my problem.” When her eyes softened, I added, “Just drop it. I’m done. I’m not talking about it any more. It was a month—that’s all it was—and I’m over it.”