Page 64 of And Then Came You

I slip on my sweats and head downstairs. I’m a woman on a mission. First stop is grabbing a bottle of champagne for my private party with Sam. Second, is letting Mike know, in no uncertain terms, that my man is done primping for the night.

Walking up to the main bar, I catch sight of Mike, a half-drunk glass of whiskey in front of him.

Interesting.

Mike glances up when I slip onto the stool next to him. “We haven’t been properly introduced. Mike Simmons.”

“Lexi McMillan. I’ve seen your work. You’re fabulous. I plan on purchasing a few photos from you.”

“The ones of you and Sam?”

“You claimed those were a gift.”

Mike chuckles. “They are indeed.” His eyes drift over my frame, taking in my comfortable attire. “I guess you’re done partying for the evening.”

“Down here, anyway. I came to fetch Sam. What’s taking so long with this shoot?”

Mike’s brow furrows as he runs a hand over his beard. “I wrapped up the shoot forty minutes ago.”

It’s okay. Stay calm. There’s a logical explanation. There has to be.

“Where is Sam?”

Mike averts his gaze, clearing his throat. Oh no, I know that trick. I’ve used it myself when I’d rather be tarred and feathered than answer the question. “I’m not sure,” he manages.

“Bullshit.” His gaze swings back to me at my forceful response. “Just tell me where he is, Mike.”

Because I already know I’m going to hate the answer.

“He and a few of the other models went for a drink at the other bar, but I really thought he’d be done by now. I’m sorry, Lexi. Do you want me to go get him? I’m sure it’s nothing.”

I’m sure it is, actually.

I force a smile as I pat his arm. “Enjoy your drink. I’ll find him. The place isn’t that big.”

As I walk away, I repeat an internal mantra.I will not overreact, I will not overreact.

I know I can spin a dramatic, nail-biting scene. That’s my job. Trouble is, I prefer it in my novels, not seeping out into my actual life.

Walking toward the other bar, I grind to a halt as I catch sight of them.

There, seated next to Sam, is the same woman who insulted me earlier.

I’m not sure which hurts the worst: that he’s hanging out with a woman who was cruel to me or the fact that sleeping with me has completely slipped his mind in lieu of hanging out with said woman.

We’ll go with a fun combination of the two.

All I know, as I hover like a lovesick voyeur, is that this is the last time I’ll allow Samuel Bernard near my heart. One day I’ll be grateful that Sam got too drunk to make his way to my room, so that he could add me to his long list of women.

Right now, I don’t even want to look at him.

I can make a scene, screaming like a wild banshee, but why bother? What does that prove? Actions speak louder than words. His actions tonight have sealed his fate.

Gathering up my last shreds of pride, I tuck the champagne bottle under my arm and turn toward the bank of elevators. Once in the safety of my room, I glance at my phone.

A text from Sam, not ten minutes earlier. He must have sent it the moment I slipped out the door.

Sam: E.T., something has come up. I’ll be up there as soon as I can. I’m so sorry.

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