Page 9 of Revelation

Well, this sure sheds light on why Josh hooked up with Jen in the first place. If I were a twenty-three-year-old guy with a huge dick, I’d have fucked Gabrielle LeMonde’s daughter too, just to be able to say I did—especially if she had a body like Jen’s. And Jesus, now it makes total sense that Jen pals around with movie stars like Isabel Randolph. Good lord, Jen’s entire contacts list must be a who’s-who of Hollywood’s young elite.

My head is spinning. I feel like I’m gonna barf. It’s suddenly hitting me like a ton of bricks that Josh is literally one of the world’s most eligible bachelors—likeliterally.Holy shit. Before this moment, Josh was Sarah’s boyfriend’s brother—his gorgeous and rich brother—his hilarious and well-dressed brother—his smoking hot and sexy brother—his brother who arranged for me to stay in Vegasandkeep my job, too—his brother who fucked me so brilliantly, I blacked out there for a minute—but, still, just a human-brother-dude who presumably puts his pants on one leg at a time (and who presumably stows his donkey-dick in one of those pant legs before zipping up).

But now, out of nowhere, it turns out Josh is some quasi-celebrity-god among men who lives in an alternate universe populated by world-famous actresses and their spawn? And Victoria’s Secret supermodels? Oh, and freaking Red Card Riot, too? What the heck? Who is this Most Interesting Man in the World who could hop a cross-country flight on a whim for no other reason than to attend the birthday party of a fuck-buddy who happens to be the daughter of Gabrielle LeMonde? Gah! Insanity.

My stomach flips over.

I’m usually a confident girl—probably more so than the average Jane, if I’m being honest—but how could I ever be so cocky as to think a guy like that would ever pickmeout of literallyanyoneon the planet to choose from? I roll my eyes even though I’m sitting here alone. I’ve always had a pretty high opinion of myself, truthfully (which isn’t something I usually admit out loud), but all of a sudden, in comparison to the women who populate Josh’s rarified world, Ifeel shockingly average. Not to mention, quite possibly, reallygullible, too. Has Josh just been selling me a line of bullshit? Does he makeeverygirl feel special the way I’ve been feeling with him? Have I been a fool?

Oh, jeez, my eyes are filling with tears. Why do I suddenly feel like I’m standing at Garrett Bennett’s door all over again, about to get annihilated? I take a deep breath to steady myself.

The healthy choice would be to click out of Jen’s email right now. It’s making me doubt Josh and I don’t want to do that. He’s been nothing but incredible toward me. Generous. Attentive. Affectionate. Passionate. I’m acting crazy right now. So what if Jen’s mom is Gabrielle LeMonde? That doesn’t change anything. Why is that sending me into a tailspin? I should shut Josh’s laptop and stop this right now.

But I don’t.

In fact, I do the opposite: I open the second picture attached to Jen’s email.

Holy Oh-No-She-Didn’t, Batman.

If I felt sick after seeing the picture of Jen with her movie-star mom, then I feel terminally ill after seeing this second photo.

It’s a naked selfie of Jen. She’s smiling broadly and pushing her “pretty titties” up toward the camera—obviously inviting Josh to “motorboat” them “again.”

My eyes prick with tears. Is Jen a pathetically desperate girl who’s pursuing a hot guy after he’s clearly told her to get lost? Or, to the contrary, is she a girl who’s merely going after a guy who slept with her and then continuedencouragingher? Josh told me he’s not interested in Jen—and yet he called her after Reed’s party. Why’d he do that? And what did he “suggest” to her when they spoke? Suddenly, I don’t know what’s what anymore.

My heart is racing. I wipe my eyes. I never cry and I’m not gonna start now. Hell no. It’s so unlike me to feel this jealous and insecure. God, I hate myself right now. I’m acting like a freak and a puss and a lunatic. I need to detach. I need to stop caring. Josh Faraday isn’t my boyfriend (though I admit I want him to be), and I’m not his girlfriend. I’ve got no right to feel this way. The man can do what he wants.

No, he can’t. He’s mine, goddammit.Mine.

I slam Josh’s laptop shut and set it on the table. I’ve got to get the hell out of here. Josh will be here any minute to “distract” me from his application and I need to pull my shit together before then—because right now I feel like I’m going to fly completely off the handle and say a million things I’m gonna regret.

I stand to leave—just as the door of the suite bursts open.

Josh bounds into the room. “Hey, Party Girl with a Hyphen,” he says, holding up a condom packet playfully. “Can I interest you in a littledistractionfrom your reading?”

I stalk straight past Josh toward the front door, my eyes burning and my mouth clamped shut.

“Kat?”

I march to the door and fling it open like I’m trying to take the damned thing off its hinges.

“Oh shit,” Josh says. “You read my application without me?” His voice is pure anguish. “Goddammit, Kat. Lemme explain. This is exactly why I didn’t want you to read that stupid thing in the first place.”

3

JOSH

“Kat, come on!” I shout at her back, but she keeps marching down the hallway toward the penthouse’s private elevator, her arms swinging wildly.Déjà fucking vu.How many times am I gonna have to chase this goddamned terrorist down a fucking hallway? “Oh, come on, Kat. It wasn’tthatbad.”

But she just keeps on marching. She pounds on the call button for the private elevator and crosses her arms, her back to me.

“You can’t possibly bethisupset. What the hell?”

She whirls around and I’m shocked to see hot tears streaming down her cheeks.

Panic floods me. My application made hercry? Shit. I’ve obviously grossly miscalculated the situation. I’m floored. “Kat,” I blurt, my chest tightening. “I know everything I wrote in that application came off as douche-y and angry and fucked-up, but the truth is I was just heartbroken when I wrote all that shit.” Oh God, the words are tumbling out of my mouth. “I’d just gotten out of a three-year relationship that didn’t end well,” I ramble, “and I won’t go into detail about everything that happened, but trust me, I had some shit to work out.” I take a deep breath. “I was devastated, to be perfectly honest—I felt like there was something deeply wrong with me, and...” My heart is racing. I swallow hard.“For reasons I don’t wanna go into, there was no way for me to do any of that stuff I wrote about with my girlfriend. And that was okay,of course, because I never would have pushed her to do anything she wasn’t comfortable with—never—but when we broke up—well, actually, whenshecheatedon me instead of doing me the courtesy of actually breaking up with me—I figured, ‘Well, fuck it. YOLO. Life throws you lemons, makelemonade.’ So I joined The Club and rode a month’s worth of Mickey Mouse roller coasters so I could pull my shit together and move on. And I don’t regret any of it because it actually worked—I totally moved on and now I’m perfectly fine.” Shit. I’m rambling. I’m incoherent. I’m out of breath. Fuck. I force myself to stop talking.

Kat’s tears have dried up. She’s stone-faced and looking at me like I’ve got fingers growing out of my head.

---