Page 92 of For You & No One Else (Say Everything 3)

Then we had a movie night…

An icy, sharp feeling filled him, frost moving through his veins. He wanted to disbelieve what he was seeing, but as he read more, the truth was staring him in the face. Eliza was writing a book about her experiment—and abouthim. And not in a private journal kind of way but in a going-to-show-it-to-the-public way. He tried to breathe through the anger, to think. This was an old doc, the chapter referencing a night from early on. Maybe she’d stopped when things got more involved between them.

He eyed her laptop, and without evaluating the ethics of it, he opened it. Her lock screen came up, asking for the password, but it only took him a minute to get past the barrier. The screen opened up to her last document.

The “Oprah Is a Badass” Consideration

His eyes skimmed the first few lines and then clicked into the document info.

Last saved 3:12 a.m.

This morning.

“What. The. Fuck?”

They’d had this great night, had opened up to each other, made relationship-type decisions. Had been building something. And right after they’d fucked, she’d gotten up to write all about itin her book?

The betrayal was a metallic taste on his tongue, everything going bitter and getting colored in completely different shades. She’d told him she wouldn’t use this experiment as a show. He’d told her he wasn’t down for helping her with that, but here it was in black and white. This was…a stunt. This whole thing. What they were doing.Hewas a stunt. Reading about their first movie night had made him sick to his stomach, old buttons being jabbed. He couldn’t even bear to look at what she’d written about last night. Had she rated him on his goddamned bedroom skills?

Flashbacks to the video of him and Jess going viral flashed through his mind, and all the feelings came rushing back. That crushing feeling of his privacy being violated, the trauma of such personal details of his life and body out there for public consumption, the public derision. People commenting on him like he was some character from a TV show and not a human being. When this ended between him and Eliza, would she write about that, too? That he was good for sex but not much else? Tell the world how he let her down? Use him as an example of yet another man who wouldn’t commit?

He stared at her screen, wishing he wasn’t seeing what he was seeing. Last night, he’d finally let himself believe that maybe, maybe he could have something good with Eliza, that they were on the same page, that maybe he could feel safe with someone, but…

“Morning, sunshine.”

He looked up, startled. He had no idea how long he’d been standing there, but the scent of roasting onion was drifting from the oven.

Eliza was in the doorway in just a long T-shirt and panties. She crossed her arms and smiled his way. “Is that breakfast I smell? How you found anything to cook in here is a wonder.”

He didn’t answer.

“Beck?” A little line appeared between her brows. “Everything okay?”

He forced himself to keep his voice calm. He picked up a page from her desk. “Trent knocked over your papers.”

“Oh.” Her gaze flicked to the pages he was holding and then to her open laptop. He could see when she processed that the screen was on. “You opened my computer?”

His jaw flexed. “I hacked into it actually.”

“Youwhat?”

He lifted the page in his hand. “You’re writing a fucking book, Eliza.”

The words came out like an arrow—sharp, pointed.

She stepped into the kitchen, her arms dropping to her sides, a look of mild panic on her face. “I—”

“About us. About what we’re doing.” He threw the page on the desk. “How long after we fucked last night did you wait before coming in here to write all about it?”

She winced. “It’s not like that. It’s not… I was going to tell you when and if there was something worth telling. It’s just…a draft, ideas, me processing my thoughts. I know I said I wouldn’t blog about it or whatever, but you don’t get a say in whether I write a book or not. My career is my mine and—”

“I’min it,” he said, voice hardening. “Private details about what we’ve done together. I didn’t agree to that. We made a deal.”

“I’m not using your name,” she said, her words rushed.

He scoffed. “Oh, right, that’s a real guarantee of privacy.” He slammed her laptop closed. “You know what happens if you get a book deal and this gets published? You know how long it would take some armchair internet sleuth to deduce who this guy you worked next door to is? Come on, Eliza. It’d take five minutes.”

“Okay, I get that. I’m sorry about that part.” She stepped closer but then halted. “But would that be that big of a deal? I mean, if people knew it was you I was with? I’ve said nothing bad about you.”

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