Was she?

Sighing quietly, she handed her untouched champagne back to Anna and said, “Yeah, no. I’m leaving.”

“No! Wait. Why don’t you just, I don’t know—” She looked around, almost franticly. “—go outside and get some fresh air,” she said, waving the champagne flute at the balcony. When Sophie threw her a dubious look, she pleaded, “Please, Soph? Just until midnight. It’s New Year’s Eve.”

Sighing again, she let her shoulders slump in defeat. “Fine. You go drool over your pretty boy and I’ll get some fresh air.”

Pushing through the heated crush of party people, Sophie slipped out through the balcony doors, letting them shut behind her. The noise instantly receded. The temperature, not so much. Oh, the joy of summer in tropical North Queensland—if the heat didn’t kill you, the humidity would. Even at almost midnight, it was still stinking hot outside, and Sophie was glad she’d decided to wear her hair up for the night, even if it didn’t frame her face in a perfect Insta-ready fashion.

She breathed deeply, her lungs filling with the intoxicating scent of frangipanis and ocean spray, and the continual rollingshushof the waves brushing against the sand helped settle her fractious mind.

She and Ethan had been enjoying their fling for the better part of a year. Okay, maybeenjoyingwasn’t exactly the right term—Ethan didn’t do exclusive—but she couldn’t deny he was fun.

Especially in the bedroom.

The man was obsessed with her curves, and as stupid as it sounded for a professional model to admit, he made her feel pretty.

As successful as she was, as famous as she was becoming, sometimes Sophie still felt like the fat kid she’d been in school. The one who was teased and bullied and lacked the confidence to stand up for herself.

Obviously, she’d grown since then, both in size and attitude, but along the way, she’d also come to realise that what the world thought of as fat actually wasn’t.

By industry standards, yes, Sophie and others like her were the proverbial elephants in the room. In reality she was only a size 16. Not that big at all, really. But standing at six feet one, most people found her intimidating regardless of the size of her waistline.

Which was another thing Ethan had going for him. Even though he was the same height as her, he’d never once made her feel like she took up too much space in the world, never made her feel unfeminine just for being big. And when they were together, his attention was absolute.

But the gaps between their time together had been widening recently, to the point that she rarely saw him at all anymore, and his invitations had begun to feel obligatory.

Sophie was certain Ethan had only invited her to ring in the new year with him as an afterthought. She was someone he could hook up with at the end of the night, someone familiar who didn’t require all the little games and banter necessary for luring someone new into bed.

Not that Ethan had that problem. The scent of money to some women was like the scent of blood to a shark. Drop a billionaire’s heir in the hot tub and watch the gold-digging predators circle.

Which was why he liked Sophie. She’d grown up with money and didn’t give two shits about it or the status that came along with it. Not that her family’s wealth rivalled Ethan’s—not even close—but it was enough for her to know better than most that money didn’t maketh man.

Manners did.

And Ethan’s manners were sorely lacking.

Take this party, for instance. The man had gone to all the trouble of renting out an entire beachside hotel for this shindig, filled it to the brim with acquaintances, friends, and sycophants, then didn’t even have the decency to show up.

Typical.

She wasn’t even sure why she was surprised anymore. The man had practically made a career out of living an excessive lifestyle with little to no consequences for his actions.

Sophie lifted her gaze to the heavens, took in the silky black of the night sky, and sighed wearily as she realised she no longer much cared about Ethan or his lack of manners.

She hadn’t done for a while. Not in any meaningful romantic way, at least.

Just then her phone buzzed with an incoming alert. After tapping in the passcode and opening the app, she chuckled at the picture that sprang to life on the screen.

Anna had posted a selfie on Instagram, a photo of herself wrapped around the shirtless, tattooed guy while he grabbed her arse and licked her neck.

Getting my New Year’s on, bitches! #NYE #partyon #cougar #bemyvalentine

Then her phone dinged with another alert, a video this time. But one that made her smile slip, her face flush, and her stomach drop so fucking fast she felt physically ill.

Someone had tagged Ethan in a video of him at a completely different party, half naked with a very obvious erection tenting his limited-edition Levi’s, and with not one buttwowomen taking turns shoving their tongues down his throat and their hands down his pants.

Ringing in the #NewYear with my bestie and her beau #bff #threesome #bigdickenergy #cumgetsome @EthanMartinOfficial @Britney-Boo-Boo-Bunnie