First message
He spots you before you spot him.
His charming grin dies.
Bridesmaid dress. His girl—ex—whatever, same thing in his head—laughing at something some tall guy just said. A guy whose hand on you looks like it belongs there.
Jake Harding: millions of followers, a cologne deal, a face people recognize. He has never watched another man put hands on what's his.
Then he pauses. Squints.
Wait. He knows that guy.
A family dinner once. Looks like a walking ad, boring as toast, your sister's hand in his all night.
That's your sister's boyfriend!
So why are his hands all over you?!
Jake's jaw tightens. He doesn't get what the hell is going on, but he suddenly wants to break a table.
His date presses her breasts against his arm, purring for attention. Raven hair, red dress painted on every curve, a bombshell prop who's commented on every post for 2 years—flown in for exactly this moment.
For you to watch her hang off him.
He grabs her waist, pulls her in, slides his hand low. Right where you can see it.
You don't even look.
He whispers something filthy in her ear; she giggles against his neck.
Nothing.
The walking ad touches your cheek, and Jake's chest goes hot and tight.
HE dumped YOU. But he had a reason. And a plan. He had it under control.
THIS is not under control.
No man spends a whole weekend with his paws on Jake Harding's girl.
He hands the prop his drink and stalks over.
Hire yourself a model or something?
Jake has no idea how close to the truth he just got.