Page 142 of To Love Jason Thorn

“Which one, what?”

“Which one of her friends?” I grittedbetween my teeth.

He glanced at Devlin so I lifted my headto look at him, too. “Lily,” Devlin said after thinking about it for a minute.“I remember Olive introducing her as Lily. One of the blondes.”

“No one was in the room?”

“Just you two. Could she be the one whospiked your drink? Because none of my staff would do something like that. Ihandpick them, you know that. And even if they could, why would they?”

“She is Olive’s friend for fuck’s sake,why would she do something like that?”

“Exactly how much do you remember?”Alvin asked again.

I thought about it. What the hell didI remember? I remembered going up to the private room with Olive. I rememberedkissing her, wanting to do much more to her than just kissing. I could stillfeel her lips on mine, her hands in my hair. She always trembled when I kissedher, as if my touch sent small shock waves into her body, and I loved drinkingit all down. I simply loved being near her, touching her…

I shook my head.

“Not much. I don’t remember Oliveleaving. I remember talking to Lucy and Lily, but that’s it. Did you call her?”

Alvin grimaced, and I hated it. “Wecouldn’t find your phone, but her handbag was next to you, and her phone was init. But,” he added hastily before I could explode all over again. “I calledLucy. She isn’t answering right now, but I’ll keep calling. Don’t worry,Jason.”

“Tell him the rest,” Devlin said darkly.

“What rest?” I glanced between them.

Another grimace. This one was worse. IfI never saw Alvin grimace like that ever again, it would be too soon.

“Someone leaked photos of you and thegirl. Every media outlet is running with the story of you cheating on Olive.”

Chapter Thirty-One

Olive

I contemplated getting on a bus, but I hadenough money to hop on a plane. I was a damn bestselling author now; the leastI could do was buy a plane ticket back home without counting every cent in mybank account.

So I did just that.

First, I raced to Jason’s house. Beingmarried to a fucking actor had its perks, like how you didn’t have to carryyour wallet with you when you were going out with said actor. The smallestclutch could hold your phone and maybe a lipstick, but that’s it, which is whyI had to stop by the house to grab a few personal items, a change of clothes,and of course, my ID.

I didn’t want to think about it, but it washard not to notice that he hadn’t come back home. Where he’d spent the night…Ididn’t want to think about that either.

By 12:30 PM, I was in San Francisco.

At 2:00 PM, I was standing in front of thedoor of my childhood home, where this whole mess had started.

I took a deep breath and lifted my arm toknock on the door.

My dad opened the door, and we spent a fewsilent seconds looking at each other, which only caused my lips to tip down andtears to start flowing freely down my cheeks.

“Baby,” he sighed.

I wiped at my tears angrily. Why was I evencrying?

“I know you are angry at me, but—”

I burst into more tears.

Pathetic, I know.

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