“There’s only one person who would do this. One person who’s already done this before.”
“What are you talking about?” I shake my head. “Zayne, you’re scaring me a little bit.” I’ve never seen him look like this, so intense and furious. It’s not directed at me, but still. Who knew what kind of anger was hiding underneath his bright, smiling exterior?
“There’s… This has happened to women I’ve dated before.”
My shoulders tense. Now I feel some of that anger flooding over into me. “Wait. You’re saying you knew this was a possibility?”
“I didn’t know that—”
“Women who have sent you sexts before have had their photos leaked publicly?” I press on, leaning into the table, eyes on his.
He meets my gaze reluctantly. “A couple of times, yes.”
“And you didn’t think you should tell me that before you asked me to send you a half-naked selfie in a bar bathroom the other night?” I lower my voice to a hiss, all too aware of the other customers in here, the stares we’re already starting to attract, because even at whisper-volume, I can’t contain the fury in my tone.
“It hasn’t happened in years, so I thought—”
“Who is it?” I interrupt.
“Clove, I can’t—”
“Who is doing this to me? You must know, if you’re the one the leak is coming from. Did they hack into your phone, whoever it is?” A sudden, horrible realization sinks into my stomach. “Oh, god. Are you involved with someone? Are you cheating on them, is that why?”
“What? Clove, no, of course not, you saw my apartment.”
True. That was a bachelor pad if ever I’ve set foot in one.
“How can you accuse me of that?” He shakes his head, genuine hurt in his eyes.
But I can’t sit here and listen to this from the man who just knowingly let me walk straight into a trap. Whether the person doing this to him is in the wrong or not, he knew about it all along. He knew and let me fall for it.
I push my chair back and surge to my feet. “If you won’t tell me what’s going on, I’m going to have to find out myself.”
“Clove, please, let me handle it. I’ll talk to her.”
“Her, huh?” I lift an eyebrow and skewer him with another glower. “Well, while you’re doing that, why don’t you have a long think about why you don’t even trust me enough to tell me about my new stalker, too.” Without another word, I snatch up my purse and sweep out of the restaurant, shoulders squared against the outside air.
8
It’s a nice day outside, balmy and just warm enough, but not so hot that the pavement feels like it’s going to cook me from below. The kind of day I’d normally enjoy at an outdoor café for lunch with Andy and Celeste. Instead, I’ve been banished from my company, relegated to the backseat, moping around my home while trying to figure out how to fix my trash fire of a life.
I make a beeline for my apartment and ignore another pang of latent, frustrated sexual tension as I cross the threshold and pass the doorman’s desk. Paul is still there, of course, waiting for Zayne to start his shift. Tonight, if I have any reason to leave my building, I’ll have to walk straight past him. Stare at his smug expression, those knowing eyes, that smirk of his, all the while knowing that he helped ruin my life. And worst of all, he won’t even tell me why.
Her.
Some woman is doing this. Some woman connected to him. He says it’s not a current lover, and I believe that, if for no other reason than that he’s right, I’d have seen some evidence of another woman around his place. A toothbrush, possessions lying around, something.
But who else would want to destroy him so badly? A scorned ex? Maybe someone he did something similar to? Did he ever put up revenge porn of another woman?
Or is he a much better liar than I think? Maybe this is all him. Maybe it’s all part of his fucked-up plan to ruin women’s lives. To fuck them senseless, make them fall for him, and then cut them down… Why?
For fun?
I think of the words on the website. Slut. He called me that, but in fun, sexy, possessive tones that made it sound hot as hell. I liked it when he called me that in that setting, when it was just me and him. Is this his real kink, though, getting off on sleeping with women and then humiliating them in public?
There are a lot of screwed up men in this city, after all. I should know. I’ve gone on dates with more than a few of them.
I ball my hands into fists, dig my nails in to keep myself alert as the elevator doors ding open on my floor. There’s something stuck to my door, a note about a package delivery it looks like. I ignore it. No time for that right now. I sweep inside and head straight to my computer. First things first, I need to start doing some damage control.