He did. All too vividly, despite the fact that he’d drunk far more than usual at the convention. He recalled how she’d come on to him. How she’d told him that Rebecca had been cheating, showing him pictures of Rebecca out to dinner with another man. When she’d wrapped her arms around him and kissed him, sliding her tongue into his mouth, he should have pushed her away, but he hadn’t.

“Don’t you get it? I love you. God, how can you be so dumb! And then you go behind my back? With her? Why? Jesus, James, why?”

He wanted to say that it had just happened, that he hadn’t intended to get involved with someone else before ending it with her, but it sounded so lame, so cliched, that once again, he kept quiet.

“I thought when you left Rebecca for me, that it was because we had something special, something unique, something like no one else!” She stopped then, her eyes glistening, her misery palpable. “I was wrong. Just another fool. Another girl to fuck and leave.”

“No, God, no.” But there it was. “I didn’t mean . . . Look, Megan, I’m sorry,” he said, and that was the truth. He felt like the shit he was. He’d never intended to hurt her, but, of course, he had. “I should have told you.”

“You should never have cheated on me in the first place!” she said, and her pain morphed once more into a fierce, bright anger.

“You’re right, I should have broken it off before—”

“No! Don’t you get it?” she asked, advancing on him. “You should have just been faithful. Is that so damned hard?”

Yeah. It was. But he couldn’t say that. He couldn’t say anything. He’d already tried to apologize, and she was having none of it.

“You’re the worst,” she charged, standing in front of him, breathing hard, her face flushed, her gaze scathing. “You know that, don’t you?”

He kept his silence.

“A rich boy who grew up coddled, always knowing he was going to inherit a fortune, so you just think you can do whatever you want, don’t you? That you can hurt whoever gets in your way.”

“Not true,” he ground out. Yeah, he’d grown up knowing he’d inherit, and he’d borrowed against his trust, but he’d worked every day of his life, making it on his own, trying not to become a typical trust-fund baby, a label he’d heard one too many times before. But he never intended to hurt anyone, though, of course, he had. Too many times to count.

“What’re you worth? Five million? Ten?” she asked, her blue eyes narrowing. “Twenty?”

“It has nothing to do with this.”

“You mean ‘us,’ don’t you? It has nothing to do with ‘us’?”

“Yes.”