In Flight (Up in the Air #1)(84)
I felt sick when I saw him next to one woman who had the caption ‘fetish p**n star’ right under the picture.
He always looked spectacularly handsome, regardless of who he had on his arm, but I was getting a bigger and drastically different view of him now. And I didn’t like what I was seeing.
Farther down on the image page I saw a picture of him and Jules dressed down in jeans. It was a rare sight, so I clicked on it. I got a larger view, with a small gossip article. They were holding hands in the picture. The article said that she was rumored to be his longtime on-again off-again girlfriend.
I turned on my phone just long enough to send James the image.
Bianca: You Liar. I’ll speak to you on Monday because I said I would, but I’ve begun to do my research, and I’m quickly seeing that I don’t know anything about you.
I didn’t bother to read the dozen unread messages above the one I had sent him, but I got a response almost immediately, and I did read that.
James: Please don’t believe that tabloid garbage. I’ll admit I never discouraged the rumors about Jules being my girlfriend, but they were only rumors. She has never been my girlfriend. She’s my best buddy’s sister. I promise I will never escort her to another event for the rest of my life, but last night was not a date with her. It was a long standing social obligation. If I had tried to put myself in your shoes, I would have seen how hurtful it could look to you. I apologize for that. I would give anything if I could do it differently. But please, just try to give me the benefit of the doubt, and stop looking at tabloids. I’m still in New York working, since you won’t see me, but it’s killing me that I hurt you and that I can’t make it right. I could be on a flight within the hour. Just say the word, love.
I turned my phone off after that. His one message almost had me softening towards him, and I just wasn’t going to let that happen. Fool me once…
I went back to my own personal torture of sifting through gossip about James Archibald Basil Cavendish, The Third. I hadn’t even known his middle names, or that he had two of them. A random gossip site had had to tell me. Of course, he didn’t know mine, either.
I found articles about his parents, and even a few pictures. They were a stunning couple. His mother was a dark-haired, dark-eyed, ravishing beauty with James’s golden skin and pretty mouth. His father was devastatingly handsome and blond, with beautiful turquoise eyes that made my gut clench with recognition. I could see how such a combination of people could create a masterpiece like James.
An article I found about them wrote about how they had died in a car accident. Their tragedy, and a beautiful young James, a billionaire before he was even fourteen, had quickly been propelled into the spotlight and romanticized.
I caught little snippets and even a picture of his infamous deceased guardian, and the full details of that scandal. The man was in his early thirties in the first picture. He was handsome, with light brownish-blond hair, like James, but a paler complexion. And he was slender to the point of frail, with creepy, pale green eyes. Spencer Charles Douglas Cavendish had been a predator in the skin of a lamb. I felt a hate for him that made bile rise in my throat.
I read the article about his death. Spencer Cavendish had been killed by an enraged lover. One Lowell Blankenship had been drugged and handcuffed by the frail Spencer. Lowell had commented that he had consented to have sex with Spencer, but that he hadn’t agreed to any of the other ‘sick shit’ the man had forced upon him. Spencer had been strangled to death when he had unlocked the handcuffs of the much larger Lowell. I personally thought he deserved a far more painful death.
There were countless other articles about James’s numerous business ventures. I just skimmed over these. I did learn that he was into much more than just the hotel industry, and I wasn’t surprised.
I read through a three page article about his two month affair with a platinum hit singer. She was barely nineteen, and it had been less than six months since their split.
Dammit, I have some of her songs on my mp3 player, I thought in disgust. He had his hand on her nape in one of the pictures. I wanted to throw something.
There were a few articles that hinted briefly about him being a kinky sex partner, but that was all that I found that was even close to touching on his BDSM lifestyle. I wondered how he’d kept it so well under wraps.
I turned off my computer, striding into my bedroom and tearing the painting of him from the wall. I tried to make myself tear it up, but I just couldn’t do it. Instead, I put it into my chest of old watercolors.
I turned my phone on again. I ignored all of the new missed calls and texts from James. I texted Stephan, asking if I could come over. He answered instantly with a yes.
I went over, and we watched TV and ate too much ice cream. It helped, but as soon as we stopped watching, I started thinking again. That’s how we ended up catching up on my TV until nearly two a.m on a work night. We had an early morning, but Stephan didn’t complain.
“I spoke at length to James today,” Stephan told me after we’d been watching TV for hours.
I just nodded.
“Want me to tell you about it?”
I shook my head.
“Okay. Let me know if you do.”
“I need some time. I read up on him online. I’m feeling less inclined than ever to even speak to him again.”
Stephan took a deep breath. “That’s something I wanted to talk about, actually, if you’re willing to hear what I think about the whole thing right now.”