Chasin' Eight (Rough Riders #11)(137)

Betrayal.
Yes, he knew she’d been taping all the f*cking time, but he had no idea she’d been making a goddamned movie. The whole time they were together. To think he’d invited her to share his experiences on the road. He froze. Wait a second. He hadn’t invited her. She’d invited herself. Offering a convincing argument about wanting to see real life outside her poor, privileged upbringing.
But Chase sure as hell hadn’t encouraged her to creep around, sticking that camera in everyone’s face. Capturing their private moments. Having no shame in using them for her own gain. For a woman who claimed to hate the intrusion of paparazzi, she’d become damn good at acting like one of them. She’d promised him she wouldn’t show her home movies to anyone.
A new thought chilled his blood. Did Ava have footage of Ryan’s last ride? Of his lifeless body leaving the rodeo grounds?
He’d trusted her. After keeping women around for recreational uses only, Chase had opened up to her. Told her things he’d never shared with anyone. He’d fallen in love with her.
Jesus. He was a f*cking idiot. She was an actress. She’d probably been acting the entire time.
His bag was packed and on the bed in less than five minutes. Would he leave without explanation? Or stick around to hear hers? As he debated, the hotel door opened. Her voice carried to him.
“Sometimes I cannot believe New Yorkers’ rudeness. All I asked for was plain honey for a bagel, instead of that nasty cinnamon honey spread. You’d think I’d asked the girl at the counter to track down a hive and gather a honeycomb herself.”

The food bags hit the table. “Anyway. Here’s breakfast. Eat at your own risk. I’m half-afraid she spit in the coffee.”

When he didn’t move from where he leaned against the doorjamb, she prompted, “Chase? You all right?”

“No. I’m trying really goddamned hard not to throw your computer on the floor and stomp it into pieces. But I’m sure a smart cookie like you backed up all the important files, didn’t you? So it’d be pointless and I’d probably hurt myself.”

“What are you talking about?”

Chase whirled around. “Why didn’t you tell me about the movie you’ve been making since we met?”

Her face, usually so animated, went completely blank. “What were you doing on my computer?”

“Checking my email. Imagine my shock when I accidentally clicked on your account and an email from Jackie Ackerman showed up.”

“You had no right.”

He was looming above her almost before she could blink. “No, you had no right. I had no idea what you were filming would be used for a movie.”

“A documentary,” she corrected.
“When you offered to help me, I had no f*ckin’ clue you were really helping yourself, weren’t you? Getting some juicy stuff, taping our private moments. Asking those annoying personal questions at every turn. Now I know why.”

“You were eager for my help, if I recall. And if I’d stayed focused on Chase McKay all the time—that would’ve been acceptable?”

“None of this is acceptable. Using me. Using Taz. Using Ryan.” Chase stared at her as if he’d never seen her. “You couldn’t tell me what you were doin’ when we’ve been together every damn day for almost two months? But you told Ryan’s mom? How did you get Jackie on board for this exploitation? What scene did you set? Did you promise this ‘documentary’ will bring her money?”

Her hand cracked into his cheek.
He slowly straightened and backed away.
Ava scrambled after him. “Oh God, Chase. I’m sorry. Let me see—”