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“I wasn’t aware I was expected.”

“I assumed after that mess this morning, you’d come crawling in.”

He pushes a glass toward me. I take a long sip and let the burn settle.

“Everyone’s talking about it,” he says, leaning on the counter. “Even my mom texted me asking if you were okay.”

“I’m honored.”

Harry studies me. “You didn’t know she was married?”

I shake my head. “Didn’t even know her last name. I didn’t even know her first name until Nova screamed it. She lied that her name was Yvette.”

He chuckles, but there’s no humor in it. “You’ve officially reached disaster movie status, man.”

“I prefer ‘misunderstood anti-hero,’” I say, draining the glass.

Harry pours another. “Jack… seriously. Why do you keep doing this?”

“Doing what?”

He gestures vaguely. “These flings. These scandals. You blow up every good thing that comes near you.”

I shrug. “It’s good for my brand.”

“It’s crap for your life.”

I say nothing. Mostly because I don’t have a real answer. Not one I’m willing to say out loud.

Harry doesn’t let it go.

“You’re still trying to get her attention, aren’t you?”

I stiffen. “Don’t start.”

“Already did,” he insists. “I hate seeing you burn yourself to the ground, Jack. You think if you set yourself on fire enough, she’ll look your way. It’s been decades.”

“You’re reading too much into it.”

“Am I?”

Before I can respond, the front door slams open. The hum of chatter outside spikes. Voices—shouting.

Harry frowns. “What the?—”

Three men push inside with cameras, flashes already popping. One of them shouts, “Jack! Is it true you’re sleeping with Vanessa Howard?”

“Jack! Do you think it’s okay to hook up with married women?”

“What do you have to say to the young men who look up to you?”

I squint against the flashes, caught in the sudden chaos.

My bodyguard, Urus, and Harry’s bouncer, Paul, are already moving—big, bald, and angry. They charge forward, arms out.

“You need to leave—now!”

Harry grabs my arm. “Come on. Office.”