My legs manage to hold me as I move back to my office and then collect my clothes, which are strewn about, and I curse myself.

  What the fuck is wrong with you, Carly?

  How could you have let that happen?

  As I frantically put my pants back on, I pray that this is some sort of messed-up stoner hallucination and I didn’t just sleep with one of my clients and that Emma didn’t just sneak in here and take photos of me having sex with someone other than my husband.

  Holy crap, it’s only a matter of time before those photos are leaked.

  Shit! Shit! Shit!

  Tears spring from my eyes as my panic detonates into pure hysteria.

  What do I do? How do I stop this from happening, and why did I have to be so stern with her?

  My fingers tremble out of my control, and when I’m finally able to clasp my bra, I scour the small office, looking for my silk cami.

  “Where the hell is it?” I mumble as I rip the cushions off the couch, but it’s not there.

  Dropping to my knees, I fish my hands under the couch, under the chair, under everything as I begin crying harder.

  Another blaze of panic fires off inside me, and I begin ransacking my office, searching for my cami but finding nothing. Quickly, I shrug on my sweater before grabbing for my phone. In the process, I knock over the flowers, sending the vase crashing to the floor. Thorned roses lie in a puddle of water and broken glass, but all I can do is turn back to my desk, get my cell, and fumble to dial the number of the only person who can help me.

  As the phone rings, I chew like crazy on my nails and let the tears fall freely. I’m about to have a full-blown panic attack.

  “Hello?”

  “Margot, I need your help!”

  Carly

  “What the hell happened here?” Margot questions when she walks into my office.

  I’ve spent the past half hour sobbing and freaking out while waiting for her to get here. She’s a true friend, dropping everything and coming here the moment I called her.

  A new slew of tears flood my eyes, and when she turns around, I blink, allowing them to fall.

  “I’m in really big trouble,” I tell her, my voice trembling in fear. “That girl I told you about, you know, the one I got to sleep with Tripp?”

  “Yes . . .”

  “She set me up.”

  Slowly, I walk across the room and take a seat in one of the chairs, dropping my head into my palms.

  “What do you mean she set you up?”

  “I don’t even know how to explain this because it’s such a mess.”

  Since the couch cushions are still tossed onto the floor, she pulls out my desk chair and rolls it next to me before taking a seat.

  Looking up at my friend through bleary eyes, I cut straight to the point. “I slept with one of my clients, and she must’ve been behind it all because she busted in and took pictures.”

  “She what?”

  “She walked right in,” I say, motioning toward the door, “and started taking a bunch of pictures.”

  “Of you having sex with your client?”

  “Yes.”

  “Here?” she questions in disbelief. “You mean this just happened?”

  “Yes! And now I’m freaking out and don’t know what to do.”

  “Why the hell would she do that?”

  “Because she’s pissed off at me. I told her to stay away from Tripp, but then she kept seeing him and was demanding that I continue to pay her. I told her no, and now she has photos and I have no clue what to do.”

  Margot lays her hand over my knee. “Carly, you have to calm down. You panicking isn’t going to help. Take a deep breath so you can think clearly.”

  “I’m ruined. If she takes those photos to the press, I’m ruined; Tripp too.”

  “Did she say anything?”

  “No! She just stood there, staring at me. Then she just walked out and left.”

  “Why didn’t you go after her? Get her phone?”

  Sulking back in the chair, I admit with a defeated sigh, “Everything happened so fast and I wasn’t thinking right because I got high during the appointment.”

  Her eyes grow wide. “What the hell are you thinking? Are you trying to fuck your life up?”

  “No.”

  “Why are you getting high with clients?”

  “I don’t know,” I practically wail. “Because my life is in shambles.”

  “Well, you’re only making it worse,” she scolds. “You have got to pull yourself together or you’re going to be the front-page headline.”

  “I need your help. I don’t know what to do.”

  “First off, who is this client?”

  “Just a guy I started seeing a couple of weeks ago, but now I’m wondering if it was all a ploy.”

  Margot eyes me like I’m an idiot. “What do you mean you’re wondering? Wake up! Of course, it was a ploy. They set you up, and you fell right into their trap. How could you have been so foolish?”

  “This is going to destroy everything,” I mutter. “It’ll all be over.”

  “Not if you move fast. Clearly, this girl is out to get you, so you’re going to have to reason with her, negotiate some sort of deal to get the photos and to shut her up.”

  “I’ve already given her so much money. If I pull out more, Tripp is going to notice.”

  “That’s what you’re worried about? My god, Carly, you’re seriously going to run the risk of having photos of you sleeping with another man, while high, might I add, to avoid Tripp questioning you about a bank withdrawal?”

  I stare at her, dumbfounded.

  “Lie, for heaven’s sake! Christ, tell him you used the money to make a charitable donation,” she exclaims in annoyance. “But the first thing you need to do is get yourself under control and smarten up because I can’t be tangled up in this. There’s too much on the line for me. You can’t continue involving me in all the mishaps you keep making for yourself.”

  I run my hands under my eyes and dry my tears, surprised that she would say such a thing when she’s always been there for me—when she was the one nudging me into this ordeal. The anger is real, but it’s misplaced, and even though I’m still stoned, I’m sober enough to realize it. She’s right, I shouldn’t be dragging her into this when she and her husband are in the public eye as well.

  Turning in my chair, I see Margot leaning over my desk. “What are you doing?”

  “Is this the client?” she questions as she flips through the file. “Luca Sadler?”

  I nod. “Yes, why?”

  “Just wondering if there’s anything you could use against him,” she murmurs as she keeps her eyes on the file. “He’s obviously close to the girl . . . what’s her name again?”

  Trying to keep myself composed, I wipe away another tear, responding, “Emma Ashford.”

  “It says he attends Georgetown. She does as well?”

  “She did, but she lost her scholarship. Why?”

  She shrugs off my question, closes the file, and leans her hip against the desk. “Maybe you should just go home and get some sleep. You’re a disaster. Tomorrow morning when your head is clear, you need to call her. I don’t think anything should happen tonight.”

  “How can you be sure?”

  “Because I’m good at reading people, which is something you should take more of an interest in instead of always acting so hastily.” She rounds the desk and picks up one of the cushions from the floor and tosses it back on the couch. “You said you’ve been seeing him for a couple weeks, correct?”

  “Yes.”

  “So, clearly, the two of them aren’t as rash as you. They thought this out. If I had to bet money on it, I would say that they will move cautiously and strike when it will hurt the most.”

  Her words only feed my worry.

  “I mean, think about it. This girl, Emma, is caught up in this too. Whatever it is they’re planning to do with the photos, they will likely do everything in their power to keep her name out of it. Surely, she isn’t stupid enough to risk exposing herself as Tripp’s mistress.”

  “No, you’re right. She told me that she’s terrified of this getting out to the media.”

  “Well, there you go,” she says, tossing another cushion onto the couch. “They’re going to be meticulous, which works in your favor because that buys you time to figure out how to shut her down.”

  She continues to move about the room, straightening things here and there before picking up the card that was with the flowers. She reads it, and after a long pause, looks up at me. “What’s this all about?”

  “Nothing. Just my cheating husband doing his best to pull the wool over my eyes, as if he isn’t sleeping around.”

  Her brows lift, and with a shrug, she flicks the card, sending it back to the floor.

  “Your life is a monstrosity.” She crushes a rose under her stiletto before resuming her spot in the chair next to mine. With a gentler tone, she adds, “Look, you’re a dear friend, you know that, right?”

  I nod.

  “And I’ve always been here for you in any way you’ve needed me, but, like I said, I can no longer be involved in this. I’m so sorry, but it’s just too risky. I hope you understand.”

  “Of course, I understand. I never should have asked you to put yourself on the line for me.”

  “I also think it would best if we stayed in our own corners for a while, at least until this passes.”

  She’s right in wanting to distance herself from this catastrophe because, if I go down in flames for this, I certainly don’t want to bring her or her husband down with me

  “I’m sorry,” she adds when I don’t immediately respond.

  “Everything has gotten so out of hand.”

  “Are you going to tell Tripp?”

  “God, no,” I blurt. “I’d actually decided to try to make it work between us, but then this happened . . .” My words fall short because I have no clue where to go from here.

  Here I was, set out to prove his infidelities so I could leave him with a little self-worth and money in my pocket. But that blew up in my face and left me with nothing. If he ever finds out about anything I’ve been up to recently, he’ll leave, no questions asked, and I’ll be left with nothing.

  There is only one way for me to come out of this nightmare with a shred of my dignity intact, and that is to go home and be a perfect wife and pray he never finds out.

  That will only happen if I can find a way to keep Emma quiet.

  Carly

  Those pictures were taken for a reason. It’s been three days of hell. I’m terrified to turn on the television, open a newspaper, or even listen to the radio. There isn’t a single hour, minute, second that passes without tremendous fear that my world will come crashing down. It’s the constant state of paranoia that has my stomach in knots.

  I can barely eat.

  I can barely breathe.

  But I can’t give up.

  I just can’t.

  “Are you almost ready?”

  I look in the mirror to see Tripp standing in the doorway of the bathroom as I fasten the back to my pearl earring. With a loving smile, I respond, “I’m ready,” before turning around to show him my new ivory-colored shift dress. “How do I look?”

  “Perfect.”

  Stepping in front of him, I adjust his tie and brush my hands along the shoulders of his navy suit coat. “How are you feeling?”

  “Good.”

  “Nervous?”

  “Come on now,” he says with a smirk. “I’m an old pro at this. I don’t get nervous.”

  Tripp looks into my eyes, and as much as it should calm me, there’s nothing in this world that can pacify my anxiety at this point.

  “I’m glad we’re back on the same page. I missed having you by my side at these events.”

  These past few weeks, I haven’t been actively involved in his campaign, and after a few big fights about it, he gave up on acknowledging my distance. But after the incident with Luca, I talked to Tripp and smoothed things over as best as I could. I admitted my insecurities, lied and told him that I trusted him. I apologized repeatedly and vowed to be better, do better, and love him better. I cried horrified tears, which he interpreted as tears of guilt for putting so much strain on our marriage. I tucked my tail between my legs and became the doormat I swore to Margot I would never be. I recognize the predicament I’m in, and I understand the woman I have to become to keep my world intact.

  We made love that night, but it didn’t feel right. I’m a total fraud, just as dirty as he is. Acknowledging that I’ve become the very thing I despise—both in life and in my marriage—was a hard pill to swallow, but swallow it I did.

  Tripp once told me there wasn’t anything I could do that would make him walk away from me. Of course, we were young and newly married, so I doubt he ever would have considered the web of deceit I would eventually weave around us. Still, I cling to those words like a drowning woman.

  The doorbell rings, interrupting our moment.

  “My parents are here,” he notes, and I’m forced to bite my cheek.

  They thought it would be best for us to arrive at the same time to reinforce our so-called family-first ideals. I trail behind Tripp, not unaware of the irony. My having to stand behind him and view the world from over his shoulder was something I used to find demeaning. Now, I take the spot like an obedient dog.

  When he opens the front door, Eloise stands there all polished and poised, and starts right in on doting over her son and fussing over his tie that I just straightened.

  “Don’t you look lovely, dear,” his father says before pecking my cheek.

  “Thank you. It’s good to see you.”

  “Yes, lovely.” Eloise echoes her husband’s sentiments as she eyes my whole look, silently picking me apart.

  “Eloise, it’s so nice to see you.” I smile and lean forward to air kiss her cheek.

  “It’s good to see you supporting the campaign for a change.”

  My smile remains plastic as I say, “It is, isn’t it. I’m thrilled that my schedule has opened up to allow me the time to be here for Tripp.”

  “I’m sure,” she snides and then turns her attention to her son. “Well, are we ready?”

  We head out to the large SUV and the driver opens the door for us. As we make our way to the event, I stay on the outside looking in as the three of them discuss the itinerary. Tripp is speaking to the students of Georgetown, giving them an inside look at what they can expect after graduation and they enter the political world. The message he will be delivering will be phony, and, later on down the road, if any of the students look back on it, they will know they had been lied to.

  Every now and then, Eloise will call my attention with a condescending, “Are you listening? This is important information for you as well, dear.”

  To this, I smile and nod. Yes, of course, Eloise. I hear every ounce of BS, and I assure you that I won’t be an embarrassment in front of the cameras.

  When we pull up to Gaston Hall, I scan the crowd of students who are already filing in, looking for any sign of Emma or Luca. Even though she is no longer a student, this event is open to the public.

  When we step out of the SUV, we are welcomed by a number of people, one being the university’s president. We shake hands and exchange pleasantries before we’re led inside and to the full auditorium.

  “Mr. Montgomery,” Olivia says formally, as if she hasn’t been sleeping with my husband. “Here are the updated talking points. There were only a few minor changes that I need to point out.”

  Tripp turns to me. “I have to go over these notes with Olivia. Are you okay with my parents?”

  “Of course,” I tell him even though I don’t want him anywhere near that girl. “You go. I’ll be fine.”

  I watch as the two of them walk away, cringing when he places his hand on her lower back.

  With a pleasant smile, I stand next to Eloise and make small talk with the people who come to say hello. Far too often, I catch Eloise watching me from the corner of her eye, always keeping watch to make sure I don’t flounder. As if I’m a toddler she must constantly remind to be on their best behavior.

  When Tripp returns, he stands at a respectable distance from me, and I smile over at him. “Is everything okay?”

  He takes my hand and gives me a nod. “You ready?”

  His parents are led in first and seated in the audience before Tripp is formally announced. Hand in hand, we walk onto the stage. Tripp waves to the crowd of excited students, and I stand at his side, smiling gracefully, offering a few waves of appreciation. After dropping a kiss to my cheek, Tripp takes his position at the podium and I take a seat with the university president and a few board members.

  “Thank you,” Tripp says into the microphone. “Thank you for having me here today. There’s nothing I enjoy more than meeting young men and women, the next generation of global citizens to lead and make a difference in this world.”

  He delves into his speech as my eyes dart nervously around the audience, but with all the bright lights, I’m only able to see the first few rows. Everything else is a blinding blur. Olivia stands just off stage and out of sight, intently watching my husband. I wish I could talk to Margot and ask her how she does it. Turning a blind eye to the women who’ve found themselves in bed with my husband is killing me. I want to ask her if it becomes easier over time, but she made it clear that we shouldn’t have any contact, and I have to respect her wishes.

  But Olivia is the least of my problems.

  Sweat trickles down my back, and I don’t know if it’s because of these hot spotlights or my anxiety, but I’m ready to get out of here, and Tripp has only just begun speaking.

  When the informational talk wraps up, Tripp takes the microphone and steps out from the podium to take questions from the audience. Student after student asks questions, but the moment I hear, “Hi, my name is Luca, and I’m a junior culture and politics major.” I lock up, petrified. “My question for you is a little personal, but I’m interested to hear how you are able to balance work and family. With a hectic campaign schedule, it must be difficult.”