My heart is hammering in my chest, and I understand now why Trey was so worried. I feel so stupid for not thinking of Cam sooner, but I bet that’s why Mr. Stewart never did a thing to us. Because his bone to pick wasn’t with me—it was always with Cam.

  I’m the horse that wouldn’t run. I’m the car that wouldn’t start. But to Mr. Stewart, Cam is the man who sold him a bum nag, a lemon of a vehicle. Cam’s the one he has the beef with—Cam’s the peddler of the product that didn’t perform for one ruthless businessman.

  I bang furiously on the buzzer when I reach his Upper East Side brownstone.

  “C’mon, c’mon,” I say under my breath, hoping he’s here, hoping he’s safe.

  I step away from the door and peer up at the second-floor window, where I see the silhouette of a woman looking down through the curtains.

  I push hard on the buzzer once more. The harder I press, the more likely he’ll answer, right? But he’s not the one who answers.

  “Hello?”

  The voice is somewhat familiar.

  “Hi. This is Harley. Is Cam okay? I need to see him.”

  “Hold on,” the woman says, and I wait as the buzzer goes silent. I wonder who she is. If Cam has a girlfriend, or a friend, or… I cringe inside… maybe he hired an escort? Or maybe this woman works in his stable? Maybe she took over for me?

  “You can come up,” the woman says, and then buzzes me in. I bound up the steps to his apartment—the entire second floor. I go to knock, but the second my knuckles touch the wood, someone opens the door.

  “Oh.”

  It’s Cam’s receptionist, the woman with the straight blonde hair in a perfect bob.

  “Hi,” I say. “I’m Harley.”

  She nods. “I know. Tess,” she says, extending a hand to shake.

  “You’re the…”

  “Yes. I’m the receptionist—and more.”

  More. “Is he okay? Because I have this gnawing feeling in my gut.”

  “He has a black eye and a cracked rib.”

  My heart plummets, and I clasp my hand over my mouth. “No,” I say, shaking my head, as if I can unhear what she said. “Mr. Stewart?”

  Tess nods sadly. “Come in. You can see him.”

  She guides me through the entryway and into Cam’s living room, where he’s stretched out on the couch, his feet propped up on the coffee table and his arm wrapped around his midsection, like he’s holding his ribs in place. He’s watching television, an old episode of The Facts of Life. When he sees me, he hits mute, and smiles weakly. He’s bruised and battered under his left eye, a small pool of black and blue from where Mr. Stewart must have connected with his face.

  Then he notices my stomach, and his eyes bug out.

  “Well, isn’t this a fine how do you do? You been keeping these kinds of secrets from me? Who’s the daddy? Oh, wait. Don’t tell me. It’s your hubby,” he says, and pats the cushion next to him. I sit down.

  “Yes, we got married on the same flight Mr. Stewart was on, but I can’t believe he really did this to you. I’m so sorry,” I say, and my chest aches for him—for him taking the hit for me.

  “Well, technically he didn’t do it. Some big-ass bouncer type who looked like Vin Diesel was responsible. Because if it were Mr. Stewart, I would have grabbed his bald ass, locked him in a chokehold, and made mincemeat of him. But Vinny Boy is a lot bigger and meaner,” Cam says, flashing me a megawatt smile.

  “How can you smile at a time like this? Aren’t you in pain? Doesn’t it hurt?”

  I hope he says no.

  26

  Cam

  Pain? What’s that? I feel no pain thanks to these fabulous creations known as drugs.

  I shake my head at Harley, chuckling. “Baby doll, they’ve got these things known as Vicodin, and I love them. Tess gave me two with a nice big glass of cold milk, and bam. I feel no pain,” I say, as Tess perches on the edge of the couch. I gaze at her, doe-eyed, I’m sure. My woman. Damn, she takes good care of me. I am one lucky son of a bitch. I pat her hand.

  Harley’s jaw nearly drops when Tess slides her fingers into mine and clasps my hand in hers. It’s a blast turning the tables on Harley and being the one to surprise her for once.

  “Are you guys a couple?” She points from Tess to me and back.

  Tess nods. “Yes.”

  I turn back to Harley, grinning like a fool, feeling right as rain and hazy as heaven all over. I’m so loopy right now from the meds, but that is fine by me.

  “How long?”

  I look at Tess again, the woman who changed my life. As a good woman does. This gorgeous, brilliant, kindhearted, and tough as nails tiger who turned my world around. I owe her everything, and I will give her everything. “Few months now,” I say. “She got me on the straight and narrow.”

  Tess nods proudly, squeezing my hand.

  “Really?” Harley asks.

  “Yep,” Tess says, beaming with admiration in her eyes. “He pursued me, and I made it clear he needed to clean up his act, or there’d be no Tess in his life.”

  I nod several times, remembering Tess’s ultimatum. She laid down the law -- I needed to change.

  “So you stopped your side business?” Harley asks, clearly shocked that I’m no longer a pimp—and no longer a loner.

  I’m not shocked. I’m just so damn happy. I flash back on how I knew Tess was the one. She loved Helen Fielding and Sophie Kinsella and Jane Green. We were peas in a pod, and we still are. “What can I say? Couldn’t let a gal like Tess pass me by. I always spied her reading at the desk, and it turned out we had the same taste in books. Besides, getting pummeled in the eye does make a man reassess his priorities in life.”

  Tess turns to Harley. “And I want to thank you for giving him that Sophie Kinsella book,” she says, bumping her shoulder against mine. “We read it together.”

  I beam, thinking of that time. When I fell for a good woman.

  “That’s adorable.” Harley smiles again. “I love this. Your heart has always been in the right place. But to see you kick your old habits for a woman is even sweeter.”

  I’m pretty sure I’m blushing right now, and I’m equally sure I don’t care. “Thank you. She’s worth it.”

  “The only problem is, you’re paying my debt, and I can’t let you. So tell me what happened?” she asks again, returning to the issue at hand—the damage Mr. Stewart’s heavy wreaked on me. “I feel terrible. This is all because of me.”

  I pat my ribs. “Oh, this one was for the elephants.”

  “What?” she asks, furrowing her brow.

  I sigh deeply, hold my arms out wide, and then wince. Yeah, I need to remember I can’t do that. “Old Vinny Boy said Mr. Stewart’s elephant charity is way down in donations since the gala. He seems to think there’s a connection between him being stood up by you last summer and the lack of funds.”

  “That’s crazy.”

  “I know,” I say. “But what can you do?”

  “Cam,” she presses, since she’s always been persistent. “I need to do something. Or he’s going to keep coming around and hurting you. I care about you—I don’t want you to suffer the consequences for choices I made. How on earth can I fend off Mr. Stewart’s random acts of retribution against you?”

  I wish I knew. I shrug. “The man’s crazy. He claimed he’d leave me alone if I shored up his failing charity, but it’s not like I have 50K just lying around. Why does he think I got into the side biz in the first place? Your old man Cam had way too much debt to pay, and I just got myself out of it. Now he thinks I’m going to hand over some blood money?” I say, shaking my head.

  Tess reaches over and pets my hair. I lean into her touch and pretend to purr. “Mmm. That feels good, baby,” I say, and then take a deep breath. But as I exhale, I wince, my face contorting, my shoulders pulling in and hurting like the dickens.

  I have no answers for Harley.

  I have no answers for me.

  But I’m okay with that. Sometimes you just have to move on from your mistakes, even though you’ll keep paying for them.

  Sometimes you have to give up your need to control the whole city.

  I press a kiss to Tess’s hair, feeling some sort of peace, no matter what happens.

  27

  Harley

  I’ve done this to him. I drop my head in my hands. The past is a ghost, lurking in dark corners, hiding in alleys, silent but dangerous. Even when you think you’ve done your time and made your amends, the past chains you up again, reminding you that you’re a prisoner to all the bad things you’ve done.

  Some debts are never paid.

  All this time, I thought Miranda would trip me up. That someone from my memoirs would recognize themselves, track me down, and use my stories against me. But instead, my blood debt is to the man I left alone at a charity fundraiser. A man who loves elephants more than people.

  Then my brain hits the brakes, and I swear I can hear my mind backpedal. Not to the gala. But to Miranda.

  I raise my head. “Miranda,” I say out loud, her name like a hiss on my tongue.

  “Your mom’s editor?”

  I can see the deck of cards in front of me, the hand I’ve been dealt. All I have to do is play them right. But I know how to do this. I watched my mother for years. I saw her juggle source after source, story after story. Now all I have to do is play it from the other side. “Cam, do you still have contacts at other papers? Or news outlets? Online? Besides my mom, obviously,” I quickly add.

  He blows a stream of air across his lips. “What do you take me for? A one-reporter kind of source? Hell no. Haven’t I taught you well? I know everyone.”

  “I think I know a way out of this. If there’s a reporter you trust. A reporter who wants to expose the truth.”

  Cam nods several times as I tell him my plan. Then he turns to Tess. “Tess, baby, will you bring me my phone?”

  “Gladly,” she says.

  Within thirty minutes, the ball is rolling. Cam is juggling phone call after phone call, and pretty soon it’ll be my turn to talk. I’m bubbling over inside, giddy with all the possibilities, but strung out on nerves too as I listen to him prime the pump with an online media reporter who Cam says moves faster than a comet. He covers the phone with one hand, and mouths softly, “I love this son of a bitch. He’s an eager mofo.”

  Tess squeezes his arm, proud of her man.

  Then I remember my man. My husband.

  I dig around in my purse for my phone, but when I find it, there are no missed calls from Trey. With the way he’s been on edge for the last week, I figured he’d have checked in by now, but he probably got held up at his parents’. After all, he’s about to move all the way across the country from them. It’s no great loss when it comes to my one remaining parent, but Trey seems to be getting back on track with his—and I want them to have a place in the baby’s life if they do. I walk over to the window so Cam has some personal space for his calls, and I dial Trey.

  When he answers, I say, “Hey, I have to tell you what’s going on.”

  “Are you okay, Harley? What is it?”

  “I’m fine, I promise. And I’m at Cam’s place, but don’t freak out—it’s about Mr. Stewart. And I think it could be good. At least I hope it will be,” I say, crossing my fingers.

  “Okay,” he says, but he sounds hesitant. “I have news too. It’s good news. I’ll tell you when I get there.”

  I return to the epicenter of the apartment, to the virtual war room—Cam’s couch and coffee table. After he finishes his call, he points a finger at me. “It’s showtime, baby doll. Henry from the HuffPo wants to talk to you.”

  “Okay,” I say, taking a deep breath before I call Henry and tell him that I’m Anonymous, the author behind the recent best-selling tell-all sex tale, and that I was blackmailed into writing it by the editor in chief of the publishing house.

  28

  Trey

  I enter the building of my wife’s former pimp. Technically, this should bother me. But so much has happened, and it feels like we’re so close to being home free.

  When I reach the second floor, Harley is holding open the door. She lets it fall shut behind her, so we’re standing in the hallway outside Cam’s apartment.

  This is more surreal than a Dalí. But then, that’s my life these days. This month. This year.

  “What’s going on?” I ask.

  “Mr. Stewart isn’t coming after us—he went after Cam again. But we’re going to put a stop to it once and for all so that this is all over. And I’m taking care of my memoirs at the same time.”

  “Wow. You are?”

  “Yes, I have a plan,” she says, and then holds up her index and middle fingers, crossing them, as she tells me her idea, and it’s daring.

  “That’s ballsy.”

  “I hope it works,” she says, a touch of nerves invading her bravado.

  “It will,” I say, imparting the belief I have in her.

  “So, what’s your news?”

  “Guess what? My parents got us a car. For San Diego. It’s already there waiting for us.”

  “What? That’s incredible!”

  And as we smile at each other, each moving the pieces into place for our new life, I know I can do this. I’m only twenty-two, but that doesn’t matter. I can be a husband, I can be a father, I can be the man Harley and our baby need me to be.

  Soon after, I go home with my wife, and there’s nothing better.

  29

  Trey

  She’s bouncing on the bed. “Look, look!”

  I blink, rub my eyes, and then take the phone she’s thrust into my hand. The screen is open to a web page with a video report. I hit play. “Show of hands. Did you buy the salacious call-girl book in the last two weeks? C’mon. You know you did. Thousands upon thousands of readers snagged a copy—that’s how the book shot to the top of the best-seller lists. Turns out the girl pulling the tricks—” I stop it to look at Harley. “That’s kind of tacky.”

  She waves a hand frantically. “Who cares? It’s a media blog. It’s not The Washington Post. Just play it.”

  “Turns out the girl pulling the tricks didn’t get paid for the tales. Word on the street is she was blackmailed by the book’s editor. When reached for comment, the publisher said they’re looking into the allegations.”

  Then the report ends. “That’s it? How is that going to take down Mr. Stewart? I don’t get it.”

  “Hit refresh. The updated version should be live any second. I just got off the phone with the head of the publishing house.”

  I click refresh and wait several seconds for the page to reload. An additional video loads. “After checking the editor’s email records, phone log, and royalty schedule for Anonymous, the publisher has confirmed that Anonymous was the target of a blackmail scheme by the editor. The writer of the tell-all has expressed her wish to remain anonymous and has requested that any royalties owed from the first two weeks of the book’s sale go to the charity Save the Orphaned Elephants, and that further proceeds from the book be donated to the New York City Halfway House for Girls. So, get your kicks and feel good about yourself at the same time. You can pick up your copy of the tawdry tales and know the money is going to a good cause.”

  30

  Harley

  He grins wildly. “You are brilliant. You know that?”

  I raise my arms high in the victory sign. “I am a genius!”

  I grab the phone from Trey to dial Cam. “What’s the story?”

  “The elephant man is pleased,” he says, and I punch my fist in the air.

  “We’re all good, then?”

  “It seems this debt has been paid,” Cam says. “You can get on that plane to California and not worry one bit about little old me, or little old him. But you better send me pictures of that baby. You hear me, now?”

  Before I can answer, Tess shouts in the background, “We want gobs of baby pictures!”

  I laugh. “I promise.”

  Later in the day, I check my news feed again to find one more update to the breaking story about the call-girl book. This update gives me the pleasure that only comeuppance can deliver. “Miranda Cuthbert has tendered her resignation, and repaid the funds she kept from the first two weeks of sales. Word on the street is her saga won’t end there. Sources say the state is looking into whether an extortion case can be made against Ms. Cuthbert.”

  “Karma’s a bitch,” I say, after I read the latest update out loud to Kristen and Trey.

  “Yes, it is,” she says. “And I am so going to base my next screenplay on you.”

  “And you’re going to move to California and shoot it there, so I can see you more.”

  “You better believe it. I’m next in line on that California gold rush you’re starting,” she says, as we spend our last evening here together in the living room. Jordan is here too, and we order pizza, and the three of them drink beers, and I enjoy a Diet Coke. Well, that’s not entirely true—the baby and I enjoy a Diet Coke, because caffeine seems to make the little one wiggle in my belly too.

  After we finish the pizza, it’s time to say goodbye to my best friend.

  “I’m going to seriously miss you,” I tell her.

  “I’m going to majorly miss you. Especially since you’re taking the good bathroom towels with you.”

  Trey clears his throat. “Actually, if you and Jordan want new towels, I might be able to chip in.”

  Reaching into his wallet, he takes out a white-and-blue plastic card from Bed Bath & Beyond, and slaps it down on the table. “Consider this a housewarming gift,” he says to Jordan and Kristen.

  “Thanks, man. My greatest dreams have come true. I was always hoping you’d get me something from a home store,” Jordan says.