A stupid thought. I push it away as readily as it comes, and I tell myself to keep it meaningless. He's good at s.e.x. So what. I can give him a b.l.o.w. .j.o.b that would make his head explode, and we'll be even.

I'll get right on that, as soon as all the nerves in my body stop firing off at random, sparkly intervals. It's like there are a million fairies gallivanting through my body having a freaking May Day celebration.

I close my eyes and take a deep breath as Cole settles my skirt back to the floor and rises in front of me. I don't want to look at him, although I can't quite figure out why. It's not that I don't want him still. I do.

I reach for him, my eyes still closed. He braces his arms on either side of my head and kisses me, long and slow and deep, as I slide my hand against the front of his pants, up and down his straining c.o.c.k.

"Open your eyes, Hailey."

I shake my head.

"I have to go."

d.a.m.n. My eyes fly open. It's bad form to beg to suck c.o.c.k, right? "But you-"

"I'm a big boy. I'll be fine."

"I don't mind," I whisper, gripping him tighter. "I mean, I want to return the favor. You made me feel so good, it's your turn."

He presses his hips into my hand and kisses me again. This brush of his lips has a painful taste of finality. "I mind. When you suck my c.o.c.k, it's going to be in private."

When.

Holy s.h.i.t.

"Go find your date and get home safely." His words roll over me like gravel. We're both here on dates with other people. And just like that, the spell is broken.

"Right." I stare at a spot over his shoulder as I squeeze my hands together, wondering where the h.e.l.l I dropped my purse. "Excuse me."

"Hailey." He says my name like it's the start of a bigger statement, but no further words come. That's just fine. There aren't any words that can excuse partic.i.p.ating in cheating.

"Go find your date." I repeat his words back to him, but where his were accidentally rough, mine are deliberately sharp.

He grips my jaw, turning my face toward his. "She's nothing to me."

"She's your girlfriend, Cole. Your word, not mine."

"Not anymore."

"I'm not sure she knows that."

"She won't care."

"That's...weird. And I don't care."

"No lies between us, beautiful."

I stare at him. At his gorgeous face, the hard lines and piercing gaze. There are so many lies between us already. "Except about your work, right?"

Tension crackles between us. After a beat, he steps back, releasing me. It's like we didn't just share a spectacularly intimate moment. I'm frosty, he's p.i.s.sed...order has been restored to the universe, and I'm alone again.

Nothing new.

But for the first time, I'm not sure that solitude is better. Cole has the same drama spilling around him that my family does, but walking away from him? A million times harder.

I still do it, though. I'm not an idiot.

- - I tell myself to stop thinking about Cole's fingers inside me. His steely gaze piercing my soul as he watches me come undone for him. His taunting words sliding under my skin as I rail against him. My hate should push him away, but it just seems to turn him on, like I'm a challenge he can conquer.

I don't like to think about how easily that's proven true. So I need to move on.

It's been a week. I can still taste myself on his lips. That's hardly progress.

I make lists of all the reasons I should never see him again. For one thing, I'm Georgetown and he's Dupont Circle. Actually, more the scuzzy K Street type. Even before the fifty shades of moral gray area behavior, we're already two very different people.

And there was the girlfriend, or whatever Penny was to him. Some kind of complicated relationship I can't wrap my head around.

The murder cover-up.

How bossy he is.

But that just leads to a pros list, because he might be bossy in the bedroom.

And he seems to like how soft I am, all over, and my gigantic b.o.o.bs.

Plus, no matter how hard he drives against my body, how firmly he grips my wrists as he pins me in place and rips pleasure from my body, I know he'd never hurt or embarra.s.s me.

But he'll always be an enigma, and o.r.g.a.s.ms-even earth-shattering ones-can't make up for secrets and lies.

As if the mere thought of amoral behavior is like a Bat signal for my older sister, my phone pings at me. An email from Taylor.

I stare at the screen for a minute. The subject line is blank because she knows if she gives the topic away, I'm less likely to click. Ha. Joke's on her. I'm not going to click anyway.

I'm not going to delete it. It'll sit there, forever, a little bolded electronic line to remind me of how far we've drifted apart. We've never been close, not like the relationship I have with Alison, but this is my big sister. Up until high school, she was my closest friend, by virtue of sharing a playroom.

We definitely don't share a playroom anymore. Sometimes it feels like we're not even playing in the same arena.

I tuck my phone back in my purse, slap on a baseball hat and oversized sungla.s.ses, and head for the Metro station. There haven't been any photographers bothering me in weeks, but covering up is a better-safe-than-sorry plan.

It was good to get back to work this week, and today Taryn and I are going out for sushi at lunch to celebrate my return to normalcy-all I have to do is pretend my scandal-loving sibling doesn't want to talk to me for some reason.

At the staff meeting, Ellen announces that the budget looks like it might have room for a new hire in the summer. She doesn't look at me, but Taryn does, and I bite my lip to keep from grinning. I'd be thrilled to keep working at the employment agency after my internship is over.

I'm floating on a cloud as we head for lunch, but it doesn't last long, because Alison texts me as we arrive at the restaurant. I shoo Taryn inside and take a deep breath before reading the message. Did you get Taylor's email? Family meeting tonight.

I feel a momentary stab of guilt over the tentative way my siblings tiptoe around contacting me. On the other hand...I did see Taylor's email and I didn't open it. So there's some responsibility for the dysfunction sitting on my shoulders. That uncomfortable fact isn't easily shook off. Haven't read it yet. Probably can't make it.

Alison calls me next. I take a deep breath before answering on the third ring. "Hey. I'm on my way into lunch, so..."

"Don't hey me." For a nineteen-year-old, my baby sister is such an old soul. A little mother, always has been. A refreshing change since our actual mother never cared for that role. "This is important."

"I don't care. I know that makes me an awful person, but I just don't."

She sighs. "Vanity Fair wants to do an article on Taylor."

"Yep, don't care."

She keeps going. "The article is about Washington as the new New York for young adults of privilege, some bulls.h.i.t like that, and Taylor's lawyer thinks it would be good if we all cooperate."

Because my straight A's baby sister, nose-to-the-grindstone brother, and my own track record of actually working for a living would make our oldest sister look like something less than the horrid s.l.u.t she actually is.

How I hate that word. Hate myself for using it. But she wears it like a badge of honor, bra.s.sing out the media coverage of her indiscrete b.l.o.w. .j.o.b as if it were any other party girl oops. Would have been less of a big deal if the pants she'd snaked her tongue into hadn't belonged to the Vice-President of the United States.

"You guys can do it without me. Tell the reporter I'm a ma.s.sive b.i.t.c.h."

"You're not..." Her voice drops to a quiet plead. "Come on, Hailey. There's no downside to it for us, just an interview. And if it helps show Taylor as a normal girl who was taken advantage of..."

"Alison, you're barely old enough to even know about what Taylor did, but we both know she wasn't the victim. I mean, there wasn't a victim. She had an affair with a married man. A famous married man. Let her wear that."

My baby sister doesn't answer, and for a second, I think maybe she's hung up on me. She's quiet, in general, but she has a decent bite when she wants to dole it out. "Go have lunch," she finally says. "We can talk about this later."

"Except I'm busy later, rememb-" I huff out a breath as she disconnects the call on me. This isn't over, I know that, but I shake it off. Crispy spicy salmon rolls are calling my name.

One giggly hour later, I'm back at work and Ellen has left a note on my desk to come in and see her. Taryn gives me a thumbs up as I swipe on fresh lip gloss and brush my hair. Ellen doesn't care, but I do. It's about being professional.

She waves me in before I even knock. "How was lunch?"

"Delicious." I smile. "You wanted to see me?"

"Have a seat." She launches into some nice things, then pauses and crosses her hands. "I hope you'll apply for the job in the summer."

"I will." I press my thumbs into the palms of my hands, two sharp anchors in reality. Be cool, Hailey.

"And hopefully there won't be any more drama between now and then, right?" She smiles, but all of a sudden, I'm less enthusiastic. It could be nothing. People say things with smiles on their faces, right? And don't mean anything by it? I'm talking about normal people.

Because my people don't. Not my people by choice, but the ones I'm genetically connected to-and fatally attracted to. Those people lie through their teeth as often as they order martinis and put on suits. All with a smile and a trust me glint in their eye.

I smile again, more weakly now. "Would it help if I change my name?"

She laughs, then stops and stares at me. Then laughs again, tipping her head back. "Oh, Hailey."

I don't know how to take that. "I would. If it would help."

"Hailey, your last name is as common as apple pie at a Fourth of July picnic. Don't worry about it."

But I do, all afternoon. I worry about it so much that I forget about the stupid family meeting, because I'm so focused on separating myself permanently from said family that it drops from my mind completely that they're trying to suck me back into their drama.

It all slams back into me as I step outside at the end of the day and find Cole waiting for me, leaning back against his giant black SUV like he owns the street. He's big and scary looking, tall and tough and dressed to impress, but no amount of silk suiting can contain his bada.s.s self.

I stomp up to him and prop my hands on my hips. "Oh for f.u.c.k's sake."

"Excuse me?" He smirks and leans in close. "Nice to see you again, beautiful."

"No, it's not nice. It's awful. Why are you here?"

"Would you believe me if I said I want to take you for dinner?"

"Not even a little bit, unless dinner is at my parents' estate."

He shrugged. "I hear they're serving salmon."

"I'm not going."

He makes a regretful face. "Ah, but you are."

Blood rushes through my ears like the Pacific surf slamming against the beach at dawn. "You did not just threaten to kidnap me against my will."

He laughs. "All the magic words there. Got it. No, I didn't threaten you."

"Good. I'm going home."

I've barely turned before he loops his hand around my upper arm and spins me against the truck as people walk by. He leans over me, looking every bit the part of the adoring boyfriend I'm sure-I know he's just doing it to hide my face, a weird protective reaction that doesn't mean anything. He nuzzles my neck and I concentrate on how much I hate the game playing. And him.

I need to keep reminding myself of that fact.

"I hate you," I whisper, because saying it might make it true.

"No you don't," he mutters against my ear. "Because I'm going to take you to this family meeting, but I'll also get you out of there as quick as I can. Promise."

"I don't want to go."

"We don't always get what we want." He says it so authentically, for a second I think he's on the same page as me, wishing this was a real embrace, but he glances around-we're alone on the street again-then shoves away from the car and slides his hands into his pockets. He gives me a cold, dismissive look. "Now get your a.s.s in the car."

"This isn't going to go well, I'm warning you." I'm ramping up fast now, and I'm not sure if it's the rejection I'm feeling or my general frustration about the situation. "This is beyond the pale, Mr. Parker. Seriously, f.u.c.king off-side move."

His eyes glitter like smoky quartz set in chiseled granite. "Just doing my job, Ms. Reid."

"Don't say my name like that."

"You're the one who brought back the formal address."

"You're the one who's acting like a p.r.i.c.k."

"You have a potty mouth."

"Excuse me? A potty mouth?"

"It's true."