Trent swiveled in his chair to view his computer monitor, prominently displaying the DieHardAtlanta balance sheet. It looked like plenty of money to him. "I know you're the expert and all," he started, then stopped when Keith shook his head and held up his palms. "What?" Trent asked.

"I'm not going to sit here and listen to you tell me that you believe me but are still doing things the way you want. I've been to this dance before, and I'm about sick of the tune. Come on, Trent. You're as smart as they come with computer software and websites, but you don't know s.h.i.t about your finances. That's what I'm for, and I promise that if you try to take DieHardAtlanta to a print edition now, it won't fly." He held up one finger. "You need more equity." Another finger joined the first. "You need more subscribers." A third finger. "You need more exposure." The fourth finger popped up. "And you need more advertising."

Keith's hand displayed the equivalent of a "fourth quarter's ours" sign. Funny, the familiar gesture had symbolized victory when Trent played football in high school. Right now, however, it indicated defeat. And Trent wasn't used to defeat in business, or anything else. Jacksons didn't lose, and Trent wasn't about to break the family record by trying to increase his business too soon. But he was tired of waiting.

Dropping his palm, Keith gave Trent a semiapologetic smirk. "People aren't going to visit your website if they can't find it. Right now, you're doing okay via word of mouth, but you need other forms of advertising to succeed, and you need money to pay for the ads."

"I've scheduled an ad campaign with the Atlanta Journal-Const.i.tution Atlanta Journal-Const.i.tution," Trent reminded him, "which you suggested."

"Good. Then let's see how many new subscribers the AJ-C AJ-C nets you. Maybe that'll put you in the right ballpark for starting the print side. The way I see it, your numbers need to quadruple before you take the risk." nets you. Maybe that'll put you in the right ballpark for starting the print side. The way I see it, your numbers need to quadruple before you take the risk."

An increase of four hundred percent? "You're not serious." Trent's voice was as unemotional as he could muster for the blow Keith had dealt. Quadruple? Did Keith have any idea how long it would take to make a jump like that without some earth-shattering dynamic thrown in the mix? Did he think John Smoltz would suddenly find the site impossible to resist and perhaps emblazon the web address on the back of his Braves jersey? Because that's that's the kind of boost Keith was talking about, and that was the kind of boost Trent had no idea how to obtain. the kind of boost Keith was talking about, and that was the kind of boost Trent had no idea how to obtain.

"I'm dead serious. If you want this thing to make it and come out of the gate strong, the way you indicated when you asked me to a.n.a.lyze this venture, then you really need to heed my advice. Wait and let your numbers increase. They've gone up steadily every month, right?"

"Steadily. That's the operative word," Trent said. "Four hundred percent wouldn't begin to count as steadily. That's warp speed, and you know it. I'd need something huge, and I don't have any white rabbits in my hat." He took a thick breath, let it out. Four hundred percent. To increase circulation that much, he'd need a h.e.l.l of an advertising campaign. And to have a h.e.l.l of an advertising campaign, he'd have to use the majority of the money he'd made so far. Therefore, no money for the new business. A lose-lose situation, any way you looked at it, unless he was willing to wait and let things steadily progress, as Keith suggested. It made sense, but it sure didn't make Trent happy. "You know, when my father suggested I always rely on Parker and Parker to steer me in the right direction, I don't think he ever planned on you you monitoring my every financial move. h.e.l.l, when he died, Parker and Parker Financial consisted of your grandfather and your father. I'm sure he a.s.sumed it'd be one of them overseeing his legacy." monitoring my every financial move. h.e.l.l, when he died, Parker and Parker Financial consisted of your grandfather and your father. I'm sure he a.s.sumed it'd be one of them overseeing his legacy."

"Nah, Collin knew I'd take over. Dad told him plenty of times that he was pursuing an extremely early retirement in Florida. Face it, your father knew exactly what he was doing. You can tell yourself different, but you know it's true. He wanted me to help you keep your mind straight. Remember, I was always the kid who saved a portion of his allowance, then began to spend. You, on the other hand, were another story." Keith walked over to the small refrigerator Trent kept in his office, withdrew a bottle of water, and took a big swallow. It sloshed loudly as he drank. Normally, the sound wouldn't have irritated Trent, but right now, every agitated drop bubbled beneath his skin.

Keith wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and shrugged. "But the main thing your father wanted was for his inheritance to be monitored by a Parker, and you've got that." He pointed to his chest. "I'm a Parker."

"A Parker who keeps saying no."

"I haven't exactly said no," Keith reminded. "I said that if you're seriously wanting to start this magazine on your own, without any a.s.sets already established by Jackson Enterprises-"

"a.s.sets my father and grandfather generated," Trent interrupted.

"Right. If you're wanting to say that you did this entirely on your own, then I suggest you wait until DieHardAtlanta is a stronger force with proven staying power. You've seen my reports. DieHardAtlanta is doing great, considering you've only had the webzine for six months."

"And in that time my circulation has grown every month," Trent said. He turned to view the Atlanta skyline from his office window. No, from his father's father's office window. This place had been handed to him, too, as office window. This place had been handed to him, too, as Atlanta Business Journal Atlanta Business Journal suggested in its "Boy With a Silver Spoon" article. suggested in its "Boy With a Silver Spoon" article. Boy Boy. Since when was thirty-three considered "boy" status? Or guys who were six-two? Trent glared at the darkening sky, the clouds cloaking the skyrise buildings like smoky capes. The clouds weren't all that substantial, but they still had the potency to hide those impressive buildings that lurked beneath.

Boy. The word brought back memories of his childhood, when he was eternally hidden by his father's shadow, the skinny kid with untamable hair and gla.s.ses whose family happened to own a substantial portion of Atlanta. Could Trent help it if his grandfather had been wise enough-or stupid enough, depending on how you looked at it-to buy land during the Depression, when everyone else was buying food? True, Erskine Jackson nearly starved his family in the process, but now his descendants had plenty to keep them sustained for years to come. But Trent's father had taken the money and made more. And more. And more. Wise investments and more than a little luck, and he tripled the Jacksons' already-substantial portfolio. The word brought back memories of his childhood, when he was eternally hidden by his father's shadow, the skinny kid with untamable hair and gla.s.ses whose family happened to own a substantial portion of Atlanta. Could Trent help it if his grandfather had been wise enough-or stupid enough, depending on how you looked at it-to buy land during the Depression, when everyone else was buying food? True, Erskine Jackson nearly starved his family in the process, but now his descendants had plenty to keep them sustained for years to come. But Trent's father had taken the money and made more. And more. And more. Wise investments and more than a little luck, and he tripled the Jacksons' already-substantial portfolio.

Problem was, Trent wasn't the kind of guy to mooch off his father's triumph. He wanted to make a name for himself, the way his father had, and he wanted to do it with money he he generated. He'd always had an interest in the process of publication, specifically of putting his name on something that would be valued as an informative, yet innovative, form of media. He'd seen the opportunity to do that with the rise of webzine popularity, and he started his venture with DieHardAtlanta, an e-zine devoted to the testosterone segment of Atlanta. Articles focused on the highlights of male adulthood-cars, sports, and women. generated. He'd always had an interest in the process of publication, specifically of putting his name on something that would be valued as an informative, yet innovative, form of media. He'd seen the opportunity to do that with the rise of webzine popularity, and he started his venture with DieHardAtlanta, an e-zine devoted to the testosterone segment of Atlanta. Articles focused on the highlights of male adulthood-cars, sports, and women.

So far, the online publication was doing very well, and with minimum overhead incurred producing it on the web, Trent had already turned a nice profit. But the money wasn't the problem; the circulation was. He needed more people already hooked on DieHardAtlanta before he added a print edition. Sure, he could put the magazine on the shelves, but if people weren't primed to buy it, it'd be useless paper. Bottom line, he didn't have enough subscribers to pursue the real goal, adding a DieHardAtlanta print format that would eventually cover not only Atlanta interests, but interests in every large city around the country. And then the smaller cities. And then the world.

Might as well dream big.

But after examining the DieHardAtlanta financials, Keith had confirmed what Trent already suspected. He wasn't ready to run with the big dogs, which really p.i.s.sed him off. What else did he have to do? How could he get his name out more quickly, without sinking every dime he made into the process?

"I'll give you another bit of advice as well," Keith said.

"Why should you stop now?" Trent's thumb pressed solidly against the side of the pen until he felt the cylinder give. Having no desire to spray ink all over his desk, he put the thing down and waited for Keith's next suggestion.

"You need to get your name out there. People don't only need to know the magazine. They need to know you, Trent Jackson."

"You think last month's article in the Atlanta Business Journal Atlanta Business Journal didn't get my name out there?" Trent asked. "Or do you honestly think people in this city don't know about Jackson Enterprises?" didn't get my name out there?" Trent asked. "Or do you honestly think people in this city don't know about Jackson Enterprises?"

"They do, but I'm not talking about Jackson Enterprises, or even an article that refers to Collin Jackson's son. They didn't even call you by your name, you know."

"Sure they did," Trent challenged. "I read it."

"I did, too, and I read it again last night when I googled you online. You're listed as 'Collin Jackson's son, Trenton Jameson Jackson, also known as T.J.,' and they didn't even include a photo. Not much name recognition, if you ask me, particularly since the only people who called you T.J. were your folks. And that would have been the perfect article to mention your new business venture, but DieHardAtlanta wasn't anywhere on the page. It talked about your father, your grandfather, and the current descendant, who is, according to the journalist, merely living off his inheritance."

Keith was right. As far as advertising Trent's name, that particular article hadn't done it. Great. First he takes a hit by the magazine for being born a Jackson, and then he can't even use the article as a selling point to boost his advertising potential.

"Have you googled your name lately?" Keith continued.

"No. Why should I?" Trent watched the smoky clouds rise above Atlanta's skyline as darkness deepened around the illuminated buildings. The peaks of the architectural beauties claimed dominion once more and screamed to be seen and noticed. The way Trent wanted to be seen and noticed.

"I wondered if I should mention it." Keith leaned back in one of Trent's guest chairs and frowned as though pondering how much to tell. "But I did find your name prominently displayed on one website, not that I think it'll do much to increase your DieHardAtlanta business. But still, it is out there. And there is is an accompanying photo." an accompanying photo."

"Where?" Trent asked. Prominently displayed? Wasn't that a good thing? Exactly what they were wanting, in fact? But if it were, then why did Keith have that odd look on his face? The one he always got when the two of them were kids and trying to hide a secret. Like the time they wanted to see how long it'd take Trent's parents to realize they'd dumped an abundance of green Kool-Aid mix in the swimming pool to celebrate St. Patrick's.

"Does the name Marissa Kincaid ring any bells?" Keith asked.

Marissa Kincaid. Rissi. Rissi. Talk about a blast from the past. He hadn't seen Rissi Kincaid since-what?-junior high? But yeah, the name did ring bells, lots of bells. The intriguing girl with the jet-black hair and equally dark eyes definitely gave him a reason to get out of bed and go to school each morning. Rissi Kincaid was sa.s.sy beyond her years, and s.e.xy as h.e.l.l, for an eighth grader. Trent smirked. Did Rissi Kincaid still remember him, too? Obviously she did, or Keith wouldn't have found Trent's name on the Net . . . with Rissi's name? And where? Her blog, perhaps? Or another place? Talk about a blast from the past. He hadn't seen Rissi Kincaid since-what?-junior high? But yeah, the name did ring bells, lots of bells. The intriguing girl with the jet-black hair and equally dark eyes definitely gave him a reason to get out of bed and go to school each morning. Rissi Kincaid was sa.s.sy beyond her years, and s.e.xy as h.e.l.l, for an eighth grader. Trent smirked. Did Rissi Kincaid still remember him, too? Obviously she did, or Keith wouldn't have found Trent's name on the Net . . . with Rissi's name? And where? Her blog, perhaps? Or another place?

"Was it cla.s.smates.com?" he asked, unable to mask the curiosity piqued by Keith's mention of her name. Rissi Kincaid had moved to Florida after junior high, and Trent never saw her again. Since they didn't graduate from high school together, he hadn't seen her at reunions and therefore had no idea whether her hair was still as wild, or still as black, or whether those almond-shaped eyes and that raspy voice could still make his breathing hitch a notch.

Then again, he was a young, inexperienced teen back then. Times had changed. But he couldn't deny that there was a definite curiosity spiking at wondering what had happened to Rissi. Had the girl who invaded most of his teenage fantasies turned out as s.e.xy as he'd antic.i.p.ated? h.e.l.l, he should have looked her up, but then again, he hadn't really thought about her in years. Until now. "Or was it a web log?" he asked.

"Google your name." Keith remained seated, but indicated the computer screen, which had converted from the DieHardAtlanta balance sheet to Trent's screen saver, the webzine's logo. The bold image, "DieHardAtlanta" in thick red letters with a collage of sports, cars, and women beneath, disappeared when Trent moved the mouse. He quickly accessed the Google site, entered his name in the search engine, and waited.

Of the results displayed on the page, the only "Trent" and "Jackson" that actually referred to him was the first one, on a site listed as TheGuyCheats.com, and the partial amount of verbiage displayed for the reference inferred that "as you can tell from the photo, my string of cheaters started a long time ago, with a boy named Trent Jackson Trent Jackson . . ." . . ."

"What the h.e.l.l," he muttered, clicking on the link. A painfully bright conglomeration of red, pink, and white filled his screen, and Trent winced as his eyes adjusted to the colorful invasion. On the left side of the screen, a waterfall of sorts trickled steadily down the edge, a waterfall of what appeared to be . . . hearts? "What is this?"

"That?" Keith couldn't hold his chuckle as he explained. "That is an offshoot of the ever-popular Atlanta TellAll site."

"AtlantaTellAll?" Trent squinted to follow the path of the continual waterfall. The mult.i.tude of tiny pink, white, and red hearts fell aimlessly to the bottom of the screen, where they all cracked open like broken pottery. "What's AtlantaTellAll?"

"I guess you could call it the female counterpart to your DieHardAtlanta," Keith said. "It's a place for women to get all the latest info on events, and gossip . . . oh, and s.e.x."

Trent's brows. .h.i.tched up a notch. "And you found my name there?" Had one of his former conquests said something about him on the site? And wouldn't that be a good thing? He wasn't the type to brag, but Trent knew d.a.m.n well that he was good in bed. True, it wasn't exactly the type of advertising he'd planned to use to garner interest in DieHardAtlanta, but hey, if it worked . . .

However, he'd never been in bed with Rissi Kincaid. And that that was the name Keith had mentioned. was the name Keith had mentioned.

"Like I said, this isn't AtlantaTellAll; it's an offshoot. That site has all of the interesting columns. This one is more of an insightful database. And you're in it."

Trent read the site name again. TheGuyCheats.com. "I'm listed in a cheater database?"

"You're not only listed; you happen to be cheater number one, if you sort them chronologically. If you sort alphabetically, though, you're near the middle." Keith tried, and failed, to keep a straight face.

There were four broken hearts, bright red with thick jagged gaps in the center, lining the right side of the screen. The top heart displayed a guy's photo, a surfer-looking dude with a smile a little too bright and a tan a lot too orange. Beneath the heart was the guy's name, Deke Rivers, and the caption Cheater of the Day Cheater of the Day. His face looked even more odd with the jagged gap in the center. The second heart was filled with words, and Trent had to move back and forth between the broken pieces to read a Patty Loveless song t.i.tle. Beneath that heart was the caption Song of the Day. Song of the Day. The third broken heart had the words "Tell Us What You Think" written across the two halves, and the caption signified The third broken heart had the words "Tell Us What You Think" written across the two halves, and the caption signified Cheater Polls Cheater Polls. And the final heart was labeled The Cheaters The Cheaters.

Trent clicked on the last broken heart, and a vibrant red page sprang to life with Cheater Database Cheater Database stamped prominently across the top. Beneath the words, male photos formed a checkered pattern on the screen. And the first of those photos was Trent. In eighth grade. stamped prominently across the top. Beneath the words, male photos formed a checkered pattern on the screen. And the first of those photos was Trent. In eighth grade.

The photo, obviously scanned from that hideous yearbook shot, captured the self-conscious adolescent who hid behind a mop of black waves and gla.s.ses. A Harry Potter type who had yet to realize that he was, indeed, rather cool. Trent was smiling in the picture, but it was a forced smile that said he was only doing it because he was supposed to, and he looked like he wanted to be anywhere but in front of that camera. That That was the photo Rissi chose to put on this site? Because there was no doubt that she had put him on this odd list; the subt.i.tles beneath his picture identified him as was the photo Rissi chose to put on this site? Because there was no doubt that she had put him on this odd list; the subt.i.tles beneath his picture identified him as Trent Jackson, Cheater Trent Jackson, Cheater, followed with another line designating Marissa Kincaid as Cheatee Cheatee.

Trent scanned the photos, fifteen of them, five rows of three head shots. Then the bottom of the screen indicated over ten more pages of cheaters. He scrolled down the sidebar to view the other guys on page one and noted that four of them had the same cheatee, Marissa. No wonder she was p.i.s.sed. This was exactly what the feisty girl he knew in junior high would do to anyone who hurt her; she'd get even. He'd always admired her s.p.u.n.k and sa.s.s back then, but that was before she put him on her cheating list. And why? He'd never even dated Rissi Kincaid, much less cheated on her.

"I'm the first one?" he asked.

"Only because the default sorting method is chronological. You can change that, but I a.s.sume most people don't." He smiled. "Click on your photo, heartbreaker," Keith instructed.

"This doesn't make sense," Trent said, moving the mouse again. "She's confused. We never dated. h.e.l.l, she left before high school."

"Click the photo," Keith repeated, smirking, d.a.m.n him.

Trent did, and read the details on the screen.

As you can tell from the photo, my string of cheaters started a long time ago, with a boy named Trent Jackson. I admit that adding him to my personal list of cheaters is stretching it a bit, but hey, I have to start the list with someone, and he is the first guy who broke my heart.

What did he do, you ask? Okay. Picture this. A thirteen-year-old girl in eighth grade is afraid she's going to be the only one who doesn't have a date for the Sadie Hawkins dance. You all know about the Sadie Hawkins thing, don't you? That's where traditional roles are reversed and girls ask guys to the dance. Not an easy task for a girl that age, let me tell you. But I'd been friends with Trent and thought he was a safe bet. I actually thought he had something of a crush on me, so I wasn't surprised when he said he'd go. But then, the week of the dance, I got braces. And wouldn't you know, the night of the dance, after I'd spent the entire day getting ready to go with all of my friends, Trent Jackson called and canceled. And he went to the movies with Donna Pritchett instead. He may have said my "metal mouth" wasn't a big deal, but I knew it was, and the fact that he went out with Donna and left me to go to the dance alone proved it.

From that point on, my life has been filled with cheaters, as you saw on the previous page. So that's why Trent is here. Now, if you know any other cheating stories about Trent Jackson, please, by all means, dish here. That's what we're here for, to warn the world of cheaters and take preventive measures against future broken hearts.-Marissa "Hey, at least none of your old flames have posted any comments," Keith said, leaning forward to view the screen from his spot on the opposite side of the desk. "A shame they don't have a more current picture."

"Yeah, a real shame," Trent said sarcastically. Rissi did this? After twenty years?

Keith laughed, then settled back in his chair. "h.e.l.l, it isn't really a bad thing. More funny than anything else. I mean, she hasn't even a.s.sociated you with DieHard Atlanta, so it shouldn't do anything to hurt your business, but I did think you'd want to see it. You know, if they had one of these for women, I could add one to the list, but the rules state male cheaters only." Keith's ex-wife had left him for her boss three years ago, and the guy hadn't quite gotten over it yet. "But that's neither here nor there. What's important is that this site shouldn't hurt your DieHardAtlanta business. It's obviously a site meant to let female cheatees vent their frustrations. And you've got to admit, it's a rather imaginative idea. That Marissa Kincaid must be quite the character."

"She was twenty years ago," Trent said. Obviously she was still as spirited now.

"Well, like I said, this really shouldn't hurt your business. Too bad it isn't an advertising angle we could use to give you the exposure you need for DieHardAtlanta. Kind of hard to publicize that the preteen kid on TheGuy Cheats.com is someone who deserves to have his magazine purchased."

Trent stared at his picture on the screen. An idea played across his thoughts, then the notion began to solidify, and Trent smiled.

"What?" Keith asked.

"Maybe this isn't the angle we were looking for to advertise DieHardAtlanta, and me," Trent said. "But that doesn't mean that we can't use Rissi's unusual database to our advantage."

"Okay, I'll bite," Keith said, his blue eyes intense with antic.i.p.ation. "What have you got in mind?"

"Watch and see." Trent laughed. This was going to be fun, a chance to do a bit of sparring with an old friend and help his webzine grow in the process. And the fact that the old friend was Rissi Kincaid only made it better. He could hardly wait.

In the same manner that a red tie defines power for males, the red dress defines power for females. Power . . . and s.e.x.

-AMY B BROOKS

Chapter 4.

You're sure about the red dress?" Marissa asked. She had a time trying to decide which outfit to wear for this interview. If her picture made it into the AJ-C AJ-C, she wanted to look good. d.a.m.n good. Smart and confident and successful, like a woman who has everything going for her . . . even if her history of being cheated on was now on the Net for the world to see.

What had she been thinking?

"I'm sure," Amy said. "And it's a little late to change anyway. The reporter and the photographer have already seen you."

Marissa's hand moved toward her mouth, then she shook her head and put it back in her lap. She would not not be biting her fingernails when the reporter returned. She'd maintain her composure if it killed her, and if her heart kept racing, it just might. be biting her fingernails when the reporter returned. She'd maintain her composure if it killed her, and if her heart kept racing, it just might.

Amy scooted closer to her on the couch, propped her arm on the back, and gave Marissa's shoulder a comforting squeeze. "Calm down. Trust me, this is a good thing. I remember when I was at Adventurous Accessories, the Atlanta Journal Atlanta Journal ran a story on Pinky, and my sales went off the chart. Having them request a feature story on TheGuyCheats.com is pure gold. It's the kind of publicity you can't buy." ran a story on Pinky, and my sales went off the chart. Having them request a feature story on TheGuyCheats.com is pure gold. It's the kind of publicity you can't buy."

Marissa forced a smile. "Pinky" was the G-spot-finding vibrator Amy had developed when she was still employed by the famed s.e.x product company. Obviously, Amy Brooks didn't mind being known for her part in Pinky's success. However, Marissa being known for her part in the success of TheGuyCheats.com meant Marissa being known as a woman who'd been cheated on . . . fifteen times! Not that she'd ever actually counted them, but the Atlanta Journal Atlanta Journal reporter obviously had; she mentioned it when she requested the interview. And was that reporter obviously had; she mentioned it when she requested the interview. And was that really really something Marissa wanted as the feather in her cap? And did it matter now? Because come Sunday, merely three days from now, not only would her cheatee history be on the web, it'd be in print, for all of the something Marissa wanted as the feather in her cap? And did it matter now? Because come Sunday, merely three days from now, not only would her cheatee history be on the web, it'd be in print, for all of the AJ-C AJ-C's circulation to see.

"Candi has been in there for a while," Marissa said, listening to the m.u.f.fled voices beyond the closed door to her kitchen. The reporter had asked to do the interview at Marissa's office so she could get a feel for the work environment where the three women created the webzine. When Marissa explained that they worked in her apartment, the journalist didn't miss a beat. She asked to interview them here, and Marissa agreed. Now she wondered whether that had been a mistake. This wasn't exactly a professional setting, but then again, many online businesses were run out of homes, right? So it wasn't such a bad thing, was it?

Amy reached for Marissa's forearm and gently tugged it to move her hand from her mouth. Marissa hadn't even realized she'd started biting her nails . . . again.

"Is this not the woman who said she wanted this thing to succeed so she could quit the day job?" Amy asked.

"Yeah," Marissa said, "but-"

"Uh-uh," Amy said, shaking her head and sending her ponytail swinging. "No buts. This is what you wanted, what we we wanted, and we're going for it. And you have to admit that we're doing it right. We only started the new website two weeks ago, and we've already got the attention of one of the biggest newspapers in the South. What's not to be proud of?" wanted, and we're going for it. And you have to admit that we're doing it right. We only started the new website two weeks ago, and we've already got the attention of one of the biggest newspapers in the South. What's not to be proud of?"

Marissa thought about that and realized Amy was right. This was was what she wanted, even if it left her a tad vulnerable with everyone knowing her pathetic dating history. And really, was the fact that everyone would learn about it what was bothering her, or was it the fact that she'd never-not once-ended up the victor in the relationship? Or even the one who left someone else wondering what went wrong? And why the h.e.l.l hadn't she been? Because she was too nice, that's why. And she was tired of it. what she wanted, even if it left her a tad vulnerable with everyone knowing her pathetic dating history. And really, was the fact that everyone would learn about it what was bothering her, or was it the fact that she'd never-not once-ended up the victor in the relationship? Or even the one who left someone else wondering what went wrong? And why the h.e.l.l hadn't she been? Because she was too nice, that's why. And she was tired of it.

"Whoa, what's up with that?" Amy asked, one dark brow raised in curiosity.

"What?"

"That glare that says you want to hurt someone. Five seconds ago you looked like you wanted to throw up. Care to share what you're thinking, because I'm betting it's good."

A soft knock sounded at the door, and Marissa, suspecting who was on the other side, got up to answer it without responding to Amy's question. She'd just given herself a mental kick to the caboose, and that was all that mattered. She'd do this interview, and she'd let women everywhere know that no one, not Marissa or anyone else, deserves to be cheated on. She pulled the door open and smiled.

"Mama done yet?" Bo asked. He'd obviously just woken up, and evidently his daddy hadn't done a very good job at removing his bedhead. Blond curls sprang outward in all directions, primarily straight up. He cradled a squirming Petie in his arms while Landon stood behind them grinning. Amy had volunteered Landon and Bo to watch Petie during the interview, but evidently, Bo's curiosity had gotten the best of him. He peeked in and gave Amy a smile so big that Marissa was certain she could see all his tiny white baby teeth. Lord, he was a cute kid. "Ya done?" he asked. "Daddy's gotta go to work."

"Not yet, sweetie," Amy said, as the kitchen door opened and Candi came out. Having come straight from work to the interview, she wore red scrubs with a matching red scrunchie holding back her long hair. The reporter seemed even more excited about the fact that one of the three women producing the webzine worked at Grady Memorial and asked to interview Candi first. No doubt she covered Candi's day job as part of her story. Marissa's day job as a computer programmer for Web Solutions wasn't nearly as exciting, but Marissa suspected they wouldn't cover much of her day job anyway. She a.s.sumed they'd cover her dating history, and suddenly, she felt quite ready to expose the details of it. To say how she'd been done wrong and how she was determined to never let it happen again, to herself or any other woman. The cheater database at TheGuyCheats.com would ensure that, and it had been Marissa's idea. Amy was right. Why shouldn't she be proud?

"Your mom is next," Candi told Bo, "and while she's in there, you and I can play with Petie, if you want. We can go to the playground." She turned her attention to Landon. "You can go on to work. Bo can stay with me until Amy's done. No problem. I'm on the first day of three days off, so I'd love to spend time playing with Bo."

"Sounds good," Landon said, while Amy made her way to the door to kiss her husband bye.

"I'm glad you were able to go in late," she said. "I didn't want to wake Bo up, and I'm sure he enjoyed the two of you playing with Petie this morning."

"That's what he told me," Landon said, smiling at his son, then giving Amy another kiss. "See you tonight." Then he turned toward Bo and the dog. "And I'll see you tonight, too." He ruffled Bo's blond curls, then scratched behind Petie's ears, while the puppy licked his son's chin. "You have fun on the playground with Candi and Petie."

"I will," Bo said, producing another wide smile.