"The paper!"

"c.r.a.p, she's onto us," Amy blurted into the phone. "I'll call you back later." She hung up quickly, while her face reddened, and her hands clamped down on Marissa's shoulders. "Don't panic."

Oh. My. G.o.d. When a woman who has designed s.e.x toys for a living looks like she'd rather die than tell you what the Atlanta Journal Atlanta Journal has printed about you, that's definitely a reason to panic. So Marissa did. has printed about you, that's definitely a reason to panic. So Marissa did.

"What-does-it-say?"

"It really isn't too bad, all things considered," Amy said, as the front door slammed, and Petie darted into the bedroom in front of Candi. He waited beside the bed until Candi picked him up and put him near Marissa's feet. Then he promptly flopped down with his tail moving slowly between his outstretched back legs and his pink tongue hanging from his mouth, panting through his excitement at the unexpected company.

"You didn't tell her yet?" Candi accused.

"Mona called," Amy said defensively. "I didn't get the chance."

Candi looked at the clock. "Well, that is is the reason you got me out of bed at this unG.o.dly hour to come over here. I thought the plan was to beat Mona to the punch." the reason you got me out of bed at this unG.o.dly hour to come over here. I thought the plan was to beat Mona to the punch."

"Which we did," Amy argued.

"Hel-lo," Marissa said, pushing Amy's hands away from her shoulders and straightening in the bed. She reached toward the nightstand to turn on the lamp. Even with daylight filling the room at a rapid pace, she wanted more lighting when she read whatever had her friends worried enough to beat her mother's morning call. "A little reminder for both of you. The subject of this conversation is in the room and more than ready to see that paper. Who has it? And why were you up this early to get it, anyway?"

"Bo woke up at four-thirty wanting some juice," Amy explained. "By the time I got him back to sleep, I was wide awake, and since I was up, I checked to see if the paper had come." She shrugged. "I wanted to read the article."

"Then after she read it, she called me."

"And now you're both stalling. Where is it?"

Amy lifted her oversized Adventurous Accessories T-shirt and withdrew the folded newspaper from the waistband of her jeans. "I had planned on breaking it to you gently, over Ihop's Rooty Tooty Fresh N' Fruity."

"It's that bad?" Marissa asked. If it called for that much comfort food, then it probably was. "What did she say?"

"Who?" Amy asked.

"Vivian Moore," Marissa said. "The reporter. What did she say?"

"You should ask what did he he say," Candi said. say," Candi said.

"He? Who, the photographer? I thought he was just there for the pictures."

"He was," Amy said, slowly unfolding the paper. "But that isn't the he he Candi's talking about. Here. It's on the front page of the Living Section. Um, you can't miss it." She turned the paper toward Marissa and squinted in preparation for Marissa's response. Candi's talking about. Here. It's on the front page of the Living Section. Um, you can't miss it." She turned the paper toward Marissa and squinted in preparation for Marissa's response.

She needn't have panicked. Marissa was too shocked to say a word.

Two things caught her attention like a potent one-two punch. One, the headline. She Said, He Said. She Said, He Said. And two, the photos beneath. Two photos, at least five by seven inches each, claimed the majority of the page. And two, the photos beneath. Two photos, at least five by seven inches each, claimed the majority of the page.

On the left, a picture of Marissa at her computer, with the photo of the only teenage cheater on the site displayed on her monitor. The red dress, as Amy had promised, looked nice in the color photo, and Marissa was thankful she'd taken the time to have her hair trimmed. The short and sa.s.sy cut had the very modern, upbeat appearance of a professional at the top of her game. Beneath her photo, a bold caption read "Marissa Kincaid Claims He Cheated." "Marissa Kincaid Claims He Cheated."

The picture on the right side of the paper featured a gorgeous man who Marissa was absolutely certain she'd never seen before-you'd have to be dead to forget a guy like that-who also smiled for the camera. Jet-black waves teased a strong forehead and accented seductive, smoky eyes and a megawatt grin that made her chest clench of its own accord. Unlike her photograph, his was taken from the opposite side of his computer, so you couldn't see what he viewed on the screen. Was he looking at her site? Was that what this was about? A guy's take on her cheater database? And even if it was, was that so bad?

Before asking Candi and Amy their opinion, however, Marissa noted other distinctive differences in the two pictures. His had obviously been taken in an office setting, with him sitting at a masculine desk and the Atlanta skyline displayed significantly behind him. In Marissa's picture, there was no denying that she was in a residential setting, a very plain residential setting. Her apartment was nice enough, but it didn't compare to this guy's work locale. Still, that didn't bother her too much. Her goal was to prove she could make a successful living staying at home and being her own boss, and she was well on the way to achieving that goal, right?

But why did the reporter include this guy in her article? And who was he?

Perhaps if she hadn't been so captivated with his looks, she'd have read the caption beneath his photo sooner. Because once she finally glanced down and read the line, she knew exactly who he was, and exactly what she needed to do.

Hurl.

"Oh, no," she said, shaking her head as she read the single line.

"Trent Jackson Claims She Lied."

Then Marissa got it. She looked back at her photo and realized that the image displayed on her computer monitor was the young teen photo of Trent Jackson, his black hair overpowering his skinny face and his self-conscious smile giving him the final touch of a total dweeb package.

Her attention jerked back to the to-die-for hunk in the other photo. That That was Trent Jackson? Sitting in that plush office and smiling at her as though he owned the world? was Trent Jackson? Sitting in that plush office and smiling at her as though he owned the world?

Did he?

And as if Amy knew her train of thought, she cleared her throat and asked, "I guess you didn't realize that he was Trent Jackson of the the Jacksons? As in, Trent Jackson, Jackson Enterprises CEO, huh?" Jacksons? As in, Trent Jackson, Jackson Enterprises CEO, huh?"

"The sole owner of Jackson Enterprises," Candi said, adding insult to injury.

"I remember the kids in school saying he had money," Marissa admitted numbly, while Petie, evidently sensing her distress, scampered into her lap and licked her right elbow. "Not now, Petie." Momentarily defeated, Petie lay down and looked miserable, the same way Marissa felt. She handed the paper to Amy. "You read it. I can't."

"Sure you don't want to head to Ihop before you hear it? I mean, I'm hungry, and I can almost taste the strawberry syrup, whipped cream, b.u.t.ter . . ." Candi started, but halted her progress when Marissa sent a h.e.l.l-no look her way.

"All right then," Amy said, flicking her wrists to snap the paper into place. "Scarred for life by the acts of a thirteen-year-old, Marissa Kincaid, along with her friends Amy Brooks and Candi Moody, has added a new dimension to her AtlantaTellAll.com e-zine. Ms. Kincaid, a computer programmer by day, is very excited about all of the hype this new dimension is generating. Accessible via a red heart pierced by a dagger, Ms. Kincaid's new site, TheGuyCheats.com, is essentially a cheater database." Amy peered over the paper at Marissa, who made every effort to show no expression, then Amy turned her attention back to the article, while Marissa mentally kicked herself for agreeing to the interview.

"First things first," Amy continued reading. "What's a cheater database? According to Ms. Kincaid's business partner Candi Moody, a nurse at Grady Memorial, it's a website where women can report men of the serial nature-not serial killers, but serial cheaters. In other words, women report men who have cheated on them, and may also search a potential date's name to see if he has committed any prior offenses, i.e., whether he's cheated on someone else."

"Good description," Marissa managed.

"Thanks," Candi said, as Amy continued.

"While Ms. Kincaid had the inspiration for the new site, the web design, a waterfall of cascading hearts that break into shards upon impact, came from her other business partner, Amy Brooks, formerly a s.e.x toy designer for Adventurous Accessories and now a stay-at-home mom." Amy paused. "Not a bad description of me, is it?"

When Marissa only stared, Amy flashed a grin, then went back to the page.

"There are fifteen cheaters listed in the Cheaters Cheaters section of the site who personally cheated on Ms. Kincaid. Perhaps she should consider giving these fifteen their own section of the site; she could even dub it section of the site who personally cheated on Ms. Kincaid. Perhaps she should consider giving these fifteen their own section of the site; she could even dub it Marissa's Many Monsters Marissa's Many Monsters.

"Marissa's Many Monsters?" Marissa repeated, appalled at the reporter's audacity.

Amy gave her an apologetic shrug, then kept reading. "But while all of this is interesting enough, it gets better. Because the thirteen-year-old boy that set the pattern for all future cheaters to follow has a name that you may recognize, or at least a last name you'll know. Jackson. As in, Jackson Enterprises. Yes, the son of Collin Jackson has grown up, and contrary to reports in the Atlanta Business Journal Atlanta Business Journal, he isn't merely living off his family money. Oh, no, Trent Jackson has started his own e-zine, DieHard Atlanta, which, according to Mr. Jackson, is doing very well. However, he suspects his newest venture, inspired by Ms. Kincaid, will do even better."

Amy stopped reading. "That's the end of the 'She Said' section."

"Uh-huh," Marissa said, feeling sick. "So give me his." Petie tottered up Marissa's side, then licked her chin before settling against her heart. Marissa rubbed his back while she waited for the worst. At least doing something with her hands would keep her from biting her nails.

"Here, you take this one," Amy said, handing the paper over to Candi.

"Now who's the coward?" Candi asked, then began. "While residents of Atlanta may not be familiar with the name Trenton Jameson Jackson, everyone is more than familiar with his business namesake, Jackson Enterprises. The Jackson family has been a staple in Atlanta since the late 1920s, when Erskine Jackson invested in land in what is now the northern and southern portions of I-285. His son, Collin, took Erskine's a.s.sets and invested wisely to further increase the Jackson Enterprises fortune, and now it's time for the grandson, Trenton Jameson, or Trent, to make his mark. Like Marissa Kincaid, Trent Jackson pursued the ever-growing e-zine business as his first venture. Jackson foresees a print edition of the DieHardAtlanta magazine in the near future and is working to establish the equity to pursue that goal on his own, without using the a.s.sets of the business his father and grandfather established." Candi stopped reading. "That's impressive, isn't it? That he's wanting to succeed on his own?"

Marissa nodded, but wasn't surprised. One of the things she remembered about the boy in middle school was his determination to do things his own way. That was the reason she a.s.sumed they clicked as friends. She liked to stand out, and while he didn't seem to want to stand out, he did like making his own decisions. Obviously he still did.

"Here's the rest." Candi visibly swallowed, then trudged on. "After finding himself featured in the cheater database on Ms. Kincaid's TheGuyCheats.com site, Mr. Jackson decided that he would follow his old friend's lead by starting a similar site, a database where men can access information about women who have a history of being less than truthful. Oddly enough, Mr. Jackson started his site with a page detailing the woman who gave him the idea, Marissa Kincaid. In fact, you can view Trent Jackson's comments about Ms. Kincaid at his new site, an offshoot of DieHardAtlanta.com. The site, aptly t.i.tled TheGirlLies.com, is accessible from his original site via an icon of a hand slapped over a mouth (another idea that Jackson says he had in response to Ms. Kincaid's daggered heart icon). And now, when you check out TheGirlLies.com, you will learn that Mr. Jackson is showcasing Marissa Kincaid as the Liar of the Month Liar of the Month." Candi stopped. "That's the end."

"The h.e.l.l it is," Marissa said, jerking the covers aside and climbing out of the bed. "Liar of the month? Of the month month?" She stomped across the room, yanked open a couple of drawers, and removed a T-shirt and shorts, then headed toward the bathroom to brush her teeth and change out of her nightshirt. After brushing her teeth so hard her gums hurt, she emerged from the bathroom. "Our site features a different cheater each day, and he puts me front and center for an entire month?" she asked, while Amy, Candi, and Petie watched her from the bed.

"Appears that way," Candi said. "Though I haven't seen his site yet."

"Me either," Amy added.

"Well, by all means, let's go take a look," Marissa said, as Petie hopped off the bed and scampered toward the kitchen. "I'll feed Petie. You guys bring up the jerk's site."

"I'm on it," Amy said, moving toward the laptop perched on the breakfast nook table.

"I'll make some coffee." Familiar with the layout of Marissa's kitchen, Candi easily found everything she needed and had coffee brewing by the time Petie began chomping on his Iams puppy food. Within minutes, Candi had three tall cups of coffee poured, sugar and cream for Amy, just sugar for herself, and black for Marissa.

Marissa accepted her cup, then she and Candi, carrying the other two, returned to Amy, clicking madly on the computer keys.

"You can't just key in TheGirlLies.com to get to his site," Amy said matter-of-factly. She took her coffee cup from Candi and took a sip as the computer whirred in response to her commands.

"What do you mean?" Marissa asked, peering over Amy's shoulder and seeing the home page of DieHardAtlanta.

"When you enter TheGirlLies.com, the screen that comes up is the one for his original site, DieHardAtlanta. Cool graphics on that site, by the way," Amy added, while Marissa emitted a loud "Hmph."

"Anyway," Amy continued, "he's got it set up so that even if you're only wanting to look at TheGirlLies.com, you can't get there without also viewing DieHardAtlanta. Clever way of manipulating your audience," she noted, then snapped her mouth shut when Marissa snarled.

"But the new site is coming up," Candi said, watching the images on the screen transform, then gasping when Marissa's photo, not the one in the paper, but another one evidently taken by the AJ-C AJ-C photographer, popped into view. "Nice picture," she said consolingly. photographer, popped into view. "Nice picture," she said consolingly.

Marissa gaped at the image and remembered exactly when Carl had snapped it, when the red dress that looked perfectly businesslike in the other photo had slipped off one shoulder. In this picture, she looked over that shoulder toward the photographer, and he'd cut the computer image off completely, so it looked as if she was purposely posing, seductively posing, for him.

"No way," Marissa said.

"It is a good picture," Amy said. "I don't think I've ever seen one of you that looked so-" She paused.

"s.e.xy?" Candi added, while Marissa dropped into a chair at the table.

"I look like a s.l.u.t."

"You look like a model," Amy corrected.

"A trashy model," Marissa shot back, looking at her hair in the picture. Every now and then, her curls got the best of the short cut and caused a stray swirl to christen her temple. Like in the picture. "I look like Betty Boop." All she needed was a s.e.xy pucker and her b.o.o.bs hanging out of a strapless dress. Wait a minute-one strap was gone. h.e.l.l, she was halfway there.

"Oh, my, you do!" Amy said, smiling. Then she turned toward Marissa and miraculously both corners of her mouth faded to a straight line. "Sorry."

"What does he say about me?" Marissa said. "Scroll down to the text."

Amy moved the mouse, then started reading. To herself.

"Read it out loud," Marissa complained.

"Noooo," Amy said slowly, "I don't think so."

Marissa scooted her chair closer to Amy's. "Is it that bad?" She quickly scanned the short paragraph, while her stomach churned. The actual verbiage from Trent Jackson wasn't all that terrible. Basically, he asked site visitors to vote for her as the Worst of the Worst Worst of the Worst liar in his liar in his Liar Polls Liar Polls section, and he claimed that she didn't tell the entire truth in her depiction of what happened when they were in middle school, so therefore, she lied. section, and he claimed that she didn't tell the entire truth in her depiction of what happened when they were in middle school, so therefore, she lied.

"I told the truth," Marissa said.

"Maybe there's more to it than you realized," Candi offered.

"You are not not taking his side," Marissa snapped. "Tell me you aren't." taking his side," Marissa snapped. "Tell me you aren't."

"No," Candi quickly clarified. "I'm just saying that maybe there was more going on with him-oh, never mind. I'm the one who kept taking her husband back when he cheated, remember? Don't listen to me. Obviously, I'm a sucker for a gorgeous smile and to-die-for eyes."

Amy coughed on her coffee. "Trust me, Marissa doesn't want to hear about what a hottie he turned out to be. Not now."

Marissa looked again at the computer monitor, where Trent Jackson's photo resided in the upper left corner of the screen, beside the words "Trent's Liar of the Month." He was a hottie, no doubt about that, but he was also calling her a liar. "It doesn't matter what he looks like," she said. "He's a jerk."

"Exactly," Amy said. "And a cheating jerk."

"You know, maybe it'll help when we have other women responding to his cheater page. We do ask for comments, right? Have we had any hits on Trent Jackson?"

"Not yet," Amy said, collapsing the window displaying Marissa's information on TheGirlLies.com and bringing up Trent's individual cheater page on their site. "But I expect we will after today's article is circulated around town and on the net. The AJ-C AJ-C is on the web, you know." is on the web, you know."

"Good," Marissa said. "I hope every girl he's cheated on comes forward with a story. We'll show everyone what kind of guy Trenton Jameson Jackson has turned out to be, family money behind him or not."

"That sounds good," Candi said. "But there is one small problem with that scenario."

"What's that?" Marissa said, while Petie, done with his meal, whimpered at her feet.

"Didn't I see a link at the bottom of the section about you on his site?" Candi asked. "A place where guys can post about you?"

Marissa leaned down and scooped up the puppy, her hand shaking slightly as she brought him to her lap. "Amy? Was there a link to post comments about me? Because I didn't see it."

Amy frowned slightly, then swapped the windows on the computer again and shifted the laptop so Marissa had a better view. There, at the bottom of the paragraph about her, was a bright red icon, the same one that was on the DieHardAtlanta site, a mouth with a hand slapped over it. Beneath this icon, though, were the words "Know Marissa? Care to Share?" And following that were two words that made Marissa's blood run cold.

Four comments.

"Go on. Let's see them." Marissa waited while Amy clicked on the link.

The first comment was from Jamie.

First of all, awesome site, Trent! I admit I have been addicted to DieHardAtlanta for quite some time, but this site is even more righteous. Now, for comments about Marissa Kincaid. I dated Marissa a few times, about a month ago. We had some laughs, but the girl copped a serious att.i.tude when she figured out I'm not merely a one-woman kind of guy, or more accurately, when she figured out I'm not a one-man kind of guy either. Speaking of which, what's your preference, man? Do you only play for one team? And if you're also the adventuresome type, shoot me an email sometime. We'll talk.

"I'm not believing it. Jamie asked him out," Amy said, her eyes bulging at the screen.

"Sure looks that way," Candi said with a snicker.

"That's just wrong."

"Well, look at the bright side, nothing really bad was said about you in that one," Amy said happily.