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sorts. It was
Cam’s idea for me to stay at home and rest today. I know he’s
worried I’ll have another panic attack or breakdown like last time,
but I don’t feel the same blind panic anymore. Instead, I’m
restless, trying not to think about what happened in the interview
– and worse, the time with Clayton, all those years ago.
    I need a distraction, something to take my
mind off the terrible charges hanging over me.
    Cam could distract me, no problem…
    I shiver, remembering the scene last night.
I was barely keeping it together, but he knew exactly what to do to
bring me back to myself. Just one word from him in that sexy,
dominant voice, and all my anxiety seemed to melt away.
    And what happened after…
    I feel my body get hot just remembering. He
knew just what I needed: the pain that focuses my desire, that
makes the pleasure so intense. I was completely consumed by the
incredible things he did to my body, it was all I could do to beg
for more.
    I gave myself up to him, went further than
we ever did before. But it didn’t feel dirty or wrong, it was
amazing, the intimacy of trusting him to explore my most private
places, to bring me to the edge of ecstasy and control my wrenching
release. I’ve never felt so alive, so fulfilled, or so loved.
    It made all my worries disappear – but only
for a while. Now, I’m reminded the reality of my situation. Besides
Olivia’s caring texts, my phone is overflowing with faux-concerned
voicemails from journalists and old supposed-friends, all wanting
the inside scoop on the hottest gossip in the city. I haven’t even
looked online, I can’t bring myself to see what people are saying
about me.
    But every minute I’m cooped up here alone,
I’m tempted. I wander into Cam’s office and move towards the
computer. Just one quick peek—
    No!
    I force myself out of the office and down
the hall. I grab my purse, and put on a big pair of shades to hide
my face. I can’t stay trapped here forever, I need to feel human
again, so I exit the apartment (grateful that Cam’s request for me
to stay home wasn’t an order) and speed-dial the one person who can
make me feel more like myself again.
    “Hi, Serge? Do you have room for a cut at
three?”
    * * *
    I figure that some time at the salon is just
what I need, and for a blissful half-hour, it is. Serge gives me an
amazing scalp massage, and I relax while he blows out my hair. When
he gives me a pointed look in the mirror and asks how I’ve been, I
tell him I’d much rather hear about his week, and like the angel he
is, he gives my shoulder a reassuring squeeze and gleefully
recounts his nightmarish blind date from last night.
    The hum of dryers and gleaming polished
mirrors lull me into forgetting everything; I stay hidden in a
booth in the back of the salon and flip through gossip magazines,
pretending just for a moment that I won’t be on the front page of
the next issue.
    “We can fit you in for a mani-pedi, if you
like,” he says, when my hair is a glossy mane.
    “Perfect.”
    I follow him to a chair near the front of
the salon and take a seat. I keep reading my magazines, but slowly,
I realize there’s a strange hush around me.
    I look around. The rich, perfect clients are
all shooting looks my way, their heads bent together to
whisper.
    “…last night, they dragged her off in
handcuffs…”
    “…scandal. But you know, she was adopted
from a bad family.”
    “Once trailer trash, always trailer
trash.”
    “…I heard she killed him in cold blood…”
    Blood rushes to my cheeks. I want to bolt
right out of here, but my feet are plunged in warm water, and
besides, I don’t want to give them the satisfaction.
    Act like you don’t hear them, I order
myself. Fake that you don’t care.
    I turn a page, pretending to read my
magazine, but the whispers only grow louder. I shift in my seat,
feeling sick to my stomach. I wish I could make myself invisible,
and hide from their accusing stares.
    Is this what it’s