“I’m going to call him—” Amanda began.

“No you’re not,” he cut her off abruptly. “I just told you, he’s on the field. He can’t answer. You’re going to shut up, stop wasting time, and do exactly what I tell you.”

“I’m not doing anything till I speak to him. He’ll know what to do,” she said aloud, mostly to calm herself.

“Know what to do?” Alan’s voice started rising again. “He hasn’t done anything right since he got mixed up with you. Making a damn fool of himself, following you around like some lost puppy. I don’t know what kind of spell you’ve put on him, but don’t you think you’ve fucked him up enough?”

The tears were in her eyes in a blink. No matter how much she despised Alan Shaw, there was truth to his words, and he was using them to his full advantage, throwing them in her face.

“How did you find out about this?’ Amanda tried to sound focused and rational and not like she was about to start bawling.

“It’s my job to stay one step ahead, something you obviously didn’t think of,” he scoffed, refusing to divulge his sources and opting instead to continue the verbal beat-down. “You would think with a family on the political fringe, you would be better at it.”

Her careless actions would now also cost her parents. Amanda laid her head in her shaky hand to try to steady them both.

“It’s not that bad.” But her words didn’t even convince herself.

“Oh yeah? How do you think Nike is going to feel when ‘Just do it’ becomes the catchphrase of wife beaters worldwide?”

“It’s not even like that,” she replied, filled with humiliation, a compilation of every kind imaginable.

“And I’m pretty sure it’s not what AmEx has in mind when they boast about membership having its privileges,” he spat out sarcastically.

“Alan, enough,” she snapped, pushing against the wave of dread that was swelling with every biting word he spoke. At least having him to fight against brought out the last of her chutzpah and made her feel tougher. “You’re not helping by berating me.”

There was silence on the other end as Alan regrouped and tried a different tactic.

“And you’re not going to help him by being here when this story breaks,” he told her, still unsympathetic but marginally civil.

“But we’re a team,” she weakly parroted the line Chase faithfully told her, while glancing at the ring on her finger and feeling the dread wave cresting over her head.

“No, the Kings are a team, a team that’s invested the next five years in him at great expense. And they’re going to want to know exactly when their golden boy became a domestic abuse offender. You really want to be the one to explain it to them?”

Amanda shook her head to both clear it and answer the man she detested without having to confirm it with words. Words would’ve revealed that she was on the verge of a total meltdown.

He took her silence as the affirmation he needed. His voice became calculated and conspiratorial. “Here’s what you’re going to do. You’re going to go on a little vacation, two weeks, maybe three. By then this thing will have run its course. You may want to lay off the television; speculation about your character will be flying fast and furiously. Stay off the phone and Internet, too. The fewer people who talk to you, the better.”

For a moment, Alan sounded rational and like he really wanted to help, but she should’ve known better than to believe he had any of her interests at heart. If she wasn’t so stupefied and worried about vomiting, she would have noticed just how premeditated his plan was.

“And you’re to have no contact with Chase whatsoever.” He said it as if he took perverse pleasure in knowing it crushed her.

“But why?”

“Because he’s going to be pissed as hell, that’s why.” Alan’s voice began to rise again, in response to her having the nerve to question him. “And he already can’t think straight when it comes to you, as his lapse in good sense has already proven. He needs to focus on controlling the damage here.”

Something in the logic didn’t make sense, but Amanda’s mind was racing with too many scenarios to break it down. And she was ashamed to admit it, but he was offering her a way out. He was not only giving her permission to run away, he was recommending it.

“You ready to stand next to him in front of fifty cameras and microphones and listen to him explain away your sex life?”

The thought alone was enough to make her gag. She flashed to a few particularly hateful comments she saw on social media since their engagement was announced. Faceless trolls who labeled her everything from fat and unworthy of their hero to a gold-digging slut. It was nearly as repugnant as the comments from men who freely speculated on exactly what Chase saw in her.

Shaw went in for the kill. “Or maybe withstand a sneak attack of paparazzi? Not only are they not known for their couth, but you know he’s going to defend your honor. He can add an assault charge to the list of bullshit.”

The dread wave crashed down upon her.

“He’ll find me,” she gasped on the last gulp of air before she started to drown in panic and degradation and sadness.

“He won’t have time to look,” Alan quickly replied, trying to downplay the victory and get her in motion. “I’ll text you when the coast is clear.”

“He’s going to be furious,” Amanda whispered brokenly.

Alan Shaw finally laughed. It was as cold and harsh as he was. “When this is all over, he can give you a good spanking.” And then he was gone.

Oh my God, she thought, he actually said it. She swallowed another round of shame and revulsion. When Chase said it, it was passionate and erotic and tantalizing. To hear it coming from Alan Shaw, it was tainted and depraved and warped.

In Amanda’s mind, it was already all over, her fairy tale, the love of her Prince Charming, and even her previous life as she knew it, back before she met him. If it was only going to be half as bad as he made it sound, it was going to be unbearable. She stared at the phone in her hand as it went from silence to dial tone and ultimately the high-pitched scream designed to alert that it wasn’t hung up. She pushed the Off button and threw the phone on the bed as if it were covered in poison.

You’ll ruin him.

She hugged herself and began to rock slowly, her eyes darting wildly around the room. She spied the television and her stomach cramped. It was no longer just about ruining it for herself.

She wanted to go on automatic pilot and finish getting ready for work, but her legs refused to lift her. How was she supposed to go about the mundane business of applying mascara when she couldn’t even bear to look at herself in the mirror? How in heaven’s name was she going to walk into the Cold Creek and face her customers, or worse yet, her employees?

And worst of all, she knew there was no way for Chase to protect her. He was states away and maybe it wasn’t far enough. She had tempted and teased him knowing full well he couldn’t resist her. The result was that she had single-handedly revealed America’s Golden Boy as some sort of sadist. The one thing he specifically said he wanted to keep to himself. What had started as a romantic interlude was now a travesty. She would call his reputation into question all because she was too immature to control her jaded tastes in public.

Her phones began to ring. And ring, independently and then simultaneously. She remained on the bed, unable to rise, unable to move, just staring at the dark screen of the turned-off television. Her imagination ran amok with what would be happening if she were foolish enough to turn it on. Minutes turned to hours and day to night before she pulled herself off the bed. Halfheartedly hoping her manager showed up to work, but not really caring if the place burned down, she picked up the phone. The tone that indicated she had messages sounded. It wasn’t until she dialed her code and heard that she had sixteen messages that she hung it up, unable to cope with any of it. Her cell phone was beeping like crazy, and she weakly lifted it off the table and returned to the bedroom, lying down and curling into a fetal position. She saw that Chase had called ten times. There were multiple text messages. With shaking fingers, she dialed into her voice mail.

“Honey, call me when you get this message.” The inevitable change was already taking place. He sounded apprehensive. And he always called her “angel” or “baby.” Calling her “honey” sounded grown-up and forced. It only proved Shaw’s point that Chase was operating from outside his element.

Followed by: “Amanda, where are you? I really need to speak to you. The Cold Creek says you haven’t shown up. For God’s sake, call me.”

Next was: “It’s me. I sent someone by your place; they say they got no answer. You’re starting to frighten me. Please, if you won’t call me, call someone. Let them know you’re all right.”

Then there was a message from her mother, her attorney, the Cold Creek twice, Nicki and her father, all asking her to call them right away, but saying nothing more. They were all embarrassed for her, refusing to even touch on the real reason they were calling. Tears streamed down her face. How could she ever face any of these people again?

And finally: “Listen, honey, I know you’re freaking out, I just know it. This is going to blow over, trust me on this. I know it seems awful right now. I’m mad as hell, too, but this is nothing more than the product of a slow news day, you’ll see. I love you, Amanda, we’ll get through this. Together.”

If there were any other messages, she didn’t bother listening to them. Her tears had turned to choking sobs and she hugged herself until she fell asleep, praying for two things: that Chase was right and an ax-wielding psychopath would go on a rampage to grab the headlines.