I can still feel Reagan’s body against me as I walk down Michigan Avenue to the small coffee shop at the corner that I frequent. My hands are tucked into my pockets and I’m staring at the sidewalk, replaying the night before in my head. I’m so lost in the delicious details that I don’t see the reporters until there’s a microphone in my face.

“Titan, what do you think about the latest revelation about the Preston family?”

I glance up and scan the small crowd that has gathered around me. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Haven’t you seen the latest headline?” a man in the back calls out.

I shake my head and wonder what has everyone in a tizzy. “I haven’t read the paper today.” I start to walk away, pushing the group to the side gently.

My only thought is Reagan. Before I can break free, a man sticks the paper in my face, waving the headline before my eyes.

Senator Stan Preston Caught Cheating

My stomach sinks, and I slap the paper out of my face. “I can’t comment at this time,” I say before grinding my teeth and brushing by the last reporter.

They’re close on my heels, following me down the street. Fuck, Reagan has to be beside herself. The headline is true, but not about the woman who’s shown in the photo. Everything that I worked to keep on the down low just became public knowledge. Fair or not, this will impact Reagan’s campaign.

When I stop on the corner to hail a cab, one of the reporters bumps into me. “Sorry, Mr. Titan.” She blushes when I turn around with a scowl. “This changes everything for your campaign, doesn’t it?”

My face softens before I reply. As her opponent, I shouldn’t care that her campaign is about to go down in flames. I should be happy about the latest Preston revelation. “The race is between Representative Preston and me. I’m not running against her father.” I hold out my hand and hail the first cab I see. When it pulls to the curb, I turn to face the twenty reporters waiting for my next response. “I can’t comment on whether the allegations are true or not, but it should have no bearing on the outcome of the election.”

They’re yelling my name, trying to jam their recording devices into the cab as I close the door.

“100 East Bellevue Place, please,” I tell the cabdriver when he begins to pull away, leaving the reporters behind.

He glances at me in the rearview mirror. “Tough day?”

Reaching into my back pocket, I pull out my phone and check my messages. “You could say that.” I’m going to kick Carl’s ass.

Reagan hasn’t messaged me, but she has to have seen the headline already—she left my hotel room over an hour ago. I shoot her a quick message and am staring at the screen waiting for a reply when my phone rings.

“I can’t believe you fucking did this, Carl!” I yell, unable to control my anger. “You’ve crossed the line.”

“You should be thanking me,” he replies before laughing.

“I told you not to release the photos. You’re fired, Carl.”

“No, I’m not. Stop acting like a pussy and man up already, Jude. You hired me to be your campaign manager, and I did my job. I’m ensuring your victory on Election Day.”

“I hired you, and I can fire you, Carl. Effective immediately, you’re no longer my manager or my friend.” I end the call as soon as he starts to fire back about loyalty, honor, and duty.

It’s all bullshit Carl makes up in his head to justify his actions, and I’m not buying a word of it. I thought Carl was an honorable man. Never in a million years did I think he’d become so consumed with the campaign that he’d sink so low as to release the photos.

I dial Reagan’s number, but it instantly goes to voice. “Reagan.” I suck in a breath and glance up at the roof of the cab. “I’m sorry, Reagan. I had nothing to do with this. Call me. We need to talk.”

“Change of plans,” I say to the cab driver, waiting for his eyes to find me in the rearview mirror while we’re at a red light. “Take me to 15th and South State instead.”

“Yes, sir.” He nods, returning his eyes to the road.

The reporters are probably waiting for me, camped outside my building, but thankfully, my building has a twenty-four-hour doorman that will keep them at bay. “Pull around to the back off of Clark and Dearborn, please. We’ll enter through the resident garage.”

“Not a problem,” he replies as I’m frantically typing a message to Reagan.

Me: R—Call me!

Not only is she not replying, the messages don’t even show as delivered. Between that and immediately getting her voicemail, I know she has her phone off.

I stare out the window of the cab, watching the city go by and the hundreds of people wandering down the sidewalks going about their day as usual, while mine has completely imploded.

When I walked out of the hotel this morning, I was on cloud nine with her scent still on me and the taste of her still lingering on my tongue. The night was perfection. Finally being able to have Reagan Preston had me on top of the world. I dared to allow myself to dream about the possibilities, but now everything is ruined.

The cab comes to a stop in front of the garage, and I pull my keys out and push the remote button to open the door for the driver to pull inside.

“That will be $13.25,” he says as he pulls inside and the door closes behind us.

I pull out a twenty and hand it to him when the cab comes to a stop and resist the urge to slam the door after I climb out. I’m so angry I should’ve gone to Carl’s and punched his lights out just to get some of my frustration out.

I’m inside the elevator before the cab clears the garage door, and I slump against the wall when I’m finally alone. “Fuck.” I close my eyes and kick the panel behind me with the back of my heel.

When the doors open and I turn the corner to my unit, Carl is standing outside my door. He’s pacing back and forth, talking on the phone with one arm waving wildly.

“Motherfucker,” I seethe and start to go at him with my fist halfway through the air.

He weaves, dipping down to avoid my fist, and drops his phone. “Wait!”

My hand stops inches from him, and it takes everything in me not to follow through or at least kick him while he’s down.

“We have a major problem,” he says, leaning over to pick up the phone with one hand and protecting his face with the other. “I gotta call you back.” He shoves the phone in his pocket and straightens his suit as he stands.

“I don’t need to hear your bullshit, Carl.” I push him to the side and pull out my key. “You no longer work for me. So I have a problem…you don’t.”

He steps to the side, glaring at me as I unlock the door. “You need me, Jude. The Preston camp is fighting back.”

“Let them,” I tell him, my voice louder than usual.

Carl peers around me and checks the hallway before trying to block the doorway. “You don’t understand.”

“I don’t need to.”

I have one foot inside when he blurts, “Garrett Salizar.”

I freeze at the mention of the asshole’s name. We fought together, we’re brothers in arms, but when I was awarded the medal, he was the only person in my squad to complain. He tried to get the other members who fought at my side that day to speak out against me, but he didn’t have any support. He felt he should’ve received the medal instead of me.

“Fuck him,” I tell Carl while I’m closing the door.

He sticks his foot in the doorway. “His face is on every major news channel, even CNN and Fox News.”

“No one’s going to believe his lies, Carl.”

“Oh, but they are,” he says with a shitty, sly smile. “Your story is bigger than the Preston one now. Stan’s story is not the headliner anymore—you are.”

“Fucking hell,” I groan and drag my hands through my hair. I’m completely torn. Part of me is happy Reagan is no longer the object of public fodder, but the thought that Salizar is getting his fifteen minutes of glory and dragging my name through the mud has my anger level near nuclear.

Carl takes the chance to slip inside my apartment. “You need to schedule a press conference as soon as possible to shut down his lies.” He closes the door and heads straight for my bar. “Want one?” he asks without looking at me.

I walk to the windows that line the wall facing the Chicago skyline and wonder how everything got so fucked up in such a short amount of time. “Not at ten in the morning.”

“Suit yourself.”

I’m so lost in thought I barely hear Carl’s footsteps behind me before the television turns on.

“Mr. Salizar, Amy Crofton from the Chicago Star, my question for you is—why did you wait so long to speak out against Mr. Titan?”

I don’t turn around, and I keep my eyes pinned on the buildings in the distance.

“He’s made out to be a hero, and the people of Illinois want to vote for him because of his honor, but he has none. He wasn’t the only man to fight that day, but he had no problem taking the credit for saving the lives of his brothers.”

“But he did save their lives, sir?” the reporter shoots back.

“It was a group effort. Mr. Titan didn’t do it on his own,” Salizar says in a shaky voice and clears his throat. “There were a handful of us who fought by his side that day, even with our injuries, and not all of us made it out alive. He didn’t do anything special or heroic that day. He’s just a glory hog using the death of his fellow soldiers to gain a position in the American government that he doesn’t deserve.”

“So you’re calling him a liar?”

“If Jude Titan deserves a medal, then so do I.”

“Mr. Salizar, Carter Morris from the Illinois Observer. So you’re saying that the account from that night is inaccurate and that Jude Titan didn’t save the lives that night?”

“As I said before, I fought by his side that night. I did everything he did, yet I don’t have a medal. I’m not running for Senate. Jude Titan is just a poster child with a pretty face who’s using his experience for his own personal gain. He doesn’t care about anything or anyone but himself.”

There’s a murmur in the crowd, and I can’t listen to him talk anymore. I push open the sliding doors and step out onto my balcony. Carl’s phone has been ringing nonstop since he walked in, and soon mine starts to follow suit.

I reach for it, my heart pounding frantically in my chest with the hopes that Reagan is calling me. When I see it’s Jim, I hang my head but answer.

“What the fuck is up with Salizar?” Jim says quickly before I can even say hello.

I lean my body over the railing and grip the metal in my hand, trying to squeeze out my anger and frustration. “I don’t know. We knew he was an asshole when he started this shit years ago, but I never thought he’d come out during my campaign spouting the same bullshit that had already been put to bed.”

“He’s the glory hog in this entire ordeal.”

“Well, he’s talking, and the media is listening.”

“Don’t worry, Jude. The guys and I have your back. The text messages are coming in already, and we’re going to find a way to shut his mouth and prove you’re the man everyone thinks you are.”

“Jim, I appreciate the gesture. But I don’t want you guys exposed any more than you already have been. To relive that day is too painful for many of the guys. Just let things play out. I’m sure the media will find a new story to follow soon, and Salizar will quickly be forgotten.”

“You let me do what I need to do here, buddy. I’ll always have your back like you had mine. I know all the guys feel the same too.”

“Jim—” I say, but he cuts me off.

“Got to run. The other line is ringing, and I have plans to make.”

“Don’t,” I say, but it’s futile—he’s already hung up.

Carl’s chattering on the phone in the living room and pacing around my loft when I turn around. He started this mess. Releasing the photos of Reagan’s father was the flame that ignited the explosion today.

I promised Reagan the photos would remain hidden and the story buried. She fought back the only way she could—by trying to ruin my name in the same manner.

I don’t have an affair or a secret love child in my closet, but since I run on my honor and my word, it’s the easiest thing to try to destroy.

It isn’t the words of Salizar or the possible end of my candidacy that makes my chest ache—it’s the thought I’ve lost Reagan forever.