“Two, please,” I say, holding up a couple of fingers like a peace sign.

The bartender tops off two glasses of champagne and hands them to me as I slip a bill into his tip jar.

I’ve wanted to tell Cassie the truth for five years. I knew it was a risk, because I knew there was a possibility she’d think of me as a fucking joke when I told her. Sometimes I think I’m a fucking joke for having acted the way I did.

But I just don’t care anymore. I can’t help myself anymore. The desire for her has festered for long enough, and I need to be with her with the whole, inconvenient truth out in the open.

It’s not quite an ugly truth. More like slightly-blemished. And I know we can get past it.

I turn around and take a sip from my glass, leaning back against the bar. I feel like a new goddamn person, like a literal weight has been lifted from my shoulders.

And then, just as quickly, an annoyance creeps over to me.

“Hey, Jason,” Cynthia says, sauntering over to me at the bar.

She’s dressed in this obscenely short dress, covered in red sequins. If she weren’t such a bug up my ass, I’d say she looks really nice tonight. Her long black hair is styled in waves cascading down one shoulder and she looks classy and put together, even if the dress is way too short.

“I didn’t know they let your kind in here,” I say, taking a sip of my drink. It’s my second drink, and I could use something stronger. I turn to the bar and order a whiskey rocks, and the bartender flashes me a knowing look as he pours it for me.

“They don’t, not usually,” she says, plucking one of the champagne glasses from me and taking a sip, “but I have a few connections. No big deal. The real question is what the hell you’re doing here.”

I take a sip of my drink and purse my lips, the cold liquid burning as it flows down into my belly. Scanning the crowd, I see Cassie sitting at our table alone, moving around whatever is on her plate, but not eating.

“I’m here with my fiancee,” I say, raising my glass in the general direction of the ballroom, “and if you’ll excuse me, unless you have any additional questions or journalistic inquiries to make, I’ll be going back to her now.”

“Oh honey,” she says as I start to walk away. Her words freeze me in my tracks as an eerie feeling drifts through my veins, slowly infecting me. “Really?”

“What?” I ask, turning around with gritted teeth, watching her as she walks toward me.

“I know your secret,” she says darkly, slowly, a hint of sick humor in her voice. A sing-song cadence that makes me feel ill inside.

“I have no secrets,” I spit, taking a big step toward her. “Just try me.”

“I don’t have to ask you anything at all,” she says, reaching into her purse, “because I have the hard proof right here.”

She thrusts a piece of paper toward me, and I know what it is before I see the writing on it, before I see my and Cassie’s signatures on it. I know what it is because it’s got those damn-near-perfect creases on it where Cass folded it.

“How the hell did you get this?” I say, snatching the paper away from her.

“Your little girlfriend over there should really be more careful about leaving her purse unattended,” she says, “or I guess I shouldn’t really call her your girlfriend. What is she to you, Jason? Just some random girl you’re fucking who needed your help?”

“You can fuck off,” I say, crushing the contract in my fist.

I try to keep my cool the best I can, and I try, more importantly, to not draw unneeded attention to me and Cynthia. But my blood is crushing through my body with sheer anger, my heart pounding inside me, making me feel it between my ears.

“You know, this doesn’t have to get out,” she taunts me as I start to turn around. “This doesn’t have to make the papers.”

I feel my fists clench and unclench at my sides as I tip my chin over my shoulder, slowly turning around to face my adversary once again.

And now, suddenly, I remember her. The memory of her trying to climb into my lap on one of my first tours comes rushing back to me. I think she went by another name back then, which is probably why I didn’t remember her before. One of my pals told me she was crazy, and I didn’t ask any questions because it wasn’t any of my business. I gave her the benefit of the doubt. I didn’t call her out on it or try to embarrass her. All I did was politely, and firmly, reject her advances.

“You followed one of the first bands I worked for,” I say, “you came onto me. And you were really fucking pissed when I rejected you.”

“Guilty,” she smirks, taking a sip of her champagne.

“But this is next-level shit,” I say, putting my hand on my forehead, “this is crazy even for you. This can’t all be because I turned you down.”

“Don’t flatter yourself, baby,” she quips, inspecting her nails and rolling her eyes, “I saw a good story and I went after it.”

“Cynthia, or whatever the hell your real name is, just leave me and Cassie out of your little story. The contract means nothing. The fact is that she and I really are together. We grew up together. And we really are getting married.”

“Oh, isn’t that sweet?” she says, batting her eyelashes, “but the fact is that I have a copy of a contract where you and Cassie agree to pretend to be together.”

“What do you want?” I say, “you want money? Is that what this is about? You want to be a journalist who takes bribes?”

“No,” she scoffs, “I don’t want money. But I do want something else that you can give me.”

She walks toward me and slowly puts her hands on my chest. I tense up and put my hands around her wrists.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” I ask, my voice low and steady.

“Spend the night with me,” she says plainly, her eyes roaming easily over my face, “and I’ll forget I ever found that contract. You’re good at pretending, aren’t you? You can be bought. The contract is proof of that. But I won’t even make you sign anything.”

I am stunned. Fucking speechless. I force her hands down to her sides and break myself away from her, and as I’m about to turn around to get the hell away from this woman, she throws herself at me.

And I mean throws. Her arms come around my shoulders and she gets me in her grips as she stands up on her toes, her lips coming up to my cheek.

I feel like all the blood has been sucked out of me and is pooling at my feet. I feel fucking cold and a nervous, sick feeling churns through me.

“Write the fucking article,” I say, shrugging her off of me, “do it. And I hope you’re proud of yourself.”

I just want to get the hell away from this woman. I turn around quickly and start to walk away from her, looking at the ground.

I walk back toward the ballroom. I have to find Cassie.

I have to tell her we’re fucked.