According to Emma, the only things I need to blend in at this party are pearls, a little black dress, and a fake smile. She comes from a world full of rich folks, so I trust her advice on this. I look at myself in the mirror. Well, check, check, and check.

After a few days of job hunting by day and awkward marriage-of-conveniencing by night, I dedicated my entire morning to preparing for this party. I tried on every dress I brought with me, and once I decided they all made me look cheap, I went shopping. Only, the boutiques around here gave me such sticker shock that I called Emma in a panic. She talked me down and told me to drive to the outlet mall. An hour after I started digging through the sale racks, I found a dress that I deemed acceptable.

Unfortunately, Emma’s out of town and won’t be accompanying Keegan to the party tonight, which sucks, because I’d prefer to have as many allies as possible.

I dig through my makeup bag for another hairpin, and when I look in the mirror again, I see Mason behind me. He must have gotten dressed while I was doing my hair. He’s in gray suit pants and a white dress shirt, a tie in his hand, and he looks absolutely edible.

I turn to him and wait as he drags his gaze over me, from my low chignon to my dress to my red Mary Jane heels. Slowly, he brings his eyes back up to meet mine.

“So?” I ask. He’s making me nervous. “Will this do?”

His tongue darts out to touch his bottom lip. “Fuck yes.”

My stomach shimmies, and I feel warm all over. When he looks at me like that, it almost makes all those painful hours of shopping worthwhile.

He leans against the doorframe and tucks his hands into his pockets. “I asked around at practice today, and there’s a lot of interest in your photography. A lot. I wouldn’t be surprised if your phone starts ringing with calls from potential clients.”

“Really?”

He nods. “Really. Kramer said his wife saw Emma’s pictures and had already asked him to get your information.”

I run up to him, throw my arms around his neck, and plant a kiss on his mouth. “You’re the best!” I wave my arms overhead and wiggle my hips, doing as much of a happy dance as this dress will allow. “That’s amazing. Thank you so much, Mason.”

“Anytime.” He settles a hand on my hip and studies me for a beat. “Will you be ready to go in about half an hour?”

“I just need to do my makeup and then I’m ready.” I wait for him to say something else, but instead he nods, turns around, and leaves the room. “Glad we could get back to being awkward,” I mutter. “What a relief.”

I’m in over my head.

Bailey’s been living with me for four days, and I’m already losing my mind wanting more.

I told myself I wanted to get her out of Blackhawk Valley, that I’d be happy if I could convince her to move down here, even if it wasn’t to be with me. But how am I supposed to let her go in four months? Four days, and my favorite moments are when I’m at home with her. Four seconds with her lips on mine, and I want to throw all my stupid rules out the window.

I had to walk away or I would have pressed her against the wall and kissed her again. I would have slid my hand up her dress and whispered just how good she looks.

My phone rings, and I jog to it, grateful for a distraction. I keep a landline in my house for my security system and for my grandmother, who doesn’t understand that I can’t talk when she catches me at work or in a meeting. I answer it without checking the number on the caller ID.

“May I speak with Bailey Green, please?”

“She’s not available right now. Can I help you?” I ask, then, too curious to risk a no, I add, “This is her husband.”

“I was calling regarding Ms. Green’s student loans. Could you tell me a good time to call?”

Student loans? “I think you have the wrong person. My wife doesn’t have any student loans.” She stripped to pay her way through school, and any time I tried to get her to quit, she’d remind me that she didn’t want loans following her through her whole life.

“Okay, I’m looking for a Bailey Green from Blackhawk Valley, Indiana. If that’s not your wife, I can make a note that she doesn’t live at this number.”

I swallow hard, but it doesn’t do a damn thing to change the fact that something feels off in my gut. This has to be a scam. “If you gave her a loan, you know how to contact her. I’m hanging up now.” I end the call. My grandmother got sucked into one of those phone scams once. Someone called her and said her son was stuck in Jamaica and had lost his wallet. Thank goodness some thoughtful person at the bank took the time to fact-check the story before wiring over the money, or she’d have lost thousands.

The call is still eating at me when Bailey comes down the stairs dressed for the party. Her little black dress is cut modestly below her knees but cradles her hips in a way that makes my hands itch to touch. She’s wearing pearls and has her hair twisted into a knot that shows off her long neck and reminds me how much she likes to be kissed there. Once, I was intimately familiar with how I could suck just beneath her ear and her knees would buckle.

“I got a call on the landline,” I say.

She makes a face. “You have one of those?”

I attempt a laugh, but that off feeling is still making my stomach sour. “It was some company that said you had student loans through them. They said you’re behind on your payments.”

She walks past me, her heels clicking on the tile as she goes to the sink and gets herself a glass of water. “Damn. What they say is true—they really can track you down anywhere, can’t they?”

“I was worried it was a scam, so I ended the call.”

“It pretty much is a scam. The biggest legal ripoff millennials have to swallow every day. You should see my interest rates—just because I wanted a good education. Exorbitant, but I could go buy a new car at zero percent interest.” She drains her water, still avoiding my eyes.

The gnawing doubt in my gut grows teeth. I hate feeling as if I’ve been lied to, but it’s worse when it’s by someone I trust. “Why do you have student loans?”

She puts her glass in the sink before looking at me. “Not all of us were at BHU on a football scholarship. You don’t know how lucky you were.” She shakes her head. “I should have gone to community college. Nobody gives a shit that I have a degree from an expensive school, but I bought into the lie that if I got my education beside a bunch of privileged brats, I might get some of that privilege too. I was so wrong.”

“I was lucky,” I say. “I get that. But you said you were stripping so you didn’t have to take out student loans.”

“Unfortunately, as good as I was at shaking my ass, there weren’t enough hours in a week to give the number of lap dances I’d need to pay that kind of tuition.” She grabs a small red purse off the counter and thumbs through the contents. “Judge me if you must.”

“Why did you make everyone believe you weren’t taking loans?”

She spins on me. “It wasn’t anyone’s business but mine.”

The lie eats at me. Maybe it doesn’t matter. Maybe it shouldn’t. But it’s further evidence that Bailey’s never given me the whole truth about anything. It’s further evidence that she’s never let me in and that I’ll always know less about her than I think I do. Even so, I’d bet everything that this has something to do with Nic Mendez. Everything that’s fucked up with Bailey goes back to him.

I stalk toward her until she backs against the counter. When she drops her purse, I stop myself and shake my head. I’m so sick of doing this dance where I ask questions and she evades. I am far too familiar with her moves. I don’t want to care. “Keep your secrets. Hold them tight like you hold on to the fucking twisted notion that Nic Mendez was the only man on this earth good enough for your heart. I give up.”