I can't sleep the rest of the night. I just lay in bed and stare at the ceiling, wondering what would have happened if I hadn't let Marcia Gonzalez back into my life. Would she have stayed?

As the night progresses, I start to grow worried about what the morning will bring. I just fucked a reporter when I am supposedly an engaged man. That can't end well.

Not to mention that I turn into a completely different person when Nicole Parker is concerned. I broke all my own rules. The same rules that keep me grounded. That keep me sane. That keep me from falling in too deep. How did I let this happen?

Rule #1: Do what I say…always. Broken.

Rule #2: Don't touch me unless given permission. Broken.

Rule #3: I don't stay the night…ever. Broken.

Rule #4: Never my place, always hers. Broken.

Rule #5: Don't show vulnerability. Broken.

I let her break down my defenses. I let her break every rule in my book. And to make matters worse, I certainly didn't follow my very own five-step process.

Step 1: Mark my territory. Nope.

Step 2: Make her beg. She most definitely didn't beg.

Step 3: Make her come…hard! Okay, that one happened, numerous times.

Step 4: Make her scream my name. Never have I ever let anybody skip this step. Until now.

Step 5: Finish. This step is usually guaranteed.

And my infamous last line, something to remember me by, was never spoken. In fact, my last words to her were: please, don't go. Then the realization hit me. I can't believe it. She made me beg!

I can't help but smile at her accomplishment. When I'm around her, I feel like a teenage boy in love for the first time. I haven't felt that feeling in eight years. Love? This can't be love already. Can it? No. Aaron Hunter does not fall in love, not anymore.

My cellphone chimes loudly, the ringtone echoing throughout the large, open foyer. More than likely, it’s Delores. She probably has to talk my ear off about how much I fucked up this time and all the hard work she had to do to fix it.

I walk over to the end table in the foyer, retrieve my phone, and answer it.

"Hi, Delores. Let me guess, I have to fake Marcia's pregnancy?"

"Marcia's pregnant?" She sounds panicked and concerned at the same time. Hell, no. I haven't laid a finger on that wretched woman since I announced my campaign.

"No. I haven't touched her with my hand, let alone my dick." Delores was puzzled.

"Then why did you…"

"Never mind. To what do I owe the pleasure?" I hope this will divert the conversation, but Delores knows me too well.

"Hold on, young man. If you haven't f-u-c-k-e-d Marcia, then who have you been getting it on with?" I can't help but laugh at her attempt not to curse. And admire her persistence. She knows me better than anyone. It's a two-way street. That's why I know she will get a kick out of this joke.

"Maybe I'm staying abstinent. Ever think about that?" Delores guffaws so loudly, I extend my arm, removing the phone from my ear. I put the phone on speaker, walk into the kitchen, and place it down on the island. I'm halfway done making my morning coffee when Delores finally catches her breath.

"Oh. That was a real gut-splitter. Anyway. Who have you been sleeping with lately?" I pour a little bit of creamer into my coffee, stir it with a spoon, and then clear my throat.

"Just some nobody. I've been discreet. Trust me?"

"Not buying it, Prince Charming."

"C'mon Delores. Would I ever lie to you? And, by the way, you know I'm more of a Flynn Rider kind of guy." She chuckles.

"You mean Eugene Fitzherbert. And, yes. You would lie to me. But only if you did something horrible and irresponsible. 'Cuz that makes you afraid to tell me. So, just do it. Rip it off like a Band-Aid. You know I can fix anything."

I swallow hard, forcing down the newly formed lump in my throat.

"Okay. I fucked Nicole Parker." Delores gasps.

"You aren't talking about the Nicole Parker. Reporter for the Daily Yorker Gazette?" Aaron is always amazed by the abundant amount of information that Delores stores inside her brain.

"No. Not that one."

"Oh, my God. You fucking idiot." So much for her trying not to curse phase. "How could you be so reckless? She is going to expose your secret to the world."

I grew angry. Not at Delores, she was just doing her job. The job that I pay her for. And one she does so fucking well. I'm angry that I am frustrated. And I am frustrated because of this whole campaign built on lies.

"Remind me again why I wanted to run in the first place." Delores sighs.

"Oh, how quickly you forget things when some floozy plays with your cock." She crossed the fucking line.

I clench my fists tight, trying to calm myself down. My breaths grow faster and shorter. I feel my nostrils start to flare. I take my coffee mug, chuck it into the air, and watch it shatter into a million pieces when it collides with the marble floor. It didn't help. I am still so fucking angry.

"Don't you dare call her a floozy," I hiss through gritted teeth. "She is not some fuckmate! We fucked in my own goddamn bed! For fuck’s sake!"

My hands start to tremble. I have never been so outraged before in my life. Well, except that one time. I quickly suppress the memory. I try not to think about that day…ever.

"Wait a minute. You fucked her at your apartment?" I sigh, hoping it will ease some of my anger. It doesn't.

"Yes."

"I apologize then. She must be very special to you. And to answer your earlier question, you are doing this because you promised her that you would." Sadness overcomes me.

"You're right. I know. I just never wanted to do it this way. She wouldn't want me to lie my way to the top. I don't know how much longer I can keep up this charade."

"You could always tell the truth. But if you do that, think of the consequences. The voters won't trust anything that you say anymore. And there's no guarantee that Nicole will come back to you with open arms."

"What makes you think she left?"

"Honey. You wouldn't have snapped at me like you did if she stayed."

And yet again, Delores was right. About everything. I can't come clean now without the risk of losing the whole election. And today was the beginning of my campaign trail. I glanced at the oven clock. I have to be at the Today Show in an hour. I'll never make it there on time. Not in the daily morning city traffic. I guess I'm going to have to be the douche that arrives by helicopter.

"Thanks, Delores. I needed that. Keep in touch." I hang up the phone before I remember that I never did find out why she called me in the first place. Oh, well. It must not have been too important or life-threatening. Maybe Parker hasn't exposed me…yet.

Timothy sent me a text last night that he had food poisoning, something about bad oysters. That just means that I'm flying solo when it comes to picking out an outfit for the interview today.

I throw on a brown Ralph Lauren suit jacket, its matching slacks, a pale-blue dress shirt, a dark green tie with some plaid pattern on it, and the scarf that matches it. I don't look Timothy good, but it’s decent enough to get me through the day.

But before that, I must make a phone call.

* * *

"And good morning, America. Our first guest on Today is playboy billionaire turned engaged senate candidate, please welcome New York City's very own Aaron Hunter."

The crowd erupts into applause as I shoot them all my fake-ass smile, pretending to be happy. I walk my way to the empty chair in the middle of the room, making sure to shake Eric Yalder's hand before I unbutton my jacket and sit down.

"Good morning, Eric. It's nice to be here." He is smiling like a fucking idiot. His teeth are clearly fake. Hell, he is completely fake. Everything about him isn't real. His nose, his plug-ins, his Schmollex. God, I can't stand the guy, but I must pretend to like him for the camera.

"That was some entrance you made this morning." He forces out a laugh, which, guess what, sounds fake. I fight the need to roll my eyes.

"I was running late. And you know how city traffic is in the morning."

"You betcha I do." Eric's voice sounds like a nineteen-fifties radio announcer, annoying and unclear. "Alrighty. Let's get started. Why should New Yorkers vote for you? After all, you used to be a womanizing playboy. You say you’ve changed, but I personally don't buy it. Once a player, always a player."

So, it's going to be like that, huh? Game on.

"I understand where you’re coming from, Eric. I used to feel the same way. I used to look at myself in the mirror and think, is this the man you want to be? Is this how you want the world to remember you when you die? And my answer to those questions was a resounding no. Have I made some mistakes in the past? Yes. Do I regret them? Yes. But I truly have changed," I look straight into the camera, hoping that Parker knows this next sentence is directed at her. "It only took finding the right woman to spark this change. To challenge me to become a better man. You know how powerful and persuasive a woman can be, don't you, Eric?"

"Actually, no. I don't." No surprise there. "So, if we don't believe you've changed, why should we vote for you?"

I join my hands together and place them on my lap.

"I want to enforce change."

"What kind of change?"

"I want to make it so women get paid the same wages as their male counterparts. I want to help lessen the burden of the poor…"

"…then why don't you just give away a few billion of your own dollars? It clearly won't put a dent in your wallet." What an asshole!

"Excuse me? I think you need to research your guests better before you interview them. If you had, you would know that I donate millions of dollars to St. Jude and the American Red Cross. I am an active participant in Habitat for Humanity. And just this morning, I founded the Isaiah Foundation. It's designed to help children treat and deal with Parkinson's Disease. So next time, get your facts straight before you accuse me of being a greedy-ass bastard."

I get up, rip off the mic they put on me, hand it to Eric, and storm the hell out of there. Sorry for the extra work Delores, but I couldn't stand to be falsely attacked by that asshole any longer.

I can only imagine how Nicole is going to react to my blatant foundation creation in her brother's name. I didn't want to announce it to the world before I told her. I had Ree track down her cellphone number and give it to me. There's still a small chance that she didn't watch the interview. If I can just get ahold of her, I can tell her about the foundation before she finds out from somebody else. At least I was smart enough not to associate her last name with the association at all.

I dial the number. No answer. I dial it again. Still, no answer. One more time. C'mon, please pick up. Straight to voicemail. Fuck! Where is she?