Page 2 of Wardrobe Malfunction

“Probably.” Cain laughs and looks at me. “Ten years, right, man?”

“Yeah. Ten years too long.” I grin at Cain, and the audience laughs.

“Ten years? Wow.” Bradford leans back in his chair. His hand straightens out his tie.

There’s something in his tone that I don’t like. Unease moves through me.

“So, I guess it must come as a hell of a blow to learn that Cain has been having an affair with Piper for the last three months.”

What?

I hear a whoosh in my ears and realize it’s the audience gasping.

I blink, glancing around.

Piper’s and Cain’s faces are frozen, like I guess mine is. And Bradford just has this smug expression on his face.

“What?” I laugh, but it sounds uneasy, even to my own ears. “You’re kidding, right? This is a joke.” I even look around to see if Ashton Kutcher is waiting to tell me I’ve been punked.

“It’s no joke.” Bradford’s eyes flick to the big screen behind him, and there’s a picture of Cain and Piper in an embrace, outside what looks like a hotel room door.

It’s fake. It has to be. Because Cain would never do that to me.

I squeeze my eyes shut.

But I know it’s not a fake.

Because I know this industry. I know this asshole wouldn’t risk his career on a rumor or a fake picture. He must have authenticated it. He wouldn’t have done this on live television without die-hard facts and the proof to back it up because he knows he’d have his ass sued if he were lying.

My heart sinks into the pit of my stomach.

“This is bullshit!” Piper snaps.

I open my eyes and look at her. She’s pissed.

It’s because she’s been caught. And caught so publicly.

My eyes flick past her to Cain.

The contriteness in his expression is all the confirmation I need.

And I feel sick.

There’s commotion all around. I can hear people yelling from off camera. Piper is screaming for them to turn the cameras off.

That’s what she cares about right now.

Not me. Not the fact that my heart is being broken on live television by my cheating-ass girlfriend. But, worse, by my friend, whom I trusted. The guy I’ve known for ten years.

Ten fucking years.

My head starts to cloud.

I’m no longer on live television with an audience of people sitting there.

I’m staring at my best friend, and rage is firing in my bloodstream.

I get to my feet. “Is it true?” I say to him, my voice trembling with anger.