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Jesus.
We never talked through what happens if we bump into each other around the office, either.
Am I really supposed to strut around with a polite nod, pretending I haven’t seen him naked?
I wonder how I’ll even look Carol in the eye without cracking up and revealing the insane secret that’s burning me alive.
I slept with our boss.
And if she ever finds out, it’s not my own reputation that worries me.
How will she see him, when she was so sure Dumas was lying and he’d never do anything like that?
She treats him like her own son, so patient in the face of his bluster.
And Mark... ugh.
He won’t miss a beat asking about my weekend.
One little slip and the office blabbermouth will know that our trip resulted in the hottest sex west of the Rockies.
Otters.
Stick to otters.
We saw cute, endangered, wonderful otters and it was incredible.
That’s what I need to focus on.
Just to drive it home, I grab my phone from the nightstand and unplug it, squinting at the harsh light from the screen.
My eyes are assaulted.
An avalanche of notifications fill my screen, and my phone becomes a vibrating brick. I was going to scroll through the pics I took this weekend, but instead, I see my name over and over again on—well, everything.
Google Alerts. I set them up for media mentions, just in case.
And tags.
So many tags.
Instagram, Twitter, Facebook, TikTok. Countless people tagging me, blowing up my DMs on every freaking platform.
What now?
Frowning, I open a few and let my tired brain try to process the words on the screen.
Maybe this is just a freaky coattails effect from the Young Influencers publicity.I hope.
Except, it’s not that at all, and it’s obvious as soon as I see the words.
I sit up in bed so stiffly it alarms Molly, who bounds over and presses her big rubbery nose into my face.
I might be crying.
Tears of fury and confusion and disbelief, wishing I’d never opened the link. But it’s not just your run-of-the mill troll.
It goes to Meghan “Tea” Maven’s latest video, posted overnight.
