“Yeah, I know.” Of course, I’d agreed to the using, just not the public scandal part. “But going against him doesn’t help me.”

“That man is about to become the most hated guy on the planet. If you side with him, if you defend him, they’ll take you down, too. The press will have a field day.”

“They’ll have it either way,” I pointed out.

“If you come out as one of the injured parties, at least you’ll have the sympathy of the public. You can move on. Eventually. But you can’t defend that jackass, Lily. You can’t do that. He deserves what’s coming to him.”

Wow. Okay. I wasn’t expecting this reaction from John at all.

“He has a disorder, John. He can’t help it.”

“Lily, do you hear yourself? He put you in this position to save his own ass without you knowing.”

“I know.” It was the reason I felt so goddamned hurt. And pissed. “But I agreed to the arrangement. I don’t think I can come out against him.”

“You need to save yourself now, Lily. He made his bed, let him lie in it.”

I ended the call with John, got on my running clothes and shoes, and did the only thing I could do in that moment. I ran. And I ran some more. And when I didn’t think I could run any farther, I Forest Gumped myself and kept on running until I literally had no idea where I was. Some suburb with those little houses stacked next to each other in long rows.

I walked to a small playground next to an empty elementary school, found a drinking fountain, then dropped down under a tree. Running hadn’t given me any answers. Not one. Because while my brain and logic said I needed to distance myself from Mr. Cole and possibly follow John’s advice, my heart didn’t want that. I didn’t want to hurt him. Or anyone, for that matter.

The fact was, I realized that I liked the person I was. No, I didn’t like everything, but the kind, genuine, and caring parts of me were good. I didn’t want to “get my hands dirty” or be a cutthroat bitch. So if that meant I wasn’t cut out for a future in the corporate world, then so be it. But I also realized I wasn’t a quitter. So wherever this thing landed, I had to trust that I’d make it through this. But I had to do it with a clear conscience.

The other thing I thought about was my looks. The situation was absolutely forcing me to confront the one thing I’d been trying to ignore my entire life. Yes, that had been my way of “accepting” things—just pretend it’s not really there. Just pretend I’m okay with everything. But this one aspect of my life and body that I didn’t want to face would soon be under a huge, glaring public spotlight. It was as if karma was finally having it out with me. You can run, Lily, but you can’t hide.

So fine. My face was a problem for me.

There, I’d said it.

But what did it matter now? The issue was in my head, and it didn’t matter if I had this face or another. If I got into a car accident and ended up with scars all over my body, I’d still be me. Lily Snow. It wouldn’t change my insecurities at this point—the damage was done—and it wouldn’t make me more or less smart or more or less loved by my friends and family.

On the other hand, as long as I had this face, people would never see past it. And now the world would only be looking at it.

So if my face really didn’t matter, then why was I holding onto it so tightly? And why was I so afraid to trust the one person who truly understood me?

Because he’s the only person who really understands you.

I was afraid, because he made me feel so vulnerable. I couldn’t trust my judgement around him.

~~~

From my red Mini, I buzzed Mr. Cole’s gate at around seven p.m. and a woman answered the intercom. “Hi, I’m here to see Mr. Cole? My name is Lily Snow.”

“Yes, of course. Come in.”

The gate buzzed, and I drove up to his door. There were several cars already in his circular brick driveway, including a limo. I didn’t know why, but I’d been expecting him to be alone.

When I got out of my car, a nice middle-aged woman in a black dress opened the door. “Mr. Cole has asked you to wait in his study.” She gestured to the left.

“Thanks.” I entered, hearing several voices and one in particular I would never forget. Adeline Taylor, the model slash actress Mr. Cole had been getting friendly with at the after party in Milan.

My blood began to sizzle. Why the hell was she here? Had he asked her to live with him, too? Maybe we could all be a happy threesome, drowning in scandal together. How wonderful.

I entered the study, just off the foyer, and stood in the middle of the room, inhaling the scent of his sweet, masculine cologne that permeated the entire space. Looking around, his study reminded me of his office downtown—clean, lots of awards on glass shelves behind a black cherry desk—but here he had stacks of magazines piled in one corner. We had the same “fashion junky” magazine-hoarding habit.

“Miss Snow, I’m pleased to see you.” He wore a beautiful tuxedo and looked like the most handsome bastard on the planet.

More of that scent, so delicious, so him, filled the room. I wanted to roll around in it.

“Sorry to interrupt your dinner party,” I said.

“We’re actually going to a fund-raiser. But, as always, I’m happy to see you.”

So while I was falling apart, he was business as usual.

He added, “Had I known you were coming, I would’ve invited you along.”

I obviously wasn’t dressed in my formal wear—just black yoga pants and a white sports tank, in case I needed to run right after having this conversation.

“I’m not staying, Mr. Cole. I just came to say that I’m accepting your offer.”

“To live with me?”

“No. I want out. I want that surgery,” I said.

He jerked back his head, frowning.

“Don’t look at me like that,” I fumed.

“May I ask why you changed your mind?”

“Because the future that you’ve so kindly thrust onto my shoulders isn’t one I can live with.”

“Lily, like I said, I never intended for you to get dragged into this.”

Okay, I knew he wasn’t alone in the blame, but I had to say this. I had to confront him with his part in all this, because things were going to get very bumpy and I needed to know if I could really trust him.

“You knew the book was coming,” I said.

“Yes. But Nancy had already written it. I had no idea she’d approach you when she had all the ammo she needs to wage her little war.”

I looked down at my feet, panting with livid anger. “Well, I guess you were wrong.”

“Lily.” He approached and gripped my shoulders. “I can’t tell you how sorry I am. But I’m the injured party here. And so are you.”

“That doesn’t fix anything.”

“I know. And neither does having surgery.” Why was he changing the subject back to me?

“That’s not your choice, Mr. Cole. And you’re not the one who will have to go through the rest of life being known as that fucking ugly woman Maxwell Cole hired just for his ‘therapy.’”

“Fuck them. There’s nothing wrong with you, Lily.”

I scoffed. “Says the man who can’t even look at my face.”

He looked up at the ceiling. “There’s nothing wrong with you,” he said, with a frustrated irate tone. “The problem is me. Me, Lily.” He looked at my face, trying his best to hold his gaze there. “I think by now, you would’ve come to realize that.”

“We made a deal. I want the surgery. I don’t want to talk about it.”

He blew out a breath. “Fine. I’ll make the arrangements, but you can’t have the surgery until after the book comes out.”

“What? Why?”

“Because everyone will think you were trying to cover something up or, worse, that I made you do it for a twisted reason.”

So he was afraid it would make him look bad. “So all you care about is yourself.”

He shook his head. “I’m looking after you, Lily. I don’t want this to be any worse than it already is. Let the book come out. I’ll refute it with an army of publicists, experts in the field, lawyers—I’m prepared for this, I promise. Then you can quietly go have your surgery. You can tell anyone who asks that you did it for your own reasons. Besides, you just started working at C.C. If you take time away now, it will look bad with the clients.”