Liz.

I pull her against me. Apparently, every inch of me is hungover except my dick. It is doing just fine.

She moans as I slip my hand inside her robe and find her breasts. They’re firm and full and—

Not Liz.

I jerk away and spring upright in bed, and my head screams in protest.

I’m in the hotel room in New York City, and I’m in bed with Sabrina Guy.

“Are you okay?” She sits up and straightens her robe. Her cheeks are flushed and her eyes bright. She doesn’t seem afflicted by the same demon hangover that has taken over my head.

My stomach lurches. How in the holy-loving fuck did I end up in her bed?

“Sam?”

I rush to the bathroom and vomit, the demon in my head screaming with every movement.

Fifteen minutes later, when my stomach’s empty, my teeth are brushed, and I’ve had a hot shower, I return to the suite. I’m sick of this game playing. I’m sick of pretending that I’m with Sabrina, and sick of having to hide my relationship with Liz. And this is only the beginning.

I want to tell the world that Liz is my girl now, not Sabrina.

Sabrina’s sitting on the couch, her arms folded. She’s pissed.

“Good morning, Mr. Bradshaw.”

I spin around—more demon screaming—and see Erin McDaniel making herself a cup of coffee in the kitchenette.

She gives me a once-over and arches a brow. “Had a little too much fun last night, did you?”

“When did you get here?” I shake my head and hold up a hand. “Never mind. Don’t speak. I don’t care enough to listen.”

“That’s definitely the strongest reaction any guy’s ever had to waking up in bed next to me,” Sabrina says.

I close my eyes and exhale slowly. “It’s not personal.”

“Right. Sure. Whatever.”

I feel like hell. I look at the clock and see it’s after noon. “Shit. Aren’t we supposed to be heading home by now?”

Sabrina pulls her mouth into a pout. “Last night, we decided we’d stay another day. Don’t you remember?”

“I don’t remember shit from last night, Sabrina.” I have snippets. Sabrina and I, drinking in the corner of the hotel bar. We were laughing about something, and then she spotted a journalist on the other side of the bar and told me to kiss her. I remember she put her tongue in my mouth and I pushed her away. Then we ordered another round of drinks. It gets pretty sketchy after that.

What did I do? “Did we . . .?” I wave to the bed.

Sabrina shrugs. “I don’t remember, but I think . . . maybe.” She gives a pointed look to Erin. They’re having a silent conversation.

Fuck. “I need to call Liz.”

“You need to call your ex-girlfriend and explain why you’re spending another day with your fiancée?” Erin asks.

“She’s not my fiancée.” I’m too hungover to put up with this crap.

“And she’s not your anything,” Sabrina says.

I just stare at her. She seems different this morning. Self-satisfied. The phrase cat that ate the canary comes to mind.

“Why now, Sam?” Sabrina asks. “You two could have been together all this time, but you wait until it fucks with my life and my reputation to fuck around again.”

“We’re not fucking around.”

“So you’re serious about her? That thing with your dad doesn’t bother you anymore?”

I go cold. “I’m not talking about that with you.”

“I just think it’s sad.”

“It doesn’t matter what you think. It’s not your business, Sabrina.”

“Funny. Neither is that tape.” She lifts her arms. “But here I am.”

“Stop it,” Erin says. “Both of you. You’re like children.”

“Then let’s back off.” I look to Erin. She’s the puppet master in all of this. “We’ve given them their quotes and their clips of us together. Let’s stop while we’re ahead.”

“Stop?” Sabrina pushes off the couch and stalks toward me. Funny. She doesn’t look all that hungover. “You think they won’t notice if we just ignore each other for the rest of the campaign? And I don’t know about you, but I don’t see any condom wrappers around here anywhere. What if I’m pregnant from last night, huh?”

My stomach heaves again. “This has gotten out of control.”

“You made me a promise, Sam,” Erin says. “All I ask is that you follow through and don’t fuck us over.”

“Especially for a woman you have no future with anyway,” Sabrina adds.

“I don’t want to hear your opinion about my future with Liz,” I growl at Sabrina. “After Tuesday’s primaries, I’m ready to tell the press we have irreconcilable differences. I don’t want to do this anymore. I can’t do this anymore and I won’t.”

She studies me for a beat, her eyes calculating. “Great. We’ll just make one phone call and get those transcripts of her conversations with your father leaked to the press.” She turns to Erin. “That shouldn’t be a problem, should it?”

“One phone call,” Erin says. “Shall I do it now or later?”

“You wouldn’t—”

“Oh, yes we would,” Sabrina says. “Try it.”

These two are more dangerous than they look, and I feel like the fool who suddenly realizes he’s been consorting with the devil. “You were never going to get me visitations with Lilly, were you? Was the DNA test even real?”