Lies dressed up as moral judgment.
I'd been so out of it with the fever yesterday, my head swimming.
Today, thinking a little clearer, I finally noticed.
The person who'd posted the smear was Curtis's new secretary. Margot Pruitt.
I'd met her before.
Young. Pretty. And hostile—every time she saw me, she looked ready to spit fire.
At first, I figured talented people were just temperamental.
Now I understood. She'd already cast herself as the next Mrs. Delgado.
I clicked through to her profile. It was full of her life with Curtis.
Ski trips. Galas. Wine country estates.
The glossy, gilded world of the elite.
But the photo that stopped me cold was from last night's charity gala.
Margot in a couture gown worth more than most people's houses. Jewelry dripping from her neck. Standing beside Curtis under the lights, smiling for the cameras.
It clicked.
Why the organizers had revoked my invitation at the last minute.
Why Curtis hadn't answered my calls.
He'd already moved on. Margot was the new favorite.
And now, with his blessing, she couldn't wait to tear me down so she could take my place.
I couldn't help but look up at the people laughing and chatting inside the private room.