Toni’s eyes found Jill over the head of an elderly churchgoer, and their client nodded subtly toward the holding room they’d prepped in before the event, a clear signal that Jill and Clara should wait there for her to join them.

Clara’s stomach sank. Toni had the same I’m not mad, just disappointed look as Clara’s mother.

A few minutes later, their client joined them in the room, closing the door behind her and shutting out the din of the crowd. She held a manila folder under her arm.

“Should I get Tricia if we’re going to talk about altering the communications strategy?” Jill asked, referring to the Granger campaign’s chief of staff and rising from the folding chair she’d been sitting in.

“No,” Toni said. “That won’t be necessary, thank you.”

Clara had spent countless hours observing, asking questions—some more welcome than others—and learning everything she could about her client. She knew that the beautiful slate gray suit Toni wore today used to belong to her mother. And that Toni only wore her current shade of crimson lipstick when she needed courage. She dressed for battle today. Maybe this really is the end.

“Clara, may I speak to you in private for a moment?” The DA’s voice held an unfamiliar rasp.

Clara looked up from her notebook, surprised. “Are you sure you don’t want to talk to Jill?”

“I’m sure.”

Jill gave Clara a nod of encouragement as she gracefully exited the small room.

“Clara,” Toni began, taking the seat Jill had vacated. “We’ve worked together closely over these past few months. I like you. You’re smart and you’re hardworking and you’re not afraid to ask for help when you don’t know what to do.”

“Thank you,” Clara said, flattered, but something about the way Toni’s voice died off at the end of her last sentence set off a warning signal.

The DA looked out the small window in the room to where friends and families lingered, talking between their cars, unwilling to say good-bye. When her eyes returned to Clara, her gaze was troubled.

“I know my campaign is on its last gasp. I’ve seen the polling numbers. I pay your aunt and everyone else on my campaign team to pretend it’s not that bad, but you’re not so good at hiding it. I can see in your eyes that you know I don’t have a lot of choices left if I want to keep my job. That’s why I wanted to ask you—what would you tell me to do if I found out someone working on my campaign was involved in an activity that could prove inflammatory in the wrong hands?”

Clara thought about Toni’s newly earned razor-thin lead, about that first day at Jill’s office when she’d talked about creating a better, safer city for all. She pictured Josh before she’d met him, before he’d ever made a single adult entertainment video. He’d told her stories about working three jobs so he could afford to pay rent.

She thought about Naomi and Ginger and their stories of harassment on set. The stuff they’d “had to put up with” because it “was part of the biz.” Her heart ached for the countless people who contracted for Black Hat who might wake up one day and find themselves blacklisted because they’d done something that pissed off a corrupt company.

Toni had the power to protect them all. Not to mention all her other constituents. The people Clara rode the bus with in the morning. The mothers with crying babies, the old men with canes. All of them deserved a district attorney who would fight to keep them safe.

Clara knew what to do when faced with a scandal. She’d heard the phrase so many times growing up in the Wheaton household, from various lawyers and consultants advising her family: minimize the damage.

When she spoke, her voice was clear, confident. “I’d tell you to fire them quietly. Distance yourself. Issue a single statement and then don’t rise to the bait when you get calls for comment. It’ll pass soon enough if you starve the news cycle. There’s always another story, new dirt.”

Toni pulled the manila folder out from under her arm and held it out to Clara. When she spoke, she didn’t sound angry, but her words were hard, resigned. “My campaign manager put this on my desk this morning.”

Clara took the folder and flipped it open. Inside were a handful of articles printed out from the Internet. Various gossip sites and entertainment publications she recognized.

One word stood out across the headlines. Shameless. For a moment her chest swelled with pride. We did it. But then her eyes found a name in the print and it wasn’t one she expected to see.

Next to attributions of the property to Josh Darling and Naomi Grant was a third name. Her vision swam for a moment, but it didn’t change the letters printed on the page. They spelled out Clara Wheaton.

Her shaking hands turned page after page. The first article wasn’t an anomaly. Multiple reporters named her as the project’s financial backer and one even heralded her as “Josh Darling and Naomi Grant’s inaugural novice.” Oh no. No. No. She couldn’t get vomit on Toni’s mother’s suit.

“Clara,” Toni said, “I support your right to do whatever you want with your money and your time, but you must know I can’t have my campaign associated with something explicit when my opponent is running on a platform of family values. You’ve been on the ground with me at events. We’ve been photographed together. One of those articles mentions your work at the firm. It’s only a matter of time before someone makes the connection.”

Toni was right, of course. A scandal this late in the campaign was poison. How could Clara have put the campaign, the firm, people she cared about at risk like this? She used to be careful . . . but everything with Shameless had moved so fast. But how . . . She’d made sure her name didn’t appear in any of the site copy or metadata. All the performers had signed the nondisclosure agreement. Her name had been left off the press releases she’d drafted for Josh and Naomi before they’d scheduled any interviews. The only way those reporters could have found out, would even care about a nobody like her, was if one of the site’s famous founders had named her directly.

After everything Naomi had experienced in high school, Clara couldn’t imagine her outing anyone. But that only left . . .

Josh wouldn’t do that. He knew how much her reputation meant to her. But the how didn’t matter so much because no matter what, word was out. Jill and Toni would suffer alongside her. What a spectacular mess.

She mentally shook herself. There would be plenty of time to wallow in self-pity later. Right now she needed to focus on making this right. “The firm had nothing to do with this. My aunt didn’t even know. Please don’t take this out on her.”

Jill was out there somewhere, probably wondering what was going on, drinking more of that terrible coffee to keep her hands busy. Her aunt had been so proud that her firm, most famous for elevating D-list actors and aging musicians, could serve someone like Toni—could have a bigger impact. Losing the Granger campaign account would break her heart, not to mention that it could deter future clients.

Toni rose. “Clara, you’re my PR team. I need you to talk to your aunt and find a way to make this go away. I’m sorry. I can’t afford to gamble my career on you.”

“I understand.” The words tasted like chalk in her mouth. “I’ll fix this.”

Toni took one last look at Clara, her eyes troubled, and left.

Moments later, Jill came back in with a pen behind one ear and a crumbling mini muffin clutched in her hand. “What the hell happened?”

Clara showed her the folder, unable to speak.

“Wow.” Jill’s eyebrows rose so high they almost kissed her hairline. “You used your trust fund to back a program dedicated to promoting equal-opportunity orgasms at scale?” Her aunt pursed her lips and nodded, impressed. “That’s cool.”

“It’s got naked women masturbating on the landing page.”

Jill choked on a bite of mini muffin, and the room filled with her hacking coughs for a full thirty seconds. Clara had reached an unexpected level of rebellion, even by Jill Wheaton’s generous standards.

Clara might have laughed if her whole world hadn’t been folding in around her. “You have to fire me.” She forced the next words out. “Release a statement denouncing me and the site.”

Jill pounded a fist lightly against her chest, still recovering from her coughing fit. When her throat was clear, she said, “I’m not gonna do that. Clara, you’re my family.”

The last of Clara’s defenses shattered.

Jill’s definition of family, what they did for one another, the way they forgave, defied everything Clara had ever known. But Clara knew too well the destruction a rumor could cause, and the worst part was, this one was true.

“It’s the only way. I put the firm at risk and I probably lost the campaign for Toni. You saw that guy up there. He doesn’t pull his punches. This time tomorrow it’ll be all over the news: Granger Campaign Staffer Peddles Porn. Don’t smile,” she said, reprimanding her aunt.

Didn’t Jill know she should frown and glower, sigh deeply as if Clara’s existence were a trial? That was the only way to let someone know they’d let you down.