I had a few more in me—only enough for a pleasant buzz—before I got up the courage to tell Adam I needed to talk to him alone. He agreed to come to my suite when he could break away from all the congratulations and schmoozing going on around here.

Back in my room, I may have fortified myself with a little single malt Scotch before he got there. When he knocked on the door, I let him in, and then headed straight back to the bar.

“Care for some Johnnie Walker Black Label?” I drawled.

He scowled. He didn’t touch hard liquor and I knew that perfectly well.

“What’s up, Jordan? You look like shit.”

“Thank you. I feel like shit.”

“Are you getting sick? Why didn’t you tell me? You’re going to be up for the bell ringing and trading on the floor, right? They’re going to interview us.”

“I’m not physically ill, no.”

Adam let out a breath, visibly relieved. “Glad to hear that.” He shucked his suit coat and found a nearby lounge chair to sit on, immediately yanking on his tie to pull it off and roll it up. I’d already removed my jacket, tie, cufflinks and shoes.

He sat back, resting an ankle on his knee, and waited. I took a sip of Scotch and geared myself up. “Okay, so…I need to talk to you about April Weiss.”

Nothing on his face betrayed his thoughts. “Okay. Go ahead.”

“You can’t fire her for being in the video when there’s another employee who participated and is getting off scot-free.”

Adam stared at me as if I’d just grown horns. Then he blinked. “Well, you were there. She wouldn’t say who it was. And you heard her dad—”

“Screw him. If he’d cared about her, he wouldn’t have said that shit. It’s not fair. And on top of it, it’s sexist.” Thanks, Mia, for putting that bug in my ear. I had a vague image of standing next to her at some ritualistic bra-burning ceremony.

“So after that scene she caused at the party yesterday, I’m supposed to take her back?”

“She didn’t cause the scene. Someone else did. It’s not her fault.”

Adam’s eyes narrowed. “Two questions. One, how much have you had to drink, and two, why do you care about this so much?”

I braced myself against the edge of the bar with stiff arms. “Two answers. One: not enough. And two: because…” I took a long, deep breath, held it and let it out. I needed more liquid courage for this shit.

“Because?” Adam prompted.

“Because if you fire her, you’re going to have to fire me, too.”

Adam pushed out of his chair and stalked to the window to look out, brushing his fingers along his jawline.

“Are you going to explain that statement to me, or am I going to have to make some guesses? Because I don’t really like the stuff that’s popping into my head right this minute.”

“Whatever you are thinking is probably not as bad as reality.” He turned to me with an expectant look on his face. I cleared my throat. “I had a custom-made costume for this year’s Comic-Con. I went as Falco the Bounty Hunter, and no one knew.”

Adam’s eyes closed and his face flushed a little before he shook his head and looked at me. “And I’m only finding out about this now because…?”

“Well, that’s obvious, isn’t it? Because I’m a coward. Because I froze like a deer caught in the headlights the day that shit went viral and had no idea how to handle it. So I didn’t say anything, hoping it would go away. And the more time passed, the harder it became to dump it on you.”

“So not only did you screw an intern, but you videotaped it and put it on the Internet? Are you insane?”

I clenched my teeth. “Who videoed and uploaded it isn’t the point. The point is that if you fire her, you have to fire me, too.”

Adam scowled and he started to pace, his hands opening and closing at his sides. “This relationship, how long has it been going on?”

“It was a one-time thing…until…” He stopped and pinned me down with his signature death glare. “Until Vancouver. Then it started up again and has been pretty much ongoing until yesterday.”

“And on the company premises? Did you fuck her in your office?”

I swallowed. “Yeah.”

He shook his head, muttered something under his breath and started pacing again. “Screwing an intern in your goddamn office. Who the fuck do you think you are, Bill Clinton?”

“That’s not—”