10, 9, 8 . . .

Hayden grabbed Liz around her waist and they raised their champagne flutes high.

7, 6, 5 . . .

Jamie sloshed half of her glass on the floor, but just laughed hysterically and leaned into James. He was sober and practically holding her upright.

4, 3, 2 . . .

Meredith was already making out with her model guy, their champagne nowhere in sight.

1 . . .

The entire ballroom erupted with applause, and balloons rained down on them from all directions. Liz released the laugh that bubbled up inside of her as the ball hit the bottom, ringing in the New Year. Hayden bent down and lowered his lips to hers. Their earlier discussion lost from her mind, she reveled in the feel of his lips on hers, knowing it was the very first thing she would remember about this year.

“Happy New Year, Lizzie,” he whispered, resting his forehead against hers.

“Happy New Year, Hayden.”

Chapter 4

VISION

Everyone except James awoke with a hangover from hell. Apparently mixing champagne, vodka, and tequila was not a good idea. Ever.

Liz was glad that she didn’t have to do anything but lounge around in the spare bedroom with Hayden until the art opening. Jamie was running around the house like a chicken with her head cut off, despite the constant expletives about how terrible she felt. James just followed behind her, helping where he could, and chuckling softly under his breath, reminding her that he had told her not to drink so much.

Hayden channel surfed, stopping every few stations to see what was playing. His other arm was wrapped around Liz’s waist, and she leaned into his chest, watching the shows flash by. It was nice to just nurse her headache with his body pressed against hers.

He finally stopped on a news network and tossed the remote onto the nightstand. Liz stared forward indifferently. She hadn’t been paying attention to the news since she was on break. It had been a reprieve from her day job. She loved journalism and couldn’t wait to start her career as a reporter, but sometimes it was nice to forget that anything else existed in the world.

Hayden kissed the top of her hair and stroked it back with his hand. She sighed, wishing she could have done this all break, minus the hangover, of course.

As the media recapped some of the biggest New Year’s Eve parties and the gorgeous gowns, images of politicians and their dates flashed before her on the television screen. Most of the men were in plain black tuxes, but the women’s gowns definitely stole the show. Some of the older wives were drab and boring, but others looked runway ready.

And then he appeared on the screen. Her heart plummeted. She didn’t care how ridiculous it was, but she couldn’t seem to avoid Brady Maxwell. Even here, when she was safely wrapped up in Hayden’s arms, Brady was showcased on the news. Standing next to him was a diminutive brunette sheathed in layers of emerald-green silk that only accented her tan skin. They said the creation was a three-thousand-dollar Oscar de la Renta dress—one of the best they had seen all night.

As quickly as Brady was there, he was gone. The girl hardly mattered. Liz was sure it was just another one of the women Heather used for his public appearances. But he’d looked so . . . happy. It was wrong for her to be sad about that. She was dating Hayden, and they’d had a good time last night, but still she couldn’t shake the feeling.

Liz rolled away from Hayden and off the bed. “I’ll be right back.”

“Hey,” he said, reaching out and grabbing her hand. She turned back to face him. “Hurry back.”

She smiled softly and nodded. “Just using the restroom.”

He released her reluctantly, and she scurried down the hall and into the bathroom. She shut the door and locked it before sinking helplessly to the floor. Tears sprang to her eyes fast and hot. A sob racked her chest and she slapped her hand over her mouth.

No.

No. No. No. No. No.

She would not cry over Brady. She would not.

No matter how many times she had told herself all semester that she wouldn’t cry over Brady Maxwell, the man still brought her to tears.

It had been months. They were long over. Brady probably didn’t even think about her anymore. And yet the thought of walking away from him still made her feel like someone was repeatedly beating the shit out of her.

She had made the right choice. Brady hadn’t been willing to give her what she needed, because she couldn’t continue with their relationship as a secret and he wouldn’t budge on that. So she refused to let him choose between her and the campaign, and made the choice for him. Now she knew that Hayden was the right choice. He was sensible, attentive, handsome, caring, and he would never hide her. He was as f**king perfect as Victoria described him.

But still . . . he wasn’t Brady.

Liz cringed just thinking that thought, but it was the truth. In some ways that was a good thing. She couldn’t ever see Hayden bringing her to gut-wrenching tears, but Brady was only capable of that because he elicited such strong emotions from her.

That only made the tears come harder.

Why couldn’t she just be rid of Brady? Why did he have to keep popping up everywhere? She wanted him to plague someone else’s life, because she couldn’t keep going with her heart perpetually shredded.

She knew that she had been in the bathroom too long, but she couldn’t leave without composing herself. Taking a deep breath, she flushed the toilet even though she hadn’t used it and then turned the faucet on. She splashed her face a couple times and hoped the red splotches disappeared before Hayden saw her. There wasn’t much more she could do without makeup.

Praying that Hayden wouldn’t say anything, but knowing he likely would, Liz left the bathroom and returned to the bedroom. As she expected, he arched an eyebrow when she entered the room and he saw her puffy face, eyes red-rimmed from tears.

“Are you okay?” he asked, pushing himself out of bed and standing hastily.

“Yeah. I’m okay.” She didn’t want to lie to him, but she couldn’t tell him the truth. Not yet. He couldn’t know about Brady. What would he think about her? What would he think about both of them?

She already knew that he didn’t like Brady. He had confessed that he had voted for his opponent in both the primary and the election. Their joke about Brady being “our politician” was only because that had been her first press conference.

No, she couldn’t tell him. It was still too fresh. Plus, Brady had just won. He wasn’t even inducted into Congress yet. She couldn’t risk news of their relationship getting out. Any scandal was a problem for a politician, but one with a reporter seven years younger who wrote negative articles about him . . . ? She could just see their relationship plastered on headlines and following him around the rest of his career. Not to mention it killed her credibility as a journalist, risking her job as much as his.