“Thank you so much for asking that question, Jerome,” Max said. “I’m doing my best to get a bill through the Senate to help people like you—one thing I especially want to do is to ban that box you have to check if you’ve been arrested; some states have banned it already, but I want to do this nationwide.” Max paused for the applause to die away. “But as for what you can do, I know there’s someone in the audience today who has some expertise on that . . .” Max looked straight at her, that smile still on his face.

At first, Olivia didn’t understand what was going on. And then she realized, and fury swept over her. Had Max really called on her, spontaneously, in front of this huge crowd, and the press, to talk about one of the most difficult experiences of her life? For what, to give him street cred, or something?

She shook her head at him. But instead of looking away, he put on that smiling, pleading look, like he did when he wanted the last dumpling at dim sum, or when he wanted to watch one of his comic book movies. And the worst part was, it had usually worked on her before. Did this man really fucking think his stupid puppy dog eyes would convince her to rip open a wound in front of a huge audience? She shook her head again and glared at him, and he seemed to finally get the picture.

“My office can definitely help you,” Max said to Jerome. “Someone will give you contact information before you leave, and we can get you connected with services that can help, like getting you hooked up with mentors who can help guide and advise you, and job-training programs. But one of the reasons we’re all here is that we need to do a lot more. Does anyone have any other great ideas for me about ways we should be helping Jerome and people like him?”

Olivia would be impressed with Max’s recovery right there if she hadn’t been so angry that it felt like actual smoke was coming out of her ears.

Was everyone in this whole room staring at her? She certainly felt like they were. They were staring at her like Max had. All these vultures from Max’s office and from the press who just wanted their own curiosity satisfied, who wanted her to talk and cry and talk some more so they could judge her afterward even more than they’d judged her before. All of these people who wanted her to humiliate herself even more than Max had just humiliated her. Angry tears sprang to her eyes, and she fought them back.

Someone nudged her, and she flinched.

“It’s just me,” Jamila said in a low voice. “Are you okay?”

She shook her head. She was many things right now, but “okay” was not one of them.

“Do you want to go?” Jamila asked.

God yes.

“I’ve never wanted anything more in my life,” Olivia said. “But I can’t get up and leave right now. The last thing I want are pictures in the newspaper of my ass as I walk out the door.”

She could feel the rumble of Jamila’s laughter, even if she couldn’t hear it.

“Okay, as soon as the town hall is over, we’re out of here.” She pulled out her phone. “I know they locked some of the back doors for security, but I’ll get Sam to let us out.”

The next fifteen minutes felt interminable. Olivia kept a fake smile on her face the whole time, and her face turned in the direction of the stage, but she couldn’t and didn’t look at Max. Finally, Max thanked everyone for coming, and got a round of applause. As everyone in the whole room staggered to their feet, talking and laughing and banging chairs around, Jamila grabbed Olivia’s arm.

“Follow me.”

Olivia didn’t let herself glance in the direction of the stage as they fled. They went away from the main doors to a little door in the corner of the room, almost hidden behind the AV equipment. Jamila opened the door, and they slipped through.

“This takes us to the back; we have to walk around the block to the parking lot,” Jamila said. Olivia just nodded.

They didn’t speak as they rushed to Olivia’s car, thank God. She just wanted to get out of there, away from Max’s staff and the press and everyone else who had been in that room. But most of all, away from Max, who knew she never wanted to be in the spotlight, who knew how hard it had been for her to be thrown into public because of him, who knew that she’d only done that for him because she loved him, and who had tried to drag her and her story and her pain and her struggles in front of the world, like she was some kind of trophy for him. She had to get away as fast as she could before she broke down.

They stopped right by Olivia’s car.

“Do you need me to drive you home?” Jamila asked.

Olivia shook her head.

“I really appreciate that, but no. I just need to . . . I just need to go.”

Jamila touched her arm and looked into her eyes.

“Text or call later if you need to talk. Okay?”

Olivia looked away so she wouldn’t cry.

“Thanks,” she said. “And thanks for getting me out of there.”

Olivia gave Jamila a quick hug and then got in her car and sped out of the parking lot as quickly as she could. Part of her wondered if there were photographers around waiting for her or maybe even following her home, but at this point, she was past caring about that.

She felt so relieved when she pulled up to her house. All she wanted was to be inside, in her own space, alone. In a place where she didn’t have to worry that anyone was watching her or judging her or taking pictures of her. A place she wouldn’t have to hold on tight to herself and everything she was feeling.