The night before the big press conference was utter misery. I sat at my tiny kitchen table, staring at Project Phoenix files Alex had given me to review. The beautiful green dress from the gala was a million years ago.
Alex didn't just want me to show up and smile. He wanted me to talk. He'd written what I was supposed to say.
He said my "personal story" would help people trust him. But that would mean using my family's pain to make him look good.
My stomach twisted as I remembered that terrible email about Site 14B.
All of those addresses. All of those families displaced from their homes. Alex's signature was right at the bottom. How could I sit next to him and make the case for his project when I knew what he'd done?
And then there had been that kiss. I could not get his lips on m
