Jane’s reading back the list of campaign ideas they’ve been brainstorming for the past hour when a knock on the conference room door interrupts her. Jeremy looks up as Chrissy enters with an apologetic smile. “Sorry, guys,” she whispers, as if she talks low enough, she isn’t really intruding. “Jeremy? You have a call on line one—it’s your husband.” Jeremy pushes away from the table, his pulse quickening. Blake? “Is everything okay?” Someone snickers, and someone else coughs the word, ”Whipped.” With a careless wave, Jeremy tells his secretary, “Keep going.” He knows they’re all watching him cross the room to the phone sitting on the corner table, by the coffee pot. Keeping his back to the room, he picks up the receiver, presses the flashing button for the first line, and whispers, “Hell
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