Perfect Partner
When Spencer Greene returned home, he carried the scent of an unfamiliar perfume and a faint lipstick mark on the collar of his white shirt.
He smiled indulgently as he sent a voice message on his phone.
“Oh, you. Be good.”
I was sitting on the couch watching TV. When he saw me, his smile disappeared, and his voice grew cold.
“Why aren’t you asleep yet?”
“Look.”
I nodded toward the television.
On the HD screen, more than ten reporters surrounded me and pushed their black microphones toward my face.