“The guest list is locked,” I said. “The security is handled by a private firm.”

“Which you hired,” Arthur noted.

I looked down at the tablet, the bright light stinging my eyes.

My credentials gave me total control over the VIP press passes and the security manifest.

“If I put your name on the list, my boss will notice,” I said.

“Then don’t put my name,” Arthur said. “Put my associates.”

He leaned down, placing both hands on the polished wood of the desk.

“You are going to give us the security codes and the seating chart.”

I swallowed hard, the back of my throat dry.

This was illegal.

If I got caught, my career in public relations was over.

If I didn’t do it, I was going to prison for Tristan’s fraud.

“I need time to think,” I said.

“You don’t have time,” Arthur said.

The grandfather clock in the corner of the office chimed the hour.

It was nine o’clock.

“Tristan is meeting Khloe’s father tomorrow morning to finalize the VIP seating,” he said.

I rubbed my temples, trying to clear the fog of panic.