One Day Fiance

I peek out the window to make sure he’s not already in the driveway. I wouldn’t put it past him to try to sneak away without me. Hmm, I might have to plant myself in his truck again if I want to be sure I can go.

And I definitely do.

Shit . . . I’ve got to get a move on. Slugging down the rest of my cup, I hop in the shower, scrubbing down as fast as I can. Yanking on jeans and a T-shirt, I glance in the mirror. My hair is half bun, half rat’s nest, but there’s no time to do anything for it. Instead, I give myself exactly two minutes to swipe mascara on my fair eyelashes.

I grab my tennis shoes just in case there’s a little light breaking and entering at the pawn shop. Because I am not leaving there without my laptop today. With one shoe on and one shoe off, my phone rings. Any other time, I’d ignore it, especially since it’s an unknown number.

But there’s a chance it’s Connor.

“Hello?”

“Hi, Miss Woodstock? Poppy Woodstock?”

Ugh, a telemarketer. I really don’t have time for this.

“No,” I say slowly. “Can I take a message?”

I’m hopping around, trying to slip on my other shoe and only half listening since I’m expecting another freaking call about my car’s extended warranty. Don’t these guys ever give up? And has anyone in the history of ever been like ‘why, yes, tell me more about your program’? I sincerely doubt it.

“It’s extremely important that I speak with Miss Woodstock immediately. It’s regarding a matter we discussed previously.”

Something about the voice breaks through the chorus in my head, and I pause, my eyebrows knitting together. “Wait, what? Who is this?”

“Detective Jax Carter.”

“Are you serious?” I snap, instantly angry that this asshat is calling me after blowing me off when I needed some help. It’s only through random good luck that Connor happened to move in next door and I’ve got any chance of getting my laptop back. No thanks to Detective Carter.

“Yes ma’am,” he says haltingly, like he expected me to be thankful he was blessing me with a phone call. “Good morning, Miss Woodstock.”

“What the fuck do you want?” I don’t play nice and polite. There’s no need to, not after how he treated me.

“Ahem, well . . . it seems we might’ve gotten off on the wrong foot before.”

I snort. “You could say that. Or you could say that you were a condescending asshole. But that’s probably not why you called, is it? Let me guess . . . my agent called and ripped you a bloody new hole to shit out of, and now you’re trying to play nice?”

Detective Carter clears his throat, not quite dropping his arrogant ‘take charge’ act but definitely taken down a peg or two. Or at least trying to sound contrite. “Poppy—”

I cut him off again. “Deal with Hilda, not me. I have no interest in discussing this matter with you ever again.”

“We have a lead,” he says, the words rushed out like he knows I’ll interrupt him if he doesn’t say them as fast as possible.

“What?” I say woodenly, freezing in place. Even my mouth freezes, hanging open and silent.

“Yes, Miss Woodstock. We have a lead, and I’d like to discuss it with you. I’m sorry for how I behaved last time, but this is important. Very important.” He sounds grave, serious, and infinitely more professional than before.

But a lead?

He can’t have one as good as I have.

Or could he?

Could he have figured out who Connor is too? When I went into the police station that night, I would’ve killed the thief with my bare hands to get my laptop back. I was that desperate and furious.

But now?

Things have changed. I still want my laptop back more than anything, but the thief is a real person to me now.

It’s . . . Connor. My fake fiancé.

I can’t let him get arrested before Caylee’s wedding.

And I don’t think I could let it happen afterward, either. I mean, as long as I get my laptop back, no harm, no foul. And in what I’ve seen over the past few days, he’s going above and beyond in trying to get it back.

I’ve been silent too long, lost in my own swirling, tumbling thoughts, so distracted that I haven’t heard a thing Jax Carter has said, nor the man who’s entered my house.

“Poppy, you okay?” Connor says from right behind me.

I jump a foot in the air, screeching like a banshee. “Ahh!” I spin before my feet, one still bare, hit the floor. “You scared the fuck out of me!”

I swat at Connor’s chest, hard and unyielding beneath my weak smacks. He grins arrogantly and brushes the back of his hand on his chest, ‘wiping off’ my hits like they’re nothing.