Accidental Baby (Fake Marriage Romance 2)

“That’s why I’m having this event. I’m trying to make amends. So, what do you say? Play whatever you want.”

“I doubt my band will be interested in working for you.”

Simon took another sip of his drink, apparently not bothered by my telling him we all thought he was a royal douchebag. “Okay. What about you then? Just you and your guitar.”

“No.” I took my rag and wiped the counter, hoping he might see it as a sign to finish his drink and leave.

“I’ll pay you ten thousand dollars.”

I choked. For a moment, I could only blink at him. Then my senses came to me. It was painful, but I had standards. “No.”

He studied me for a second. “Twenty.”

Holy shit. My instinct was to say yes. In general, my band earned fifteen hundred to two thousand for a gig. He was offering me ten times that for just me. But no. I’d be betraying Sinclair, Wyatt, and my town.

“Tempting, but no.”

“Twenty-five.”

What the fuck? All of a sudden, I thought he must have a hidden agenda. I mean who paid twenty-five grand to a nobody guitar player? Then I remembered he was a billionaire. Twenty-five grand was probably chump change. He acted like it was nothing. He offered twenty-five thousand like I might offer ten bucks.

“I appreciate the offer, but I can’t.”

He blew out a breath. “I can see it will be harder to get into this town’s good graces.”

I nodded. As far as I was concerned, it seemed unlikely he’d ever be considered a part of Salvation. We were nice people, but we didn’t forget or forgive very easily.

“Maybe when I own some of the local businesses it will help. I understand this place does well,” he said.

Oh hell no. Mr. Coffey wasn’t thinking of selling the Salvation Station to Stark, was he? He’d just talked to me about buying in as a partner. If I didn’t, did that mean Stark would own this place? I’d have to work for him? God, the thought of it made my stomach roll over.

Maybe I should take Stark up on his offer to play for him. I’d be able to invest in the Salvation Station and have a little bit left over. Better yet, I could keep Stark out.

“It does all right,” I said. “But why would you invest in a town that won’t accept you?”

He shrugged. “They’ll come around eventually.”

I studied him wondering how that would happen. Would he buy the town’s affection? Or would he buy the town and use his power to compel affection. He seemed like the tyrant type.

Stark downed his drink and tossed a fifty on the bar. “Keep the change.”

I watched him leave, and with each step he took, worry slid up my spine. Did Sinclair know Stark was trying to ingratiate himself into town? She had to because she’d been there when he offered Trina a job.

Then again, maybe this was something between Mayor Valentine and Sinclair. The mayor and Sinclair were friendly, but after what had happened with Stark’s prison fiasco, I wasn’t sure that Valentine didn’t hold a grudge against Sinclair for not only rebuffing his advances, but also stopping Stark’s prison. Mo had run his mayoral campaign on bringing jobs into town, and Sinclair had put the kibosh on that. So maybe the mayor and Stark had a new plan that changed from buying up farms for a prison to buying up local businesses.

Either way, I needed to go talk to her and Wyatt about this development. When I got off work, I rode out to Wyatt and Sinclair’s place before going home to let them know about Stark. I didn’t mention Stark’s offer to hire my band. I wasn’t going to play so there was no reason to share that. But it seemed like they should know that Stark wasn’t done fucking with Salvation.

After that, I rushed home, because I had a woman to woo.

18

Trina

I finished a report for the mayor and sent it by email to him for his review. I sat back taking a quick look at my desk calendar. My heart jumped. My fake marriage would be over in a couple of days. Had a month really gone by? Was I just a few days from getting my book back and avoiding making a speech at the Harvest Festival?

I sat confused for a moment as the feeling of triumph I thought I’d feel didn’t manifest. Now that I knew the truth about Ryder’s use of my poems, having the book didn’t seem that important. Of course, I st

ill didn’t want to make a speech. I was glad to be avoiding that, so why wasn’t I feeling more excited about winning this bet? I was going to be going home. Sleeping in my own bed. Living my well-ordered life. I sank in my chair as I realized that going back to my old life was the problem. I’d be leaving Ryder.