“I don’t. I take the opposite tactic.” He crossed his arms, and smiled a slow, cunning smile that did unspeakable things to her insides. “I show up with a date and make her believe fate beat her to the kill.”
Beat her to the…kill? This sounded bad. Risky. “Forgive me. I’m not fluent in The Art of War. What, exactly, are you saying?”
“I’ll pay you six thousand dollars to convince my mother we’re in love.”
Chapter Six
“You’ll pay me six thousand dollars to whaaaat?”
Wide blue eyes regarded him like he’d lost his mind, but no suspicion lurked in their depths, so Booker stayed the course. “I’ll pay you to be my date for all the family events I have to attend between now and the wedding—a thousand dollars each.”
Those wide eyes turned doubtful. “What are these events? I don’t play polo. I never attended cotillion, and I’m not a member of the country club.”
“You drink wine, right? Kate and Aaron are having a wine-tasting thing for their bachelor/bachelorette party. My parents are hosting a party. There’s the rehearsal dinner, and then the wedding itself, and the reception—I count those separately.”
“And I still only count five events.”
“I factored in a practice date. We want this to look real.”
She tipped her head to the side. “Define date, Sheriff. And while you’re at it, define real, because I think on Craigslist people call this ‘The Girlfriend Experience’ and I’m pretty sure it’s illegal.”
“Get your mind out of the gutter, Jailbait. My proposal involves me paying you to make a series of public appearances with me, convincing my mother we have a deep emotional connection. Anything happening between us, in private, has nothing to do with this arrangement.”
Strangely, drawing the fine lines between what the money covered, and what it excluded, didn’t bother him. Those lines remained very clear in his mind, and even though she’d raised the question, he sensed she’d done it for the sake of argument. He wasn’t making an indecent proposal, and they both knew it. Dishonest? Yes, and morally debatable, but not indecent.
Second thoughts sprouted like weeds. You really want to do this? Lie to your family? Manipulate Lauralie into accepting your help? He’d already conducted a ten second internal debate before he’d opened his mouth, but apparently his conscience demanded a final go/no-go check. He took stock of her, sitting beside him in a sweatshirt and cut-offs like some ghost of her teenage self, still covering any fear or uncertainty with a tough veneer of I-don’t-need-anyone. She’d let down her guard with him enough to disclose the extent of her situation, and that alone felt like a breakthrough even if the confession had been an effort on her part to push him away. He’d called her on it, demonstrating he wouldn’t be pushed away so easily, but she still couldn’t take that extra step—accepting help. Too much pride. Too little trust. Whatever the cause, he needed to deal with it, and find a way to make it okay for her to take what he offered without sacrificing her self-respect. If the end goal required a little deceit and manipulation, so be it.
He looked at her again. She chewed on her thumbnail.
A lot of manipulation. For maximum effect, he waited another half a second before shaking his head. “Never mind. Now that I’m thinking it through, I see it’s not going to work.”
Her chin came up. “Why won’t it work?”
Bait taken. “What I have in mind requires half a dozen convincing displays of serious, heartfelt attachment. It’s too much to ask.” He waited another beat before adding, “Of you.”
She turned to face him, her arms crossed, brow ominously low. “What do you mean, ‘of me’? What’s wrong with me?”
“Nothing’s wrong with you, per se, but you’re thin on real-life experience. I need someone who can make this look authentic, or I’m wasting my time and money. Forget I said anything. I’ll find someone else.”
“Okay, first off”—she held up one finger—“I have plenty of experience. Second—”
He took hold of her wrist. “You don’t do relationships. You have no experience with deep attachments.”
“Oh, an
d you do?”
The irony of her question coaxed a laugh out of him. “You don’t know everything about me, Jailbait.”
That earned him a startled expression, followed immediately by a gratifying flush. Bothers you that I’ve got you wondering, doesn’t it? She tried to tug her wrist free but he held on.
“Why not ask her, then?”
“Who says I haven’t?”
“Wow. And she turned you down. Who found you less than irresistible?”
That she’d misinterpreted his comment was for the best. She wasn’t ready. “I don’t kiss and tell.” He kissed the inside of her wrist and let go of her hand. She absently rubbed her thumb over the place his mouth had touched, and shot him a cautious look.