“So, Nate Parker? Hmm… Not bad, but it might cause some extra paperwork.” I take the keys and start toward the garage, since Miguel’s still on paternity leave.
“That’s not what I meant, and you know it!” she says, her feet slapping the floor as she comes after me.
“Actually, I don’t.”
I select the Bugatti because it’s a Bugatti kind of a day. I open the door for her, and she climbs in, looking daggers at me. We’ve agreed to share my car while Miguel’s on leave, for the good of the planet. Must reduce our carbon footprint. It doesn’t hurt that she smells awesome, either.
By the time I’m settled behind the steering wheel, she has her tablet out like a weapon. She waits until we’re on the road before she begins.
“I’ve given this a lot of thought.”
“Good. I’m all ears.” Undoubtedly she took notes on the tablet. That’s her habit. I’m curious how she envisions our future as a married couple.
“I understand that Barron’s traditional and all, but that doesn’t mean we have to play into his fantasy of how things are. I also understand you don’t want to upset him. And honestly, neither do I. So we’ll pretend to be married for eight—actually, let’s say six—weeks, then quietly divorce.”
“Really? What’s going to be the cause?” I ask, amused that this is what she considers the best solution.
“Irreconcilable differences. You know.”
It’s hard not to laugh when she’s being so earnest. She’s incredibly cute. Still, I make thoughtful noises. “Child support? Alimony? And what percentage of my money do you plan to take with you?”
The sound she makes is halfway between outrage and shock. “Mister Sterling. I would never. There won’t be any children. And it’s only for six weeks. Of course I don’t expect alimony or anything like that. I just want to be able to continue to work as your assistant.”
What the hell? Does she really think we can go back to being boss/assistant after a hypothetical divorce? I’m not sure if that’s possible. It would be awkward…wouldn’t it? “But why? Irreconcilable differences makes it sound like I’m an asshole boss-slash-husband you can’t possibly tolerate.”
Her gaze is fixed on the tablet. “There’s a huge difference between a boss I can tolerate and a husband I can tolerate,” she says, sounding like she’s reading her notes.
I frown. Why does that feel like a small needle going into my belly?
“And you plan to live where during the six weeks?” I ask—the most important question, the one I’ve been dying to get an answer to. There’s only one logical place, and I’m hoping she’ll see it without me having to point it out.
“I don’t understand. I’m not planning on moving. The lease on the apartment isn’t up until next year.”
I cough, unable to decide if she’s being purposely obtuse or just this clueless. “People are going to wonder if we don’t even live together.”
“I can drive to your place, then you can drive me to work, then back to your place, and I can drive home. Very simple. No one will know.”
“Ha. The paparazzi will. They’ll follow you around.”
“Really?” She makes a big production out of looking around, craning her back behind us. “Because I don’t see any.”
“Because they haven’t gotten mobilized yet. But they will, especially once it gets out that Barron’s throwing us a party.”
“Damn it. I should’ve known the Vegas thing was trouble.” Her chin firms. “You know what? It doesn’t matter if they try to say that we live separately. I can just explain I was visiting my friend.”
Oh, man. Evie can’t lie for shit. How does she plan to fake living together, fake being married and fake everything else? “Every day after work? And on weekends?”
“Kim and I are very, you know, close. It happens.”
“And I become jealous of your close relationship with Kim, and you end up divorcing me,” I say, writing the scenario for her.
Her expression brightens. “I hadn’t thought of that, but
sure! Exactly!”
Doing my best to suppress a smile, I put on a grave expression. “But that means there are going to be speculations about your and Kim’s relationship.”
“So? Even if they dig, all they’re going to find as that we’re just friends and roommates…or ex-roommates.”