“Helping end my career as I’m proved a liar for a lie I didn’t tell? Yeah, thanks. Again.”
My mouth shut because I had no response. Then an idea struck me. “What if there’s a way to fix this?”
She shook her head as if in disbelief because she saw no way out of this situation.
“Marry me,” I said.
A slow, low laugh bubbled out of her, but it wasn’t filled with humor. “Really? Not you too.”
“Think about it. If we get married, it won’t be a lie.” When I had her attention, I continued. “Marry me, and after a couple of weeks, we’ll get it annulled.”
Her anger died away as a thoughtful expression took over her face. I was getting somewhere.
“How do we accomplish that?” she asked, but I could tell she was placating me.
“I’ll call in a favor.”
“Mmmhmm. A favor?” She gave me side eyes.
“The judge will keep it private. It will be public enough so anyone who looks will find it, if they look. Maybe they won’t.” It wasn’t like her front door had been swamped with reporters. There had only been two sets.
“A favor,” she repeated suspiciously. “From a judge.”
“Yes, and this could work. They can’t call you a liar if you are really married.”
“I can’t believe I’m even considering this,” she said. “I need a drink.”
“Let’s go get one.” I drew her out in the hallway. “Is there another way out of here?”
“Yes, the back.” She led me that way.
As we passed her assistant, I said, “Your boss is leaving for the day.”
He grinned from ear to ear, and my girl let me lead her outside. I’d parked my bike in a garage not far from the back entrance. When we got on my bike, her skirt hiked high. I gave her my helmet because I hadn’t expected to drive with her and only had the one.
“Is this safe?” she asked.
“Just hold on, princess. I got you.”
I didn’t drive any differently, and when I arrived at the Soho penthouse, I pulled into the garage without thinking. I parked in my usual spot.
“You know this is reserved, right?”
God, I hated to lie to her, so I shrugged.
I made my second mistake when we got into the apartment. I went directly to my stash of hard liquor.
When I pulled out a bottle of Glendalough 25-Year-Old Single Malt Irish Whiskey I’d been saving, her expression changed into a frown. “How’d you know that was there?”
It was damn good I was quick on my feet. “The other day when we made breakfast, I was rummaging around and spotted it.”
She relaxed. I was slowly burying myself in untruths I would have to own up to sooner or later.
I poured us each a generous glass. Had I honestly offered to marry the woman? She downed the drink in one gulp. I did the same as we stared at each other.
“Are we really going to do this?” she asked.
“Up to you, princess.”
“What do you have to do?” She poured us each another two fingers.
I swirled the amber liquid as I tried to figure out what was going on in her head. “I just need to make a call.”
She tossed back the second glass. “Let’s do it.”
“Are you sure?”
“Make the call,” she said. “And this doesn’t mean I’m not still mad at you.”
I wanted not to be disappointed by that, especially when I had the urge to kiss the hell out of her. I nodded instead.
As I pulled out my phone, she disappeared in the bedroom. It didn’t take me long to make the arrangements because I had a favor owed to me.
I made other arrangements as well. I had a car come pick us up. We’d both had drinks. Since she was sober when we left Soho, I thought the woman could hold her liquor. That assumption died as time passed in traffic.
We’d made it back to Manhattan before Lizzy yelled, “Stop.” She waved at something outside of the window. “There!”
The driver looked at me in the mirror and I signaled for him to pull over. When he did, Lizzy jumped out.
“Wait here,” I said to him, following her.
She entered a store, and I sighed. As we waited for someone to appear, she declared, “What this fake wedding needs is a wedding dress.”
“We don’t have time for this,” I muttered.
“I’m not getting married not properly dressed.”
This wasn’t the Lizzy I’d grown attached to. The stubbornness, yes. But the way too bright eyes and over excitement as she danced around the room was a side of Lizzy I hadn’t seen. Drunk Lizzy.
When the salesperson showed up, my fake fiancée jubilantly described what she needed and why. She was whisked off to the back, and I dropped into a chair up front. I called the driver and advised him to circle the block a few times or find a legal place to park until we were ready.