Fake Marriage Box Set

"What do you mean?" I snapped as my phone started to ring again. In Corsica's guest room, I could hear the shower running, and the images that inspired were not helping me concentrate. "I'm not doing anything."

"That is exactly my point," Phillip said. "You've got a woman like Corsica right in front of you, and you're trying to concentrate on work? When are you finally going to agree that your priorities are completely out of whack?"

I snorted. "Since when do you think securing a fortune, one that you invested in, is a low priority?"

"Give it a break, Penn," Phillip laughed. "We're already rich. When you get around to accepting that fact, Corsica and I will be on Cannery Row. I hear there's a great little karaoke bar down there."

Corsica was ready within her ten minutes, as promised. She flew back into the kitchen, a cloud of floral scent and fresh skin. I grabbed the counter and ignored my phone as it rang for the third time.

"Coming?" Phillip asked.

"No. I've got to take this call," I ground out.

Corsica blew me a kiss, and it clung to me, the way her sexy, clean scent clung to the air around me.

I had always loved work and always worked hard. It had never bothered me to be a workaholic before, but now I felt a different pull. I never minded missing out before, but that was before it was Corsica I was missing.

I dealt with my assistant as fast as I could. After a flurry of emails, an argument about a contract, and a quick conference call, I was done. There were at least four hours of work left for me to wade through, but I couldn't take it anymore. Corsica was off with my friends, and I couldn't concentrate until I saw that she was all right. That excuse held until I caught up with them at the little basement karaoke bar.

Phillip made fun of me as soon as he saw me. "I thought you might not be able to resist."

"That has nothing to do with it," I said. "I'm just here to make sure you aren't filling her head with stories."

"Like the truth?" Phillip asked.

I looked around, annoyed, but we were alone for the moment. Tamara and Bill waved from the bar where they were ordering another round. "Where's Corsica?"

"Restroom," Phillip said, "which gives us plenty of time to discuss why you can't just tell her you're almost as loaded as your father."

"You know damn well why."

My friend shook his head. "I know you're stuck on this whole 'people treat you different when you have money' idea, but it doesn't hold for everyone. I've met lots and lots of people who don't ca

re at all how much I make. You know people can be happy without money, right?"

I rolled my eyes. "I know that, but I think someone might have to tell Corsica. She's bent on getting all she can in this life."

"I don't know. Yeah, she talks about it, but it seems like a defense mechanism or something. She only talks about her career and financial aspirations when she doesn't want to talk about her past."

I wanted to punch Phillip because he was right. How he had managed, within a few short hours, to sort out Corsica's mixed signals was irritating. "That's a good theory, but I'm not convinced yet."

"Then maybe I still have a chance to change your mind." Alicia slid into the seat next to me and gave me a warm smile. "What are we talking about?"

"Corsica," Phillip said before I could stop him. He was always the one who liked pouring gasoline on a fire.

Alicia's eyes narrowed, but she kept her smile in place. "Yes, what did she say she had studied at school? Hospitality? Seems like if she'd grown up with the right etiquette, those classes would be unnecessary."

"What do you mean 'the right etiquette?'" I asked.

"Oh, nothing," Alicia tossed her hair. "It's just that no matter how charming she is, or beautiful, or how many classes she took, she'll still just be the hotel worker that no one remembers. The one from…where is she from again?"

"Wow, am I sensing a little jealousy?" Phillip asked with a mischievous smile.

Alicia blinked her large eyes innocently. "We've all talked about this countless times before. People attach themselves to us because they think we can pull them up, but everyone has their level in life. It's not up to us to change that."

"Or judge people based on it," I snapped. "I can't believe you think it matters where someone grew up."

"Yeah," Phillip snorted, "maybe she should take a trip to the heartland herself."