A Bad Boy is Good to Find

chapter 6

Lizzie squinted in the sun, keeping her distance from the edge of the canyon. “So, what is that thing on your butt?” She stared at the tattoo as it disappeared into a pair of neatly pressed pants. He seemed to have an inexhaustible supply. Probably had a deal with the Devil that banished wrinkles from his wardrobe.

“A flaming dagger.” He pulled a gleaming white shirt from his bag and shook it out.

“A gang tattoo?”

“Kind of. Protective coloration.”

“On your butt?”

“It’s a long story. Better there than on my face, right?”

“Was that before or after you went to reform school?” She dragged out the last two words. Con didn’t look at all ruffled. He whipped out a comb and slicked back his hair.

“During.”

“Must have been a nice place.”

“Very educational, let’s put it that way.”

“Is that where you learned how to lie, cheat and steal?”

Now he looked hurt. He tucked the comb back in his bag. “I didn’t do any of those things.”

“You told me that tattoo was a family crest. That’s not a lie?”

“A gang is a kind of family.” The half-smile that crept across his face let her know he didn’t think he was fooling anyone.

“Don’t snow me with semantics, please. I may be naïve, but I’m not stupid. How did you end up in reform school anyway?”

“It’s a long story.”

“Everything’s a long story with you. I’d like to actually hear one of them.”

“Maybe another time.”

He zipped up his bag. Slipped his bare feet into dusty dress shoes. Apparently today the illusion only extended to his ankles. “You hungry?”

“No. Do you have any plans beyond feeding me back to my fighting weight?” Her hostile tone began to grate even on her nerves. “Damn, being a bitch is exhausting. If I lighten up a little, don’t take it personally.”

Con’s eyes twinkled. “I’ll try not to. Come sit down, get out of the sun for a while.”

He’d put the top up on the car and the passenger seat beckoned. Her fake tan didn’t give much protection from the blistering Arizona sun. Underneath it she was already freckling. “Alright.”

Con climbed into the driver side and they sat there, side by side, inches from each other. She could smell his sweat and the scent of sex. A crisp white shirt couldn’t hide everything. Strong, brown hands rested on his knees.

She shifted her attention to the big brown desert out there. “So, tell me, Con. Have you ever been really happy?”

“Sure. I can honestly say I’ve never been happier than when I was with you.”

She rolled her eyes and tried to ignore an odd flutter in her chest. “I mean when you weren’t living a charade.” She turned to stare at him. “Or have you been acting some kind of role since the day you were born?”

His chin kicked up, like she’d clocked him on it. Not such a bad idea. Then again, if anything, the little bump she’d added to his nose made his profile more distinguished.

“I guess you could say I have been pretending things were different for most of my life. Not because I wanted to…” His voice trailed off and he turned those soulful brown eyes on her.

“Maybe I should give that philosophy a try. Mmm, who do I wish to be? Let me see…” She drummed a finger on the dashboard. Turned her eyes on him with an intense stare. “I’d like to be me. The way I was before I met you, before my nearest and dearest bled me dry and left my bones out to bleach in the sun.” Her throat seized up as she spit out the words.

“Were you really happy?”

“Of course not! But no one is really happy. We figure out a treadmill to run on, and we keep running. I had a pretty good situation back then. It sure beat being a penniless dupe who’s lost all faith in herself and others!”

She stared at him, her face heating.

“You were happy with me.” He said it so quietly that she thought she might have imagined it. “Maybe living in a world of illusion isn’t such a bad thing?”

His soft voice and steady brown-eyed gaze threatened her barricades. She shored them up by wondering what else he might be hiding from her. “Apparently you’re still living there. I already know you’re a garage mechanic with a juvenile record and maybe an eighth-grade education, but you’re dressed like a stockbroker. Who are you trying to fool? Yourself?”

His dark eyes narrowed slightly, and a glint of humor covered the pain she saw there. “Maybe.” A slight smile played across his lips and an odd sensation crept up her spine.

“Well, I guess if you’ve got even yourself fooled, you must really be good.”

Silence shimmered between them like the desert heat.

She fidgeted in her seat, uncomfortable, battling a sudden urge to take his hand and hold it. To be nice to him. “Can we drive somewhere? All this sitting still is reminding me how my life is going nowhere fast.”

Con started the engine. “You’re a cool chick, Lizzie. You know, I think I like you even more now you’re showing your dark side.”

“That makes two of us. Where’s my lipstick?”

“I think you put it in the glove compartment.”

She fished it out and applied a thick smear of frosted plum. Checked the results in the side mirror and finger-fixed her smudged eyeliner. She even looked like a bitch with all this makeup on. Maybe there was something to be said for dressing the part.

“Where are we going?”

“Anywhere you like.” He looked downright cheerful.

“I like a town. With people in it. All this emptiness is creeping me out.”

“Your wish is my command.”



Con carried their bags as they walked into the glittering marble lobby of the Desert Palm Hotel in Phoenix. He’d muttered about it looking expensive. She’d laughed. What did he expect? He was escorting Lizzie Hathaway, accustomed to only the best. She wouldn’t need to give him the slip. He’d be begging her to get lost by the time she was done.

“My fiancé and I would like a room,” she said in a syrupy voice. “Do you have a bridal suite?” She turned and gave him a loving look. He shot her back an equally fake smile.

“We certainly do.” The receptionist beamed. “And you’re in luck, it’s vacant. It has a lovely view of the Phoenix skyline. Would you like to hear the rates?”

“I’m sure whatever you’re charging will be fine. Won’t it, sweetie?”

“Sure,” said Con tonelessly.

“Your name?” The receptionist’s smile stretched across her face in a crimson arc. Lizzie widened her own to match.

“Lizzie Hathaway.”

“Lizzie Hathaway…” She wrote it in a log. “I recognize you! Your picture was in the paper after that party at the Coco Club a couple of weeks ago.”

It was? Apparently she’d lost a day or two somewhere along the way. Lizzie kept her smile fixed in place. “I’ve been sowing some wild oats, but I’m ready to settle down now. Aren’t I, darling?”

“Um, yeah.” Con seemed to be having trouble keeping up.

“I’m so glad to hear that. When I read about what happened…” She leaned forward conspiratorially until Lizzie could count the individual pores on her heavily powdered face. “With your inheritance.” The last word was a ponderous whisper. She shook her head with a tragic look on her face. Lizzie’s smile wobbled. “It’s a terrible shame. I said to Zelda, that poor girl is all alone in the world, without a penny. She’s probably never worked a day in her life…”

“Actually I’m a graphic design specialist.” She stepped back from the desk to get away from all those pores oozing prurient interest. How did this totally strange woman know enough about her to gossip with her friend over coffeecake? The thought gave her chills that competed with the air-conditioning.

“Zelda will be so tickled that you’re getting married. I can’t wait to tell her! And such a handsome fellow too.” She shot a simpering glance at Con, then gave Lizzie a big, warm smile that made her want to sink right down into the marble floor and disappear. Her little joke on Con had backfired, and now she’d sparked yet another embarrassing rumor about herself.

Her heels clacked on the marble as they followed the bellhop to the room. She cringed at the sight of herself in the mirrored walls of the elevator, her hair the size of a category-three hurricane.

The bridal suite was embarrassingly luxe. Marble glittered on every surface, silver love-birds flew across the walls, and the heart-shaped bed was a cheerful affront to good taste. The city sprawled below the huge picture window, with more of those damn mountains in the distance.

“How do they know about me?” she hissed at Con when they were alone. He’d already started unpacking.

“Same way I do. You’ve been in the papers.”

“People actually pay enough attention to remember my name and talk about me?” She shuddered.

“It’s the kind of story people eat like candy. Riches to rags.” He hung a shirt in the closet. “And Hathaway Industries is nationwide. They’ve been closing factories and shutting down offices everywhere. They defaulted on their pension plan. It’s been big news in every state in the country, though you’ve probably been too drunk to notice.”

“Jesus.” She sank onto the bed. “Zen Mind didn’t allow media. It clutters the mind. The only article I’ve seen was the one I showed you. Maisie gave it to me. What else has been going on out there while I’ve been in a Cheeto-and-champagne-induced haze?”

“You do know your father’s being held without bail pending trial?”

“Yes. House arrest. I’m sure he got the ankle bracelet specially made by Brooks Brothers.” She stood up swiftly. Her head hurt. “I wonder what they have in the minibar?”

“No, you don’t.” Con slid across the room and blocked her with his body. Caught hold of her by the hips as she pretended to tackle him. She completely ignored the stirring male scent of him.

“Unhand me, sir!”

He obeyed. His crooked smile made her heart hurt. “Just a half a glass of beer? It has B complex vitamins.”

“Nope.”

“I need it to rinse my hair. It brings out my brown highlights.” She fluffed the hurricane.

“I’m sure you’ll manage without.”

“You’re cruel.” She threw herself on the bed. “I can’t believe newspapers are making money with my sob story. That doesn’t seem right. If anyone gets the money, it should be me.”

“I won’t argue with you.”

She heard him hook another hanger over the rail. Apparently nothing interfered with his attention to his immaculate wardrobe.

“Maybe I could sell my story to Vanity Fair?”

“I don’t think Vanity Fair would pay enough for it to be worthwhile.”

“People?”

“That’s more like it. But your story’s pretty much out there already, so I’m not sure what you could add.”

“Are you trying to say people on the street know more about me than I know about myself?” She flipped into a sitting position.

He shrugged and hung another shirt in the closet.

“Maybe I can sell them on something they don’t know about me.” She bit her lip. Tried hard to get her brain to work. “Something I haven’t done yet.”

“Like marrying me?” He winked at her as he fished a pair of black slacks out of his bag.

She watched him slide them neatly over a trouser hanger. A fiendish plot germinated in her brain.

“Like marrying you…” She said the words slowly, testing them on her tongue. Con’s joking suggestion was ripe with possibilities. In fact, it presented an intriguing way to get revenge on Con, embarrass her parents, turn the tables on the media—and make some money into the bargain.

I’ll marry you today, if that’s what you want.

Afterward they could get divorced. She’d be a gay divorcée. It sounded sophisticated, bitchy and mean, all the things she’d decided would constitute her new persona.

“You’re crazy,” was Con’s response when she shared her plan.

“Why? I’d think a show like Entertainment Tonight would love to cover our wedding.”

“But you don’t want to marry me.” Infuriatingly, he hadn’t even paused in his unpacking. He lined up neatly rolled socks in a drawer.

“Sure I do. What are you unpacking everything for? We’ll be leaving tomorrow.”

“I know. I just like to get settled in wherever I am.”

“So you can pretend you’re the kind of person who’d actually stay in a hotel like this?”

“I’m here, aren’t I?”

“Yes, but only because I insisted.”

“Makes no difference. I’m here and I’m going to enjoy it. Would you like me to unpack for you too?”

“Sure. Why not?” She lay back on the bed. “And I’m serious about the marriage thing. You’re a good enough faker to pretend to be madly in love with me for a few weeks. I’ll even give you half the money.”

“I don’t like it. It’s deceitful.”

“That’s downright hilarious, coming from you.”

“Look, I never set out to hurt anyone…” He rolled a belt and put it in the drawer with the socks. She could practically see the hair on the back of his neck standing up.

“No, you just set out to put one over me so you could live the good life. That’s all I’m doing. They’re making money off my misfortune. All I want is my fair share. You said you’d marry me, I’m just asking you to fulfill your promise.”

Con ran his fingers through his hair, messing it up. She ignored the way that made him look more handsome. “I said I’d marry you, and I will…”

“And we let the media in on it.” She leapt to her feet, hands on hips. “Is that so much to ask?”

“Yes, if you plan to get a divorce right after it. That’s not a marriage, it’s scam.”

“Okay, maybe we won’t get divorced after it. Maybe we’ll fall madly in love and live happily ever after. Oh, wait, I forgot… You’re not capable of love. Bummer.” Christ, she could use a drink from that minibar.

Con ran a hand over his face. “I care about you, Lizzie.”

“So you keep saying. If you care about me so much, then help me out with my little plan. Heck, maybe no media will be interested. In that case, you’re off the hook. Okay?”

Con looked mildly relieved. “Okay. If no one’s interested, you’ll forget all about it?”

“Deal.”

Some research time on a hotel computer and several phone calls later, Lizzie had been politely turned down by People magazine, the National Enquirer and Entertainment Tonight. She was waiting for a callback from Access Hollywood and the CBS Early Show, but the production staff she’d spoken to did not sound optimistic. Con whistled cheerfully as he shaved in the shiny marble bathroom.

“Don’t be so chipper. They all took my call. I’m going down to the computer to do some more research.”

“You’re not going anywhere without me.” He switched off the razor and ran a hand over his smooth chin. Her traitorous stomach jumped.

“Your lack of faith in me is so inspiring.”

“Just protecting you from yourself. Maybe we can go out and grab some dinner.”

“The Desert Palm has a rather lovely little restaurant, I hear.” She was in the midst of attempting to wind her hair into some kind of bun and it fought back with vigor. She stuck pins in to stab it into submission.

“I was thinking more along the lines of a Big Mac.”

“Such a romantic. I’m Lizzie Hathaway, you know. I don’t eat Big Macs. Especially not now I’m slim.” Well, okay, not actually slim. The full-length mirror in the bathroom had made that clear, even with a flattering sheen of steam on it. Slimmer. And planning to stay that way.

“Alright, Lizzie Hathaway, how about a veggie sandwich from Subway?”

“Oh, be still my heart.” She placed her hand over it. “It’s the kind of date I always dreamed about.” Her hair exploded from its knot and fell over her shoulders.

Con’s face cracked a smile. “You look beautiful with your hair down.”

“Still with the charm. You don’t give up, do you?”

The mirror had also made it clear she was still no beauty without her makeup. Right now she wasn’t wearing any, just to spite him.

“I’m not trying to charm anyone. You just make me smile.” Humor gleamed in those infuriatingly seductive eyes. Lucky they had no effect on her any more.

“Are we going down to use the computer or what?”



Lizzie teetered on the edge of the heart-shaped mattress, sleep still a distant fantasy. The pan-seared salmon she’d insisted on churned in her gut like dying pigs. At the time it had seemed like a point of honor, now it just felt like an indigestible extravagance.

All her life she’d hated snobbery and expensive status symbols. Now suddenly she was insisting on “the best of everything” just to get back at Con? It only made her feel worse when he went along with it, emptying his wallet to give her things she didn’t really want.

Did he have to breathe so loud? How offensive of him to sleep deeply when she couldn’t catch a single wink. And sprawled arrogantly over his side of the bed as if he hadn’t a care in the world.

Every time she thought she might be close to drifting off, a stray thought bloomed out of nowhere and scattered her fluffy sheep. A renegade memory of how safe she’d felt with Con’s warm arms around her. Never again. The thought of her proud father with an ankle bracelet under his crisp pant cuff and bored law enforcement employees monitoring his activities. He deserved it.

She remembered how her mother used to always tuck her in at night with a kiss. Even if they’d barely spoken all day, or if she’d been berating Lizzie over her weight or her hair or some other chronic failing. The day always ended with a kiss. That wouldn’t ever happen again. She buried her face in the pillow so any stray tears would disappear into the hotel-issue pillowcase without pricking her skin. Willed her breathing to stay even.

They’d all betrayed her. Schemed and planned and defrauded her. Left her with nothing.

Maybe if she just pressed her face into the pillowcase hard enough she’d stop breathing and all the pain would go away.

Or not. She flipped onto her back, eyes staring into the darkness. Con grunted softly, and before she could roll out of the way, he’d turned onto his side and slid an arm over her.

Excuse me?

Still asleep—apparently—he shuffled closer and wrapped his arm around her torso. The sleepy, spicy scent of him acted on her like lavender bath salts. Soothing.

The warm weight of his arm drew tension from her chest.

Oh hell. She turned her head and buried her face in his clean, soft hair.

And the next thing she knew, it was morning.