“She only has three cats, and they’re trained to poop in the toilet. I have videos. I’ll send them to you,” he says.
“Don’t. She’s got facial hair that shouldn’t be there, like in her mole. And she’s got a crush on me. At our Christmas party last year, I walked into my bedroom, and she was touching my bed.”
“She was tipsy!” he huffs.
“Let me be clearer—she was stroking my duvet. Pretty sure she was moaning my name. A minute later, I might have caught her masturbating.”
“She’s a drama teacher. She gets a pass.”
“Yeah. Pass on Wynona.”
“Okay. There’s a trainer at our gym,” he says. “Her name is Cinder. Very pretty.”
“Met her and no.”
“You’re being picky about a fake wife.”
I lean in and eat some of the chicken. “It needs to be someone I can at least get along with if we’re living in the same apartment.” For some reason, I have a vague image of a woman in my kitchen. She hums as she cooks, her hips swaying to the music in her head as I watch from the stool at the island. A waterfall of blonde hair spills down her back, teasing the bare skin between her cropped shirt and cutoff shorts. She tosses a look at me from over her shoulders, and her eyes are—
I chuckle at the absurdity, shutting down that little daydream. A woman hasn’t made me dinner in years. Usually we order in or go out.
“Okay, so what’s her incentive? Why marry you?” he asks.
“You act like I’m ugly.”
He snorts. “You’re moody.”
“True. Movie stars and celebrities, they date and marry people for various reasons. This is no different. We just need to cover all the loopholes legally.” I make a mental note to call my lawyer.
“Wait! There’s a girl at A Likely Story Bookstore, you know the one off Fifth Avenue?”
“No.”
“She also works at the bar across from our apartment. Surely you’ve been inside.”
I’ve seen Marcelle’s Martini Bar, but if I’m drinking, it’s at the Baller, a private membership place for athletes. “Never been. Any moles?”
“Shut it. She’s perfect. And fun. You need fun.” He hums. “Jeez, what’s her name? It starts with an E . . . Esme? No, wait, I’ve got it—Emmaline Darling. Isn’t that adorable?”
“So adorable,” I say dryly. Brody collects friends like lint, and if I give him time, he’ll name at least fifty women. “All right. I’ll peek in the bar.”
A squeal comes from him, and I hear Cas in the background ask, “What the hell is going on?”
“Just planning the wedding of the year!” Brody calls back, and I grimace.
“Civil ceremony.”
“Whatever. I’ll change your mind. Oh my God, I love you, G! I’m dancing again!”
I smile at his exuberance and remember Mom doing one of her “happy dances” with us when something good happened. It usually involved her twirling us around in circles.
He keeps chatting, mostly to Cas, as he relays what the plan is. It’s going to take at least another fifteen minutes to get off the phone.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see something yellow moving at the motel.
“What the hell? Somebody is taking off with my car,” I shout as my hand instinctively checks my pocket for the key fob.
Not there. Shit. Did I leave it in the room?
“Wait! What? Are you sure it’s yours?”
“There aren’t any Lamborghinis here but mine,” I say grimly.
My car pulls out onto the highway and accelerates away.
It’s practically brand new. I had it on special order for two years, and it only arrived a month ago.
“Maybe it’s part of the queen’s plan!”
“Later, bro.” I click off and jerk up from the table, drop a hundred on the table to cover the cost of my food plus tip, and race out the door. Breathing heavily, I run into the empty road and watch the red taillights disappear. Cursing, I dial 911.
“911, what’s your emergency?” asks the operator.
“Someone stole my car from the Golden Iguana in Old Town. It’s headed east—”
She cuts me off. “Is anyone in the vehicle, sir?”
“What? No! I mean, yes, someone is driving it, but—”
“Sir, to your knowledge, is anyone’s life in danger? Is there a child in the car or another loved one?”
“It was stolen,” I call out.
“I’ll transfer you to our auto-theft division,” she says without any change in her tone at my anger.
I reach the stairs of the motel and climb to my room while soft jazz plays on the phone.
I fumble for the key and go inside to see if anything else was taken. My duffel bag is still on the bed. My Rolex is on the desk. My clothes are in the closet. Nothing seems to be missing.
I see a folded piece of paper near the door and yank it up.
My jaw tightens when I finish reading it. I toss it on the bed and glare daggers at it.
Un-fucking-believable!
The girl I thought needed protecting is a thieving minx. I curse as I scrub my face, my palms digging into my eyes as I rub them. Was Emmy’s entire story a lie, just an opportunity to get me in her room? Hell, maybe Clint was in on it.
I pace around the room, my jaw tensing as I remember how she’d looked at me with those innocent eyes, desperate for help. I let my guard down. I believed her story.
But she wasn’t what she seemed.
Nope.
People disappoint you. Lie to you.
My father when he cheated on Mom and walked away from us.
Divina when she dumped me for my half brother, Holden. Five years with her, and she betrayed me. My throat tightens with emotion as my teeth clench to hold it in. The most bitter part of my memory of her is that when I proposed to her, she said yes. Little did I know she was already fucking my brother.
The music abruptly ends on the other line.
“This is Officer Tolbert. How may I help you?”
“My car was stolen,” I tell him. “And it’s headed to the Tucson airport.”
I fill him in with more details. No, I don’t know her last name, but they can check with the motel. No, nothing else was stolen. And, yes, I’m sure I didn’t give her permission, even though I left my keys in her room—which was an accident.
I’m still bristling as I slam my room door to go downstairs and wait for the police. I halt when I see a man banging on Emmy’s door. There’s a pretty petite brunette with him, her expression tense as she wrings her hands, then tugs at his sleeve to pull him away from the door.
“She isn’t here,” she tells him. “Let it go. Maybe we can make the end of the rehearsal party.”
“Her phone said she was here,” he snaps.
“Maybe she found the app and deleted it,” the girl says.
He turns to me. Dark kohl underlines his eyes, and his bottom lip is pierced. Brown hair falls into his face, and he shoves it back. “Hey, you there, wait a minute.” He juts his chin out. “Did you see the girl who’s staying in this room? Emmy?”
I open my mouth to tell him she’ll soon be in jail but stop. “Kian? Kian Adams?”