The Love Wager (Mr. Wrong Number, #2)(79)

“I still cannot believe how perfectly it went down,” she said, giving her head a shake. “I mean, technically it’s exactly what we paid for, but the dude made everyone at the ceremony haaaate Cheating Stuart and totally sympathize with you.”

Cheating Stuart. I appreciated her villainizing him—that’s what friends did, after all—but I was still devastated by Stu’s infidelity. Yes, he’d cheated in the past, so I hadn’t been completely blindsided, but I’d wholeheartedly believed that it was a one-time mistake and I’d chugged the Kool-Aid of happily-ever-after like a damn fool.

Until I saw his phone two nights ago.

“I’m just so relieved the canceled-wedding blame falls solely on Stuart instead of me and my parents,” I said, leaning forward on my stool to grab a Twinkie off the bar.

Until Emma found her unorthodox solution, I’d been resigned to marrying Stuart and seeking an annulment after the fact. I knew it was totally bonkers to go through with the wedding, but it was the only way to ensure my father didn’t pay the price for my failed relationship.

I unwrapped the snack and shook my head, still in awe. “I can’t believe the plan actually worked.”

“I know,” Emma agreed, reaching around the box of Twinkies to grab more tequila. “Thank God for The Objector.”





Max


I knocked on the hotel room door and waited.

This was my least favorite part.

More often than not, the bride who desperately wanted out of her own wedding was an emotional mess afterward, shocked by the end of what she thought would be the beginning of the rest of their lives together.

And I was not the reassuring kind. Back pats and handkerchiefs were not my thing.

I just needed my money and to get the hell out of there.

On a side note, who the hell doesn’t have Venmo or PayPal?

I heard a noise just before the door flew open.

“The Objector!” A blonde in a Red Hot Chili Peppers T-shirt that went down to her knees grinned at me. “I’m Emma. We talked on the phone . . . ?”

Ah, yes. The bride’s best friend. “So you’re Tom’s sister.”

“Yes!” She grinned again, and I realized she was totally buzzed. “Come in!”

She held open the door and I followed her inside what was obviously the bridal suite. Huge living room, bedroom to the left that appeared to have rose petals everywhere, and a silver bucket on the coffee table with a bottle of champagne inside.

Typical.

I shifted my gaze to the right and saw the bar, with an open bottle of tequila in the center and two shot glasses on the surface.

Less typical.

“You were amazing,” she squealed, shaking her head like she couldn’t believe it as she went right over to the bar and grabbed that bottle. “Tommy told me to trust him, but I had no idea that you’d be such a professional.”

I smiled and muttered a thanks, but I was never sure how to respond to that. It wasn’t like I was proud of my performance. I wasn’t an actor looking for good reviews, for fuck’s sake.

It was just something I occasionally did for money.

At that moment the balcony door flew open and the bride—Sophie—ran in, saying to Emma, “I need one more.”

At least it looked like the bride.

Walking down the aisle, she’d been stunning. Her dark hair had been tidily piled on top of her head, accentuating her bright green eyes and long, graceful neck. She’d looked like everything I imagined a bride would want to look like on her wedding day.

Her hair now, though, was everywhere. Technically a lot of it was in a messy bun on top of her head, but long strands of curly hair hung all around her face like she’d just wrestled a bear. She was no longer wearing any makeup, which made her look like a teenager, and she’d switched out the wedding gown for a Celtics jersey and leggings.

She stopped in her tracks when she saw me, and then a big smile slid across her face. “You. Are. My. Hero.”

I opened my mouth to speak, but she cut me off with an index finger. “Gimme one sec. I have to finish a project.”

I watched in disbelief as Emma tossed her a Hostess Twinkie, and then she disappeared back out onto the balcony.

“Do I want to know?” I asked, my eyes still on the sliding door.

“Twinkies won’t hurt the Volvo’s paint, so it’s a harmless crime,” she said, turning to look at the bottles of liquor on the shelf behind the bar. “That’s all you need to know.”

I contemplated just exiting the hotel room at that moment, because I didn’t need the hassle of whatever this was, especially when it was just past seven and I was starving.

But when I saw the bride pull her arm back and launch that snack cake off the balcony like a professional quarterback, I decided to stick around for another minute.

“Want a drink?” Emma asked, looking ready to pour herself a tequila shooter.

Before I could answer, the bride came back inside, saying as she closed the sliding door behind her, “We need to switch to something else.”

“What? Why?” Emma asked, pouting. She held up the bottle of tequila and said, “Jose is our friend.”

“Nope.” The bride shook her head and said, “As much as I want to get ripped, I don’t want to end up with my head in a hotel toilet. Pretty sure that’s how you get dysentery.”