A Bad Boy is Good to Find(15)

“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?”