A Bad Boy is Good to Find(16)

“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.





Chapter 7





The phone calls didn’t go any better the next day. Lizzie and Con sat opposite each other at the table in their hotel suite, her pages of scribbled notes covering its lacquered surface. He looked smug as he browsed the want ads in the local paper and announced he’d need to use his phone soon.

“You’re looking for a job in Phoenix?”

“Sure, why not? Nice weather.”

“I’m not staying here!”

“Why not? We’ll get an apartment to share. I’ve looked at the prices. We can rent a nice place quite reasonably. Maybe even one with a pool.”

“You are out of your cotton-picking mind.”

“Got any better ideas? Your brilliant scheme doesn’t seem to be going over so well.”

“They’re all interested in the idea, but they don’t think it’s big enough.”

“Maybe you need to approach a smaller media outlet?”

“Are you actually making a helpful suggestion?”

“I want you to give it up so I can start using my phone to get us a real life going here. We’ve got bills to pay.”

“We do? As I recall, I’m the one with the crushing debts. You can waltz off any time you like. I won’t come running after you.” Why did that thought make her ribcage tighten?

Con just indicated the phone. “Whenever you’re ready.”

Not yet, Buster. She had one more phone call to make. One she’d been dreading.

She sucked in a breath as she dialed the number.

“Celebrity Access,” drawled a bored-sounding receptionist.

“Maisie Dixon, please.”

Con shot her a look and went back to his paper.

She’d come up with her “televised wedding” idea partly because Maisie had gone to work for a cable channel that did that kind of thing. A hitherto unexpressed competitive streak made her want to get her story on a better network than Maisie’s. No such luck.

“Hello?”

“Hi, Maisie, it’s Lizzie.”

“Lizzie, Darling! How are you? Still whooping it up?”

“Pretty much. Listen, Con and I have decided to get married—”

“I thought he turned out to be a scoundrel.”

“True love can overcome all obstacles.” She ignored Con’s raised eyebrows. “I don’t care that he’s a penniless, uneducated garage mechanic—” She paused while Maisie made choking noises into the phone. “Yes, I know, I didn’t tell you that before. I was too proud, but it’s true.” She winked at Con. “Anyway, since I’m now flat broke, and of course he still is too, we’re looking for a media outlet to televise our wedding, kind of a Cinderella story in reverse. Are you okay?”