What I Did for Love (Wynette, Texas #5)(22)

The bits and pieces came together in her mind like a sitcom episode on crack. “Slowly, we let the story leak that I’ve started fixing you up with some of my girlfriends and that you’re fixing me up with a few of those cretins you hang out with. Everything incredibly friendly. All Bruce and Demi. No drama, no scandal.”

And no pity. That was the important part, the only way she’d be able to keep it together. No more pity for pathetic, heartbroken Georgie York who couldn’t hold on to love.

Bram was still stuck at the beginning. “We stay married? You and me?”

“Just for a year. It’s—I know it’s not a perfect plan”—a mind-numbing understatement—“but given the circumstances, I think it’s the best we can do.”

“We hate each other!”

She couldn’t fold now. Everything was at stake. Her reputation, her career, and most of all, her battered pride…

Except it was more than pride. Pride was a surface emotion, and this went deeper—all the way to her sense of identity. She faced the painful truth that she’d lived her entire life without making a single important decision of her own. Her father had guided every step of her career and her personal life, from the jobs she took to how she looked. He’d even introduced her to Lance, who’d dictated when they’d get married, where they’d live, and a thousand other things. Lance had announced they’d have no children, and he was the one who’d delivered the verdict that had ended her marriage. For thirty-one years, she’d let other people chart her destiny, and she was sick of it. She could either continue to live by the dictates of others, or she could set her own path, however bizarre.

A frightening—almost exhilarating—sense of purpose came over her. “I’ll pay you.”

That got his attention. “Pay me?”

“Fifty thousand for every month we stay together. That’s over half a million dollars, in case you can’t add.”

“I can add.”

“A post prenup,” she said.

Once again, he jabbed a finger toward her head. “You did this on purpose. You trapped me just like you tried to trap Trevor. This was what you had in mind all along.”

She jumped up from the chair. “Even you can’t believe that! Every minute I spend with you is misery. But I care more about my…career than about how much I hate you.”

“Your career or your image?”

She wasn’t discussing her self-worth issues with the enemy. “Image is career in this town,” she said, giving him the easy answer. “You know that better than anyone. It’s why you can’t get a decent job. Because nobody trusts you. But the public does trust me—even through all this mess with Lance. My reputation will rub off on you. You have everything to gain and nothing to lose by going along with this. People will think you’ve reformed, and you might finally be able to get a decent job.”

Something flickered in his eyes. She’d picked the wrong argument, and she quickly switched direction. “Half a million dollars, Bram.”

He turned his back on her and wandered over to the balcony doors. “Six months.”

Her boldness faded, and she gulped. “Really?”

“I’ll go along with this for six months,” he said. “And then we renegotiate. You also have to agree to every one of my conditions.”

Alarm bells shrieked. She struggled to pull herself together. “Which are?”

“I’ll let you know when the time comes.”

“No deal.”

He shrugged. “Okay. No deal. This was your idea, not mine.”

“You’re being completely unreasonable!”

“I’m not the one who wants this so badly. Either we do it by my rules or I don’t play.”

No way in the world was she doing it by his rules. She’d had her fill of that with her father and Lance. “Fine,” she said. “Your rules. And I’m sure they’ll be eminently fair.”

“Oh, yeah, you can count on that, all right.”

She pretended not to hear. “The first thing we should do—”

“The first thing we’re doing is getting hold of Mel Duffy.” Suddenly he was all-business, which was unnerving, since Bram never paid any attention to business. “We’ll tell him he can take exclusive photos right here in the suite, but only if he turns over his shots from downstairs.” He gazed at her along his sublimely shaped nose. “He didn’t get my good side.”

Bram was right. The photos Duffy had just taken would make them look more like fugitives than blissful newlyweds. “Let’s get to work,” she said. “You remember how to do that, right?”

“Don’t push me.”

She notified the switchboard to hold the calls that would soon flood in, and Bram set about locating Mel Duffy. Three hours later, she and her dearly detested bridegroom were both clad in white, courtesy of the Bellagio’s excellent concierge service. Her dress had a bustier top, a handkerchief hem, and some strategically placed double-sided fashion tape to make it fit. Bram wore a white linen suit and an open-collared white shirt. All that white against his tanned skin, tawny hair, and rakish stubble made him look like a pirate who’d just stepped off a luxury yacht to plunder the Cannes Film Festival.