“Of course.”
We shake hands, and I manage to make appropriate small talk as we walk back to his ranch house. Red’s wife, Marnie, insists on wrapping up leftover cornbread for my flight home, and I accept it with the grace of someone who definitely isn’t having a complete mental breakdown.
It’s only when I’m safely ensconced in my private jet, watching the Texas landscape shrink beneath us, that the full magnitude of what I’ve done hits me.
I told a client I was engaged. To Freya. Who definitely isn’t my fiancée. She’s not even my girlfriend.
I’ve never even had a real girlfriend. I’ve never been on more than four dates with the same woman.
I pull out my phone and stare at Freya’s contact information. We’ve been friends for so long that her number is still saved under “Freya Hurricane”—a nickname from high school that she’d earned through her tendency to blow into situations and completely upend the status quo.
She’s going to kill me.
Or worse, she’s going to laugh at me.
I down the scotch my flight attendant brings me and try to figure out how to explain this to the woman who understands me better than anyone. The woman who used to climb through my bedroom window and drag me away from my textbooks. The woman who never let me take myself too seriously.
The woman I’ve been half in love with since I was in braces.
I drain my glass and signal for another. This is going to require significantly more alcohol.
My phone buzzes with a text from my assistant: “How did the appointment go?”
I stare at the message for a long moment, then type back: “I’m engaged.”
Three dots appear immediately, then disappear. Then appear again.
“Congratulations? To whom?”
I don’t respond. Instead, I lean back in my leather seat and close my eyes, trying to figure out how I’m going to convince my bestfriend to fake marry me without destroying our friendship in the process.
The plane heads toward Chicago, carrying me home to face the consequences of the most impulsive decision I’ve made in my entire life. Red Dawson wanted to see family values and commitment?
Well, he’s about to get a front row seat to the performance of a lifetime.
Assuming Freya doesn’t hang up on me the moment I explain what I’ve done.
CHAPTER 2
FREYA
Reaching over to the stereo, I crank the music up, enjoying the thrum of nineties rock filling the apartment. Luckily, I sprang a little extra to live in the building with concrete walls, and if my neighbor next door still complains, I’ll bake her some muffins as an apology.
Damage control later. Right now, I need to do whatever is necessary to get my creative juices flowing, because this blank canvas in front of me won’t paint itself.
Gently biting on the end of my paint brush, I stare straight into the middle of the blinding white canvas, allowing the music to seep into my bones, letting my thoughts space themselves apart. I’m headed into the zone, and nothing can distract me.
Except for my phone ringing.
Shoot.I forgot to put it on silent.
Swiveling my stool around, I grab the phone, intending to reject the call. Until I see that it’s Ben.
My weak spot in all of life.Ben.
I already know I’ll answer the call. Because it’s Ben. My Ben. I’d move mountains for him.
…Even though maybe I shouldn’t.
