“Cash visited the bar today,” he says, interrupting my thought spiral.
“I know. I saw him on the security camera,” I say casually, deciding to go with the partial truth. I’ll leave out the part where I stood in the hallway like a stalker. “I’m assuming he knows.”
“He knows,” he confirms. “He doesn’t believe us, but he knows.”
I snort, his words helping to distract me as he continues to work his thumb into the arch of my foot. “That’s not surprising. He’s the most pessimistic person I know. How’d he find out?”
“He overheard your dad at the office talking with your mom,” he explains. “It worries me that he doesn’t believe us, Pres. What if the others don’t either?”
I shrug. “My parents did.”
He tilts his head. “Your mom believes us because she wants it to be true. And your dad is probably so relieved it’s not Jace you married in Vegas that he’s willing to believe anything. I don’t think your siblings will be nearly as easy to convince.”
He has a point. But also… “So what? Who cares what Cash thinks? I’m pretty sure he doesn’t even believe in love anymore, so I’m not sure what we could do to convince him.”
“But we need to try, Pres.”
“Why?” I fold my arms across my chest, feeling defensive. I always get this way when it comes to Cash. I shouldn’t have to prove myself to him, even if it’s over a fake husband.
“Because if he doubts us, he may start looking for a reason.”
Fuck. He’s right. Cash is one of those people who is never satisfied until he has an answer, and if he doesn’t get one, he’ll just keep digging and digging. “The bar’s finances,” I say under my breath. All the family’s businesses are linked. “He could access them without much difficulty.”
And then this whole thing would be for nothing.
“So what do you propose?”
His hand slides up to my ankle, all the way to my calf muscle, and gives it a gentle squeeze. I think it’s supposed to be a comforting gesture, but my brain doesn’t see it as one. I swallow and try to look as unfazed as he does. Meanwhile, I feel like I’m melting into a puddle on the floor.
Is it hot in here?
“What if instead of telling them all together, we told them individually? And we start with the one who is most likely going to join our team.”
“Our team?” I don’t even bother hiding the amusement in my tone.
“Yeah, you know, like when you watch one of those sappy movies with a love triangle, and everyone is either Team Broody Man or Team Emo Guy?”
I let out a laugh. “You would so be the Emo Guy.”
“What? I can pull off broody. Just give me a little time to practice your brother’s scary scowl, and I’ll have it down.”
“Okay, Mr. Tall, Ginger, and Brood-ish,” I joke. “But you’re getting your terminology wrong. What I think you’re looking for is someone who is most likely to ‘ship’ us or root for us.”
“Okay, yeah. We need that,” he agrees, his hands now just splayed across my calves. His wedding ring glints under the light, and I try not to stare, mostly because I don’t want him to notice and pull away. “We tell that sibling first and then work our way up, basically creating a support team as we go.”
“That’s—”
“Genius? Brilliant?”
“A lot of work,” I finally say. “We’re going to have to be very convincing, not just once, but several times.”
“Yes.”
“Which means a lot of physical contact. A lot of hand-holding and touching.”
His eyes bore into mine. “Yes.”
Suddenly, his hand feels scorching hot on my calf. It moves the slightest inch north, and I suck in a breath, my body coming alive in a way it hasn’t since that day he pressed me against the car in my parents’ driveway.
