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I proceed carefully. “Remember how you got some bad press from your wedding… problem? And that your mom was mad that it reflected poorly on the family?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, think of the story. Things go south with old Andy the cheater, and thank goodness for that. You turn around and meet the man of your dreams. Bam. Past forgotten, everyone is cheering for you.”
“I can kind of see what you’re saying.” She nods slowly, running the scenario through her mind.
I’m trying to focus but damn, she’s pretty with all that long dark hair and those light brown eyes. If I’d seen her in a bar or in some completely different context, I’d hit on her. Probably be unsuccessful, though. Pretty sure she’s not the kind of woman who’d be down with a pickup booty call.
Although she did board a plane with me to Vegas and marry my ass there. So who the hell knows.
I see something out of the corner of my eye, and find a couple teenage girls looming over our table, giggling and shimmying their shoulders. “Oh my God,” one of them squeaks. “Are you Rake Hanson?”
Shit. Talk about bad timing. I don’t mind when fans approach me, especially young ones. But right now? I’m making the pitch of my life to a cynical hardass, and I’ve never been good at multitasking. Unless I’m on the ice, that is.
I smile politely. “Yes. I’m Rake Hanson.”
“Would you… would you autograph my… back?” one asks while the other laughs like her friend is hilarious.
She bends over and pulls the back of her shirt up.
I shake my head. “No. No, I will not. I will, however, autograph a piece of paper. If you have one.”
They grab a napkin from our table and thrust it at me. “Here. Sign this.”
“Do you have anything to write with?”
They look at me blankly.
Petal sighs. “I do. Hold on.” She reaches onto her backpack and passes me a pen.
I scribble my name on the napkin and hand it to the girls, who take it with wide eyes, like they just scored a winning lottery ticket or something.
“Thank you,” they gush, and finally turn to leave us. But not before dropping a little bomb. “God, can you believe he’s withher? Isn’t that the lady who works at Twisted Hearts?”
The other one giggles. “They should call it ‘lonely hearts.’”
They break into peals of laughter and settle into a sofa on the other side of the room.
“You know, that’s just disgraceful behavior,” I say, getting to my feet. “I’m going to give them a little lesson in manners. It’s one thing if people are dicks to me. But they don’t get to do that to you.”
Petal waves her hand in ano big dealfashion. “They’re idiots. I couldn’t care less about them. Don’t bother.”
Why am I not surprised that Petal isn’t fazed by something like this, that she doesn’t let a couple punks throw her off? Hell, I’m liking her more every minute.
Which is not part of the plan.
“I’m sorry about that,” I say.
“Let’s get back to our conversation. Or should I sayour deal?” she says with a glint in her eye.
I’ll be damned. Do I really have her considering my proposal? I honestly never thought that in a million years would she agree,as much as I’d hoped she would. It’s not a small thing to ask, to be fake married. I have no idea how we’ll pull it off or what the logistics will look like.
But I’ll start by getting a yes from her.
“So I take it you have not contacted an attorney?” she asks, wiggling one eyebrow.
I grimace. “I have not.”
