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“Remind me why I gross you out so badly?” I was a glutton for punishment. Maybe it was time to try BDSM. I bet this woman would love to smack me around if I asked her.
“Well, for one thing, I’m rather involved with someone else. Before you ask—marrying him is not an option. Secondly, even if he wasn’t in the picture ...” She trailed off, squaring her shoulders. “No offense, but you’re not my type. I like ambitious, driven, smartly dressed men with impeccable manners and noble pedigrees.”
“You mean you want to marry a rich asshole,” I translated, stroking my chin. “You know, Daphne, I think you might be my favorite feminist.”
She crossed her arms, her glare deepening. “I’m not going to defend my morals toyou.”
“Thank fuck.” I stacked my ankles over her desk and sit back. “I find morals too boring and constrictive to preserve.”
Another long-suffering sigh escaped her. “Anything else?”
“Yeah.” There wasn’t, but I needed to pretend I’d given this more thought than a subway ride. “Don’t ask me for a penny. I have none.”
“Terms and conditions accepted,” she said. “Now my turn.”
“Hit me with it.”
“You must cosign my petition for a visa and attend our appointments and interviews with the US Department of State. Make sure we’re in compliance with everything they need. I know quite a few people who’ve done that.”
Easy-peasy. Worst that could happen if we got caught would be to pay a penalty and get some community service, with her being deported. The world was too full of actual criminals to lock the two of us up.
“Accepted. Now let’s get to the good part. When are we getting a divorce, Daphne?”
“It’s Duffy.”
“Bless you.”
“No, my name. All my friends call me Duffy. I suppose you should too.”
“Fine. When are we getting a divorce,Duffy?”
“So, here’s the thing.” She licked her lips. “It could take up to thirty-six months for me to get a green card—”
“Three fucking years?” I spluttered. “Aren’t you supposed to get a temporary passport stamp or whatever in the meantime?”
“Well, yes, you do. But then if we stick it out for two years—shouldn’t take more than twenty-four months, really—and prove our marriage is legit—”
I held my hand up. “Our marriage willnotbe legit.”
“Come on. It isn’t like they have a way of knowing this.” She waved a dismissive hand my way. “Think about it. I can help you with whatever you need at work.” She pushed off the cabinet, pacing back and forth in an attempt to come up with more pros.
“Oh!” She stopped, snapping her fingers. “Gretchen mentioned earlier that you don’t have accommodations? You could absolutely stay with me temporarily. My fridge is full and my settee is quite comfy.”
“Full of this?” I raised the container with the berries. “No, thank you.”
“You must need a place to sleep.” She frowned at me.
“Finding a place to crash has never been an issue.” I could buy a whole damned hotel if I wanted to.
“But why ask for favors? You’re what? Thirty-eight? Forty?” She scanned me head to toe.
“Thirty-seven.” My ego was dust and a distant memory at this point.
“Right.” She smiled politely, revealing a stunning white smile and zero warmth behind it. “Soz.”
I couldn’t figure her out. Why couldn’t she marry her main piece?
Maybe he wasn’t American. Whatever he was, I didn’t need a jealous boyfriend in the picture. Then again, if Duffy and I were having this conversation, there was no chance the guy truly gave a crap. I’d never been in love, but both my best friends were disgustingly and happily married, so I knew what love looked like. If Arya or Winnie had spontaneously decided to marry someone else, both grooms would be scattered in cube-size pieces all over New York in aCSI-style scavenger hunt.
