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“When you were fifteen,” Kayla points out “She was worried you were lying about the beatings you received at school—which you were by the way—and she wanted to look out for you.”
“I can’t break that promise,” I say, writing out rule five with the exception of Kayla’s mom.
“She won’t like our plan,” she says. “Plus, if we tell her, she’s going to demand the full story. You’ll have to explain about your blackmailing ex-girlfriend.”
“I’ll make sure she understands this was the only way to stop Alexandra,” I say firmly. “If we don’t tell her, she will be disappointed when we call off the engagement. I don’t want her to look at me and wonder if I broke her little girl’s heart. Or she might hop on the next plane to New York and start wedding planning.”
“Fine,” she says. “We’ll call my mom. I don’t want her rushing up here to find a wedding venue. I barely survived coordinating a wedding with her the first time around.”
“I think that had more to do with the man you choose to marry. He picked out every flower arrangement himself.”
“And my wedding gown. My mother never quite forgave him for that.” She shakes her head as if trying to dislodge the memory. “You know, I thought it was sweet at the time?”
“Give yourself a break. You were in love.”
“At least I know better now. I’ll be more vigilant next time. If there is a next time.”
“For you?” My imagination flashes to the determined woman in my limo last night, and her bared nipples. I stare at the legal pad for a second and then push the image out of my mind. “There will be a next time. But you’ll have to wait to find the guy until after our engagement.”
Kayla nods. “I have one last rule. Number six. We decide together when to end this charade. Nothing dramatic. We’ll release a statement through your publicist when it is all over, announcing that we remain friends. But we’ve realized your impulsive middle-of-the-night proposal wasn’t based in the reality that we both live very different lives.”
“Fair enough.” I write out the rule. “But it kind of takes the fun out of the relationship when you know how the story ends. There’s no suspense.”
“I’m full of anticipation to see if this works,” Kayla says dryly.
“Your plan is a work of genius.” I set the pen down and meet her gaze. “But just because you’re saving my ass this time, doesn’t mean you should land yourself in a situation that requires another rescue.”
“No one has ever blackmailed me,” she says.
I raise my eyebrows and give her a pointed look. “Yet, you still needed my help finding a divorce lawyer. Plus a ride away from that awful house you shared with Mr. Mistake.”
“He owned the cars,” she points out. “I didn’t want to touch his precious possessions. He cared more about the way things looked …”
Her voice trails off, and I mentally add the unspoken words including me to her statement.
“And you had that lawyer on speed dial,” she adds.
I nod. “From the moment you told me you’d made a mistake marrying Mr. Big Shot Dermatologist. Like I said that night, if you make the decision to jump out of a second-story window, I’ll be the one holding the safety net below. You can always count on that.”
“I won’t need to call for another escape plan. That’s a promise. No one defines me. Not ever again.” She carefully enunciates each word.
Damn right, I think. Then silently add, including me. I need to remember that as we put this crazy plan into action.
“I’ll hold you to that promise.” I push back from the table. “Let’s go pick up Luna.”
I expect her to leap from the chair. But instead Kayla holds out my cell phone. “First, you should call your publicist. Share the happy news. Tell Margaret you will be taking Sunday off—”
“I can’t,” I jump in. “I’m meeting with the design team.”
“You are taking this Sunday off,” she says calmly. “In the morning, you’re moving me and my pets into your penthouse. Someone might want to catch a shot of us walking the dogs in Central Park after their long car ride to the city.”
I nod. “I’ll move the meeting to Monday.”
“For our first night in the city, we order in,” she continues. “No parties. After dinner, we walk the dogs again.”
“I love takeout,” I say. Part of me realizes she’s getting me back for drawing her into this mess. She has every right. I should have asked before I told the local cops we were engaged. Small-town rumor mills spread faster than viral Twitter threads. By the time we arrive at the vet’s office, everyone in the county will know we’re getting married.
But the fact that I just became the only billionaire dog-walker in New York City isn’t lost on me.
