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“What was the point again?” Ward asks.
“Get married. There’s your reset. Bam!” Nick says, signing guns with his fingers. “It’s a ticket to good PR, and you’ll look like a grown-up.”
Ward and I share a grim look, then we both burst into laughter.
It’s so absurd I’m in stitches until my sides hurt.
But Nick never laughs.
And when we finally regain composure, he keeps the joke going. “Do either of you have a better idea?”
Um. I’m speechless.
“Of all the stupid shit I’ve heard you say—why don’t you get married to save the company takes the nonexistent wedding cake,” Ward snarls, his dark brows pulling down like a thunderhead.
Nick grins. “I’m irredeemable, remember? Look, you probably don’t have to get married. Not really. Just fake an engagement until after the contract’s signed. A low-key broken engagement a few months later isn’t a good reason to cancel. He won’t back out once it’s underway, and managing a Winthrope construction shores up our reputation forever. We’ve just got to make the finish line.”
Crickets.
I wish there were bugs chirping to break the agonizing silence.
Then Ward clears his throat, turning to face the city through the shimmering glass. “I hate to point out the obvious, but...I haven’t had time for dating in two years. Who, pray tell, should I fake marry?” He sighs. “I can’t believe I’m even asking.”
“A cat cartoonist,” I say.
Ward scoffs.
“Bad timing, I guess. I thought it was funny.” I shrug, feeling a soreness in my shoulders. It’s got to be the stress.
Nick stays quiet, his eyes slowly tracing from his brother to me. Then back again.
Wardhole, Paige.
Paige.
Wardhole.
Smile.
Sinister freaking smile.
Oh, no. He can’t possibly be thinking—
“Paige,” Nick says, starting toward me.
I whip my neck around. “Nick?”
He stares at me heavily until I get his point. His incredibly boneheaded, desperate, and no-way-this-is-happening suggestion.
Hell no.
But before I can say it, Ward hits the limit on his snarly boss-o-meter. “Ridiculous! We’re struggling to salvage the biggest deal in Brandt history and all you’ve got are games, Nicholas? Christ. Maybe Winthrope’s right. Give me something real to work with, you two,” he spits, pure venom in his tone.
Ouch.
I shudder, suddenly offended, even if it’s hilariously absurd.
On top of everything else he’s done, all the games he’s played with me, the very notion of pretending to be engaged to me is a death sentence?
I look him dead in the eye.
“Newsflash: ‘You two’ didn’t come up with that asinine idea. Your brother did. No worries, Ward. I would throw myself off a high-rise into Lake Michigan before I’d ever pretend to be desperate enough to marry a man like you.”
“Feisty. See? She’s cute when she’s mad, she’s brilliant, and she’s got backbone,” Nick says, nodding firmly. “Good wife material.”
Ward groans, dragging a hand across his face. He doesn’t even acknowledge what I’ve said, just glares at his brother.
“Hey, chucklefuck. In case you didn’t notice, I’m not in the mood for jokes today. I’m ten seconds from breaking your jaw.”
“Wonder why,” Nick mutters.
They stare each other down, having some brawl with their eyes I’m not privy to.
“Tell you what. When you prove this is a bad idea, I’ll give you a better one.” Nick tosses his half-empty water bottle in the air and catches it with a dramatic flourish.
“You’ve lost your goddamned mind,” Ward snaps, pacing back to his desk and reaching for the phone.
“Who are you calling?” Nick asks.
“Grandma. I need someone to back me up on having you committed.” With another bearish sigh, he slams the phone back into its cradle.
“Screw you, dude,” Nick flings back. “She’s obviously comfortable telling you what she thinks, and you two bicker like you’re already married and sick of it. Everyone would believe it. Just sayin’.”
Big yikes.
I can’t decide whether to be offended at the ugly truth or mortified at his logic...
...especially when said logic makes enough sense to raise the hair on my neck.
Silence engulfs the room again.
With a switch of my hips, I walk out, escaping before Ward has a chance to dismiss me.
After this meeting disaster, I’ll be damned if I give either Brandt brother the opportunity.
I pour a glass of wine and flop down on the couch.
What even are the last few weeks of my life?
What will I ever be to my boss in his constantly evolving, ever hateful, and totally annoying image?
Before Beatrice collapsed in her office, I was still a drunken idiot he deigned to rescue.
At the hospital, I was an angel whose potentially broken neck he was worried sick over, and a woman who was good enough to kiss like he wanted to carry me off on horseback.
The next day, business as usual.
The mortal enemies kind.
And of all the outlandish, half-cocked suggestions for Nick to come up with, I still can’t believe it was me faking an engagement to the Warden. But Ward’s shoot-first reaction was too much.
