Page 46 of Bound To Be Mine

Mandy’s expression softened. “Briggs, everyone makes mistakes. Especially when you’re new to a job. “

“I’ve never forgiven myself for that error,” I continued. “So now I’m ultra-careful. Triple-check everything. Make sure every detail is covered, every contingency planned for. It’s great in business.” I met her eyes. “But apparently it’s less great when trying to connect with new people.”

She was quiet for a moment, turning my pen over in her fingers. “I’m holding this hostage for the rest of the meal,” she finally said.

“What?”

“Your pen. It’s mine now. Can you survive that, or will your circuits malfunction?”

I stared at her. Was she serious? “It’ll be fine,” I lied. Because the truth was, it did weirdly bother me that she had my pen. I had a whole system. That pen was part of the system. And not for nothing, but it wasn’t a basic Bic. My father gave me that pen when I graduated law school. A Montblanc with my name engraved. Yes, it was just a pen to most, but it did mean something. I never left home without it. Signing my marriage contract seemed like a good time to use that pen.

But I wasn’t about to admit that out loud.

“You’re twitching,” she observed.

“I’m not twitching.”

“Your left eye is definitely twitching.”

I forced myself to relax, leaning back in my chair. Maybe I could order a glass of wine to take the edge off. The thought was barely formed before my stomach lurched violently at the mere idea of alcohol. Right. Water it was.

“Tell me something,” Mandy said, setting my pen down on her side of the table, well out of my reach. “What did you think when you woke up yesterday morning? Before you knew about the wedding.”

“That I was dying,” I admitted. “And that I deserved it.”

She laughed. “Same. I thought maybe I’d been poisoned.”

“By tequila.”

“So much tequila.” She shook her head. “I don’t even like tequila normally. I have no idea why I was drinking it.”

“Because I was drinking it,” I said, the memory suddenly surfacing. “You said something about matching my energy. Proving you could keep up.”

Her eyes widened. “Oh God, I did say that, didn’t I?”

“You did. And then you ordered shots for both of us.” More pieces were clicking into place. “You were very competitive about it.”

“Well, you were being all smug about your Viking drinking days or whatever.”

“I was not being smug,” I said, waving her comment away.

“So what do we do now?” she asked.

I glanced at the contract folder sitting between us. “We could discuss the terms. “

“Without the pen,” she interrupted. “And without the contract. Just talk to me, Briggs. Can you do that?”

I took a breath. This was harder than negotiating a million-dollar deal. At least with business, I knew the rules. I knew how to get what I needed.

But this? Talking to my accidental wife like a normal person? I was completely out of my depth.

“I can try,” I said finally.

“Good.” She settled back in her chair. “Then let’s start with the basics. Four months, right? That’s what you were thinking?”

“Yes. Long enough to make it believable, short enough to be manageable.”

“Logistics? I’m on the west coast and you’re east.”