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I bristled slightly. “It’s not like that.”
“Don’t get upset.” Payton ran a finger over the contents of the still-open mini fridge and retrieved a diet soda and the whiskey. “She seems great and, obviously, I didn’t give her enough credit. She’s making the most of this arrangement and good for her. I’m so short-sighted, I would have just soaked up all the trips.”
“Short-sighted? Liar.” I grinned. “You could have easily taken the nepo baby route; instead, you got an actual job.”
She shrugged. “A decision I made when I was young and dumb. I should have just called myself a DJ and hit up party spots for a decade.”
“It’s not too late.”
“That ship has, unfortunately, sailed. Dad officially set a meeting about bringing me back into the family business.”
“And you’re going to take him up on it?”
“I’m open to negotiations. It’s not like Angela’s going to step up and steal my birthright.”
I laughed at that. Payton and her stepmother got on well enough, but the two-year age gap made them more friends than mother and daughter. Besides, Angela had her eyes set on Brad retiring to the Mediterranean. “She’ll take as much cash as she can, of course, but she’s not interested in the business. Who can blame her?”
“Smart lady.”
“Not as smart as yours.” Payton sipped her drink, setting the glass on her leg. “So, you never told me. How did all that come about?”
I hesitated. It wasn’t as if I hadn’t told anyone. Nolan had sussed out something strange had happened between us, and I filled in the gaps. But Payton only knew about us in broad strokes. I mangled out a shortened version, one free of my long-standing crush on Nora and my current all-consuming love for her.
She pursed her lips, finishing up her drink and standing. “Well, sounds very practical for you both. I should have thought of it first.”
I rolled my eyes. “Like you need a partner in crime. You hold your own just fine.”
“I thought you did too,” she mused. “Or maybe there’s some other reason you’re not telling me.”
“I’m an open book,” I assured her.
Her lips turned up. “Well, I’m starving. Dinner and then find some trouble?”
“Sounds good.”
* * *
After an overpriced and underwhelming fifteen-course tasting menu at a place with more chances for photo ops than tables, Payton declared the restaurant lame and insisted on taking me somewhere worth seeing—which meant bars.
Lots of bars.
We stumbled into a bourbon bar with an extensive mixed drink menu and a clientele of men in designer business suits and women in cocktail dresses.
“You’ll love this place,” Payton assured me, slipping the host who sat us a concealed bill with a smile. “They’ve got an enormous selection of imports.”
I picked up the menu, scanning the list and settling on a Japanese whiskey. “One last drink, and then I’m out. I’ve got an eight A.M.”
Sitting down only reinforced that I’d had a little too much to drink; I lost track of time about three bars ago. I pulled out my phone and Nora’s name appeared on the screen. Two missed calls and a text from a few minutes ago.
NORA
I’m heading to bed. I’m exhausted. Hope you’re having fun in Chicago.
Payton frowned, her eyes on the screen. “I thought you said it’s a fake marriage?”
“We keep tabs on one another.” I downplayed the text.
Considering my past with Payton, I didn’t feel comfortable sharing that Nora and I had slept together, or how desperately I fully planned on turning our fake marriage real.
