A Bad Boy is Good to Find (8 page)

“How do they know about me?” she hissed at Con when they were alone. He’d already started unpacking.

“Same way I do. You’ve been in the papers.”

“People actually pay enough attention to remember my name and talk about me?” She shuddered.

“It’s the kind of story people eat like candy. Riches to rags.” He hung a shirt in the closet. “And Hathaway Industries is nationwide. They’ve been closing factories and shutting down offices everywhere. They defaulted on their pension plan. It’s been big news in every state in the country, though you’ve probably been too drunk to notice.”

“Jesus.” She sank onto the bed. “Zen Mind didn’t allow media. It clutters the mind. The only article I’ve seen was the one I showed you. Maisie gave it to me. What else has been going on out there while I’ve been in a Cheeto-and-champagne-induced haze?”

“You do know your father’s being held without bail pending trial?”

“Yes. House arrest. I’m sure he got the ankle bracelet specially made by Brooks Brothers.” She stood up swiftly. Her head hurt. “I wonder what they have in the minibar?”

“No, you don’t.” Con slid across the room and blocked her with his body. Caught hold of her by the hips as she pretended to tackle him. She completely ignored the stirring male scent of him.

“Unhand me, sir!”

He obeyed. His crooked smile made her heart hurt. “Just a half a glass of beer? It has B complex vitamins.”

“Nope.”

“I need it to rinse my hair. It brings out my brown highlights.” She fluffed the hurricane.

“I’m sure you’ll manage without.”

“You’re cruel.” She threw herself on the bed. “I can’t believe newspapers are making money with my sob story. That doesn’t seem right. If anyone gets the money, it should be me.”

“I won’t argue with you.”

She heard him hook another hanger over the rail. Apparently nothing interfered with his attention to his immaculate wardrobe.

“Maybe I could sell my story to
Vanity Fair
?”

“I don’t think
Vanity Fair
would pay enough for it to be worthwhile.”

“
People
?”

“That’s more like it. But your story’s pretty much out there already, so I’m not sure what you could add.”

“Are you trying to say people on the street know more about me than I know about myself?” She flipped into a sitting position.

He shrugged and hung another shirt in the closet.

“Maybe I can sell them on something they don’t know about me.” She bit her lip. Tried hard to get her brain to work. “Something I haven’t done yet.”

“Like marrying me?” He winked at her as he fished a pair of black slacks out of his bag.

She watched him slide them neatly over a trouser hanger. A fiendish plot germinated in her brain.

“Like marrying you…” She said the words slowly, testing them on her tongue. Con’s joking suggestion was ripe with possibilities. In fact, it presented an intriguing way to get revenge on Con, embarrass her parents, turn the tables on the media—and make some money into the bargain.

I’ll marry you today, if that’s what you want
.

Afterward they could get divorced. She’d be a gay divorcée. It sounded sophisticated, bitchy and mean, all the things she’d decided would constitute her new persona.

“You’re crazy,” was Con’s response when she shared her plan.

“Why? I’d think a show like
Entertainment Tonight
would love to cover our wedding.”

“But you don’t want to marry me.” Infuriatingly, he hadn’t even paused in his unpacking. He lined up neatly rolled socks in a drawer.

“Sure I do. What are you unpacking everything for? We’ll be leaving tomorrow.”

“I know. I just like to get settled in wherever I am.”

“So you can pretend you’re the kind of person who’d actually stay in a hotel like this?”

“I’m here, aren’t I?”

“Yes, but only because I insisted.”

“Makes no difference. I’m here and I’m going to enjoy it. Would you like me to unpack for you too?”

“Sure. Why not?” She lay back on the bed. “And I’m serious about the marriage thing. You’re a good enough faker to pretend to be madly in love with me for a few weeks. I’ll even give you half the money.”

“I don’t like it. It’s deceitful.”

“That’s downright hilarious, coming from you.”

“Look, I never set out to hurt anyone…” He rolled a belt and put it in the drawer with the socks. She could practically see the hair on the back of his neck standing up.

“No, you just set out to put one over me so you could live the good life. That’s all I’m doing. They’re making money off my misfortune. All I want is my fair share. You said you’d marry me, I’m just asking you to fulfill your promise.”

Con ran his fingers through his hair, messing it up. She ignored the way that made him look more handsome. “I said I’d marry you, and I will…”

“And we let the media in on it.” She leapt to her feet, hands on hips. “Is that so much to ask?”

“Yes, if you plan to get a divorce right after it. That’s not a marriage, it’s scam.”

“Okay, maybe we won’t get divorced after it. Maybe we’ll fall madly in love and live happily ever after. Oh, wait, I forgot… You’re not capable of love. Bummer.”
Christ, she could use a drink from that minibar.

Con ran a hand over his face. “I care about you, Lizzie.”

“So you keep saying. If you care about me so much, then help me out with my little plan. Heck, maybe no media will be interested. In that case, you’re off the hook. Okay?”

Con looked mildly relieved. “Okay. If no one’s interested, you’ll forget all about it?”

“Deal.”

Some research time on a hotel computer and several phone calls later, Lizzie had been politely turned down by
People
magazine, the
National Enquirer
and
Entertainment Tonight
. She was waiting for a callback from
Access Hollywood
and the
CBS Early Show
, but the production staff she’d spoken to did not sound optimistic. Con whistled cheerfully as he shaved in the shiny marble bathroom.

“Don’t be so chipper. They all took my call. I’m going down to the computer to do some more research.”

“You’re not going anywhere without me.” He switched off the razor and ran a hand over his smooth chin. Her traitorous stomach jumped.

“Your lack of faith in me is so inspiring.”

“Just protecting you from yourself. Maybe we can go out and grab some dinner.”

“The Desert Palm has a rather lovely little restaurant, I hear.” She was in the midst of attempting to wind her hair into some kind of bun and it fought back with vigor. She stuck pins in to stab it into submission.

“I was thinking more along the lines of a Big Mac.”

“Such a romantic. I’m Lizzie Hathaway, you know. I don’t eat Big Macs. Especially not now I’m slim.”
Well, okay, not actually slim
. The full-length mirror in the bathroom had made that clear, even with a flattering sheen of steam on it. Slimmer. And planning to stay that way.

“Alright, Lizzie Hathaway, how about a veggie sandwich from Subway?”

“Oh, be still my heart.” She placed her hand over it. “It’s the kind of date I always dreamed about.” Her hair exploded from its knot and fell over her shoulders.

Con’s face cracked a smile. “You look beautiful with your hair down.”

“Still with the charm. You don’t give up, do you?”

The mirror had also made it clear she was still no beauty without her makeup. Right now she wasn’t wearing any, just to spite him.

“I’m not trying to charm anyone. You just make me smile.” Humor gleamed in those infuriatingly seductive eyes. Lucky they had no effect on her any more.

“Are we going down to use the computer or what?”

Lizzie teetered on the edge of the heart-shaped mattress, sleep still a distant fantasy. The pan-seared salmon she’d insisted on churned in her gut like dying pigs. At the time it had seemed like a point of honor, now it just felt like an indigestible extravagance.

All her life she’d hated snobbery and expensive status symbols. Now suddenly she was insisting on “the best of everything” just to get back at Con? It only made her feel worse when he went along with it, emptying his wallet to give her things she didn’t really want.

Did he have to breathe so loud? How offensive of him to sleep deeply when she couldn’t catch a single wink. And sprawled arrogantly over his side of the bed as if he hadn’t a care in the world.

Every time she thought she might be close to drifting off, a stray thought bloomed out of nowhere and scattered her fluffy sheep. A renegade memory of how safe she’d felt with Con’s warm arms around her.
Never again
. The thought of her proud father with an ankle bracelet under his crisp pant cuff and bored law enforcement employees monitoring his activities.
He deserved it
.

She remembered how her mother used to always tuck her in at night with a kiss. Even if they’d barely spoken all day, or if she’d been berating Lizzie over her weight or her hair or some other chronic failing. The day always ended with a kiss.
That wouldn’t ever happen again
. She buried her face in the pillow so any stray tears would disappear into the hotel-issue pillowcase without pricking her skin. Willed her breathing to stay even.

They’d all betrayed her. Schemed and planned and defrauded her. Left her with
nothing
.

Maybe if she just pressed her face into the pillowcase hard enough she’d stop breathing and all the pain would go away.

Or not
. She flipped onto her back, eyes staring into the darkness. Con grunted softly, and before she could roll out of the way, he’d turned onto his side and slid an arm over her.

Excuse me
?

Still asleep—apparently—he shuffled closer and wrapped his arm around her torso. The sleepy, spicy scent of him acted on her like lavender bath salts. Soothing.

The warm weight of his arm drew tension from her chest.

Oh hell. She turned her head and buried her face in his clean, soft hair.

And the next thing she knew, it was morning.

Chapter 7

T
he phone calls didn’t go any better the next day. Lizzie and Con sat opposite each other at the table in their hotel suite, her pages of scribbled notes covering its lacquered surface. He looked smug as he browsed the want ads in the local paper and announced he’d need to use his phone soon.

“You’re looking for a job in Phoenix?”

“Sure, why not? Nice weather.”

“I’m not staying here!”

“Why not? We’ll get an apartment to share. I’ve looked at the prices. We can rent a nice place quite reasonably. Maybe even one with a pool.”

“You are out of your cotton-picking mind.”

“Got any better ideas? Your brilliant scheme doesn’t seem to be going over so well.”

“They’re all interested in the idea, but they don’t think it’s big enough.”

“Maybe you need to approach a smaller media outlet?”

“Are you actually making a helpful suggestion?”

“I want you to give it up so I can start using my phone to get us a real life going here. We’ve got bills to pay.”

“We do? As I recall
, I’m
the one with the crushing debts. You can waltz off any time you like. I won’t come running after you.” Why did that thought make her ribcage tighten?

Con just indicated the phone. “Whenever you’re ready.”

Not yet, Buster
. She had one more phone call to make. One she’d been dreading.

She sucked in a breath as she dialed the number.

“Celebrity Access,” drawled a bored-sounding receptionist.

“Maisie Dixon, please.”

Con shot her a look and went back to his paper.

She’d come up with her “televised wedding” idea partly because Maisie had gone to work for a cable channel that did that kind of thing. A hitherto unexpressed competitive streak made her want to get her story on a better network than Maisie’s. No such luck.

“Hello?”

“Hi, Maisie, it’s Lizzie.”

“Lizzie, Darling! How are you? Still whooping it up?”

“Pretty much. Listen, Con and I have decided to get married—”

“I thought he turned out to be a scoundrel.”

“True love can overcome all obstacles.” She ignored Con’s raised eyebrows. “I don’t care that he’s a penniless, uneducated garage mechanic—” She paused while Maisie made choking noises into the phone. “Yes, I know, I didn’t tell you that before. I was too proud, but it’s true.” She winked at Con. “Anyway, since I’m now flat broke, and of course he still is too, we’re looking for a media outlet to televise our wedding, kind of a Cinderella story in reverse. Are you okay?”

Maisie’s squeaky reply suggested she was nearly speechless with delight. Typical. Whenever Maisie “helped” Lizzie it was with the intent of somehow belittling her, ridiculing her, getting the upper hand. Anything to pay Lizzie back for having been born to the richer branch of the family.

“I’m the associate producer,” Maisie was practically hyperventilating with excitement. “I’ll have to talk to the boss, but this is just the kind of thing he loves.”

I know. Small-time pseudo-celebrities making an ass of themselves
. Apparently her self-destructive binge had washed up a sense of humor because now she found it funny rather than humiliating. Con pretended to read the newspaper.

Maisie came back on the line. “He’ll be out of a meeting any minute. I’ll call you back when I have an answer.”

“Great! Chat later.” She hung up and shot a smug smile at Con.

“She went for it?” He looked up from his newspaper oh-so-casually.

“She loved it. Has to talk to the boss, though. She’ll call back.”

Con ran a hand through his hair. “I know she’s your cousin, but she may not have your best interests at heart.”

“Are you kidding? She’s been out to get me since Christmas of 1990 when I got a life-sized Barbie specially manufactured by Mattel to look just like me, and she got only three of the regular ones and a Barbie mansion and car.”