A Bad Boy is Good to Find - By Jennifer Lewis Page 0,24

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

The 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