A Bad Boy is Good to Find - By Jennifer Lewis Page 0,40
cash donations are always welcome. But then you knew that already, as far as Con is concerned, didn’t you?” Her voice was getting shrill.
“Lizzie—” Con took a step forward.
“It’s alright, Con.” Frankie held up her hand. “I’m leaving and I really do wish you—both of you—all the best.”
Lizzie wondered for a tense moment if she’d kiss Con goodbye, but mercifully she just turned and left.
When she was out of earshot, Con grimaced. “Shit, I’m sorry Lizzie. I guess I didn’t think it through.”
“I suppose someone with your dubious background couldn’t be expected to know that it’s bad manners to bring your ex-lover to your fiancée’s house. Trying to sell it to her was a nice touch. What’s next?” Her hands were shaking.
“I’m sorry. I just know she likes art and buys a lot of it. And I figured if she bought the house, that’s one less thing to worry about.” He shrugged. Looked genuinely contrite.
“You always were one to focus on the practical details,” she said icily.
“My survival instinct might be a bit too well honed. But on that note, I sold the car.”
“Already? You mean it’s gone?” Another stab of loss.
“Yup. Easiest sale I ever made.”
“But I never even took a photo of it—” She cut off her whiny lament. Didn’t want him to know how much she’d looked forward to seeing it again.
His brow crinkled. “I didn’t know you wanted a photo.”
“We artists do that before we sell work. For our portfolio. For posterity. Not that I’ve ever sold any before, of course, so this is a first.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t realize. I called a friend and he hooked me up with a guy who came over and paid cash for it.”
“How much?” She couldn’t hide her curiosity.
“Fifteen thousand dollars, and I paid four for it.”
Lizzie’s mouth dropped open.
“It was your paint job. That Corvette was kind of a rare model, so with an authentic paint job it would have been worth quite a bit more too. The kid I bought it from didn’t know what he had. But even though you ruined it for the collectors’ market,” he raised an eyebrow, “the Lizzie touch lifted it into a league of its own. You rock, babe.”
He lifted his hand to high-five her. She just stared at it. And frowned. “Eleven thousand dollars profit for two days work? How come you don’t do this all the time? Even my father wouldn’t sneeze at profits like that.”
“Like I said, it was your paint job that made the money. I just got it running well. Anyone could do that. You want the cash?” He looked infuriatingly pleased with himself.
“No, you can hold it for me—isn’t that the expression? Oddly enough, I trust you with money. It’s my heart I wouldn’t let you near.” She gave him a withering look. “I’m sure Frankie was touched to get your phone call. Probably thought you wanted to blackmail her.”
Con chuckled. “Seriously, she’s a nice person. You can trust her.”
“How can you say that about someone who dumped you for a rich old Greek?”
“It was understandable. I don’t have money.” He shrugged.
“People don’t always marry each other for money, you know, shocking as that may seem. That’s probably why Frankie thinks you love me, because you’re marrying me even though I don’t have money now. Unless you lied and told her you love me.” The idea gave her a quick thrill.
“I didn’t say anything. I guess she just took the situation at face value.”
“Using your usual strategy, I see. But speaking of taking things at face value, why aren’t you dressed up? Didn’t you want to make a good impression on your ex?”
“Nah. She knows me too well.”
“Better than I do?”
He crossed his arms over her T-shirt, which fit him rather more snugly than it did her. “I decline to answer on the grounds that I may end up sleeping in the backyard.”
“Well, I guess that’s an honest answer, anyway. And you’ll need a good night’s sleep because the flight is booked and we’re leaving tomorrow.”
“Where are we going?”
“Surprise!”
Lizzie was already in bed, back to him, as Con climbed in. The cool night air still tickled his skin as he eased under the cozy covers and stretched himself along the delicious warmth of her body.
“You’re cold,” she muttered.
“There’s a nip in the air.” A nip in her voice too. She wasn’t going to forgive him for bringing Frankie. “You’re nice and toasty.”