A Bad Boy is Good to Find - By Jennifer Lewis Page 0,61

the end of an era, a time of unsurpassed luxury and genteel living, when the Hathaway family was riding high on the success of the company founded by Lizzie’s grandfather, Ezreel Hathaway.”

Con, who had retained something of a poker face during this barrage of backstory, couldn’t keep his lips from twitching with mirth at the mention of Grandpa Ezreel.

“Rising from the ashes of the depression, the Hathaway company brought new advances in sanitation into the homes of millions and created jobs in all fifty states. Now after decades as a beacon in American industry, the company is gone, the workers laid off, and the Chairman and CEO Ronald Hathaway—” She pressed a slim hand to her breast. “My uncle and Lizzie’s father is facing a jail sentence for stock fraud. Unbowed by the disgrace to our family, Lizzie has boldly struck out on her own and claimed a new life with you, Conroy.”

Lizzie squirmed as sweat tickled her back. She glanced at Con, who gave every appearance of having been a professional poker player at some point in his checkered past. Entirely possible, of course. Though his eyes were fixed on Maisie, somehow his entire posture and bearing seemed to project one thought.

I told you so.

Lizzie gritted her teeth.

“So, Conroy, how do you feel about marrying into such a famous—now almost infamous—family?”

Lizzie tensed.

“People are people,” he said. “When I met Lizzie, I knew she was the woman for me.” He cocked his head, exuded confident charm.

Yeah, right. That’s my kind of money was your only thought.

“Now, Conroy, Lizzie was still a wealthy woman, with the expectation of a large inheritance when you met her.”

Lizzie’s last bite of sausage lodged in her throat.

“How did you react when you found out she was wiped out in the stock scandal?”

“It was a shock, of course, but Lizzie and I both feel it’s for the best.” He leaned into Maisie a little.

Lizzie’s eyes widened.

“Lizzie and I want to live a simple life. As she’ll tell you herself, she’s never had expensive tastes. She’s looking forward to living like a normal person for a change. To having car payments and mortgage payments and having to save for vacations. We’re excited about building our own American dream.”

Lizzie realized her jaw was hanging open. If she wasn’t mistaken that was almost word for word the little speech she’d given on that terrible night. When she still believed in Con and thought they could make a life together. That moment of desperate hopefulness rang in her heart. Stung her with fresh pain at how totally she’d loved him.

“And Celebrity Access is delighted to be able to set that dream in motion with a wedding you’ll never forget.” Maisie beamed.

Please don’t talk to me. Lizzie tried desperately to gather her thoughts, to catch her breath. She could feel Maisie getting ready to launch a missile in her direction, and she couldn’t take the heat. She caught Con’s eye and shot him a pleading glance.

Con cleared his throat. “It was Lizzie’s idea to come back here to Louisiana. We’re from very different backgrounds, and Lizzie wanted to see where I’m from.”

“Where you’re from,” repeated Maisie, in a sonorous imitation of Barbara Walters. “Did you grow up in an antebellum mansion like this one?” She arched a slim brow.

“No.” Con narrowed his eyes slightly. “No, I grew up in much…simpler surroundings.”

“A stark contrast, I imagine, to the lap of luxury that nurtured your fiancé?”

“No doubt.”

“You told me earlier, Conroy, that you haven’t been home in a long time.” Maisie lowered her voice, leaned forward. “Is this homecoming somewhat difficult for you?”

Con didn’t flinch. “It was Lizzie’s idea, like I said, but she’s right. It’s something I’ve put off far too long.”

“And on that note, we have a journey to make. A journey to Conroy’s hometown. A little place in bayou country, known to its inhabitants as Mudbug Flats.” Maisie held her smile in place for a count of three. “Cut.”

Con leaned back in his chair, obviously relieved the inquisition was over. Lizzie’s head buzzed with his words—her words—that she’d said in another lifetime.

“A good start, I think. Thank you, Conroy.” Maisie looked disgustingly pleased with herself. In a pale beige power suit that set off her rather subtle coloring, she was elegant and composed. A perfect on-air interviewer. Lizzie could already envision the fifty year retrospective of her illustrious career in journalism, beginning with her very first on-air story…

This one.

She closed her eyes and willed away an incipient headache. “Let’s go.”