“Do it!” she cuts in. “Fake marry Paige. Live it up and give the world a show that’ll blow their hair back.”
I cock my head, studying her.
“Why?”
“Why not?” She flicks a hand in midair. “The way everyone judges you boys for what your parents did isn’t fair. Desperate times call for desperate measures, desperate justice. Fake an engagement to Paige, but make it look real, I say. If people don’t think you’re smitten, it will never work.”
Smitten, huh?
“There’s a problem. Actually, there’s a hundred problems, but here’s the big one—Paige isn’t interested,” I say.
“Oh, Ward.” She reaches over and pats my hand again. “I’ve never met a woman disinterested in one of my grandsons.”
I smile because she’s being polite.
Maria was interested, at first, and it wasn’t enough to keep her around.
“You don’t believe me, do you? Such a shame. You’re knight material. Handsome, wealthy, brilliant, and civil.”
Now she’s just blowing smoke up my ass. Mostly because she doesn’t know I pushed our assistant against the wall right outside this room not so long ago and kissed her like a savage high on lust.
“What more could she want?” Grandma asks.
“It’s fake, remember? She’s not an actress.”
“I do, dear. It’s just my ticker that’s broken, not my memory. So, tell me, you’d really walk away from a billion-dollar contract and your grandfather’s legacy over having to be seen with an intelligent, beautiful woman for a few months?”
Boom.
She would go for the guilt trip, wouldn’t she?
“How long do you think it would have to go on?” I ask, knowing I’ll regret this question.
“I don’t know. A few months? Everything about it has to be real, even the breakup.” She shakes her head. “Then again, as hard as you took Maria...I’m not sure I want you enduring another broken engagement, fake or otherwise.”
“I could be the one to break it off,” I say.
She twists her lips sourly. “No one will believe that, Ward. But if you’re opposed to fake marrying my assistant, why doesn’t Nick? I’ve never known him to turn down spending time with a gorgeous lady. Perhaps Paige could teach him a thing or two about how to behave.”
My blood sizzles.
The mere suggestion that Nick—fucking Nick—pose as Paige’s fiancé bothers me more than the original dumb idea.
“I think we agree Nick’s reputation is...a work in progress,” I say, trying like hell to be tactful. “Still, I’m not throwing Paige to the wolves over a sham.”
Grandma flicks a hand at the air again.
“Since I’m not getting my milkshake today, will you be a dear and push my cart over here?”
I go to the cart and roll it to her bed. The wheels squeak against the hard floor.
“Take that stupid cover thing off for me, please.”
I smile. It’s the reverse of when we were kids, a memory of my tonsil removal recovery flashing back. I get her set up so she can eat in peace.
She picks up her plastic fork and scoots food around the plate.
I can’t blame her for not wanting to wolf down that stuff.
“Well, it’s your choice if Paige wants to help Nick’s reputation, I suppose,” she says with a disinterested tone.
Lady, you’ve been on too much morphine.
“My choice?” I echo, wondering what she’s getting at.
“Oh? Didn’t you say you couldn’t make it work? If Paige changes her mind and wants to help, I think she should have the chance. She’s fully capable of making her own decisions. She’s a headstrong young woman.”
I shake my head until it might fall off. “Grandma, Paige doesn’t want to fake it, and Nick agrees no one would ever believe he’s getting married.”
“You said she doesn’t want to fake an engagement to you. For Nick, well, that might be a different story. She might just get along with him easier.”
My stomach knots.
“She’s not getting engaged to Nick,” I snarl.
“Why’s that?” Grandma asks pointedly, her eyelids fluttering.
Checkmate.
I don’t answer.
I’m too busy hating the fact that she’s convinced me to consider this appalling fuckery—an illusion of love with Paige damn Holly.
Paige is at her desk when I come in. I throw down a giant Macy’s bag with a whump.
“Excuse you?” Her eyes dart up at me, annoyed.
She shouldn’t get to be so deliriously sexy.
“Pick a pair. Reese assures me they’re fashionable.”
“Huh? You bought me more shoes? What’s wrong with you?”
“Not bought. We’re going to trade.”
She props her feet up on her desk. “And what makes you think I’ll turn in all my heels for flats? The growly schtick and unenforceable rules