My Fake Christmas Fiance (Kane Christmas #1) - Julie Kriss Page 0,13

for information on the Kane family. “Your sister works at the company.”

“She manages the warehouse.” He gave me a look that was wry, humorous, and a little wary. “You’ll meet her. She’s a spitfire. A little, um, outspoken. Just take whatever attitude she gives you with a grain of salt.”

“Attitude?” That sounded alarming. “What did you tell her about me?”

“The same thing I told everyone. We met on one of my trips to San Diego, had a whirlwind romance, got engaged, and have had a long-distance relationship ever since.”

“And she doesn’t buy it?”

“Her first question was whether I’d gotten you pregnant.”

That made me blush against my will. “Oh.”

“By now, she’s figured out that there’s no baby, so I have no idea what she thinks.”

We stepped into a bedroom, which I assumed was his spare. It was clean and neat, with a cherrywood dresser and a queen bed. He put his suitcase down and turned to me, and I realized how small the room was with both of us in it. I was too close to his blue eyes, too close to his flannel. I would have taken a step back, but there was nowhere to go.

I’d always known that Wes was good-looking, but this was different. Now we were alone in his spare bedroom. He was, in fact, way out of the league of a girl whose most serious relationship was with her day planner. My annoyance had blocked me from seeing it before. But Wes Kane was—ugh—a hottie.

“We should just tell everyone the truth,” I said.

“No way,” Wes shot back, oblivious to how nervous I was. “Morale has been terrible at Kane. I’ve spent all year trying to turn around our terrible numbers and then Dad’s betrayal. And it’s finally working. Everyone loves that we’re having a good Christmas and that I’m getting married. We’ve remodeled the Kane building. We’re throwing a great Christmas party this year, pulling out all the stops for the first time. It makes people feel like things are looking up. It gives them hope.”

“But we’re not actually getting married,” I argued, because he was too close and I had to repeat it.

“I know.”

“What’s your plan for that?”

“I’ll come up with something.”

“We only have a week.” I wanted to tear my hair out. Plans—I needed plans. Strategies. Something to keep me sane. I had the feeling that if I opened my mouth, I would start loud talking again.

Sensing my mood, Wes took a step back, as if I were a dangerous animal. “I’ll just, um, leave you here to freshen up. Bathroom’s down the hall. Help yourself to whatever’s in the kitchen. See you later, Penny.” He gave me a wave from the doorway and disappeared.

He left me in a strange house, in a strange city, with my suitcase at my feet and no plan. No plan at all.

“My name is Penelope!” I shouted after him, but he was already gone.

Chapter 7

Wes

“Okay,” my best friend said as he pulled a stool up to the bar. “What’s the emergency?”

I set down my glass. I had already downed half of my pint in the fifteen minutes I’d been waiting for him. “Thanks for coming.”

“Sure.” Sam Porter shrugged. He motioned to the bartender, a woman with dyed black hair and tattoos. She gave him a double take that he didn’t notice. Apparently, he was her kind of guy.

On the surface, anyone looking at Sam and me would wonder why we were friends. I was the clean-cut corporate dude, while Sam was tall, dark, tattooed, and trouble. He’d just come home from a few years in the military, which he didn’t talk about. He’d been injured and he pulled through, which he didn’t talk about. Now he was back home in Denver for reasons he didn’t talk about. We weren’t big talkers, Sam and me.

But we’d been friends since we were teenagers. Sam had been my unofficial brother, staying at our place when his home life got too rocky, and we’d saved each other’s asses in any number of fights. Once he stopped stealing from my house, we got along just fine. We’d had our share of drunk, wild times in our early twenties, including the time we “borrowed” a vintage Cadillac (my idea) and the time we dared each other to scale the fence behind the police station (his idea). We didn’t get arrested, and we returned the Cadillac in such mint condition the owner probably never knew. But both times were pretty close.

I liked the fact that