Work In Progress (Red Lipstick Coalition #3) - Staci Hart Page 0,38

before getting up. “Is the bar stocked?” I asked, more out of curiosity than anything.

“It is. There’s usually a flight attendant too, but I figured the less people who saw us, the better.”

The captain popped his head in and told us to take our seats. I wondered briefly if he’d let me come sit next to him in the cockpit and almost lost all composure at the prospect.

Instead of pouncing the captain like a six-year-old kid, I moved for the bar. “What’s your poison?”

“Oh, anything is fine,” she said as she sat in a tan leather captain’s chair.

“Scotch it is,” I joked, figuring she drank drinks with tildes. Pink drinks with umbrellas. Booze that was more schnapps and sugar than liquor and loose inhibitions.

“I’ll take mine neat, please.”

My face swiveled to gawk, but she didn’t see. She had opened the window shade and was peering across the tarmac.

“Well, how about that?” I said to myself.

But she turned, unsurprised by my surprise. “What, a girl can’t enjoy a glass of scotch unless she’s an extrovert? Or wears pencil skirts? Or is a CEO?”

I shook my head, smirking as I picked up the two-thousand-dollar bottle of Gordon & MacPhail. “Not at all. It’s just…” I chuckled. “No, you’re right. I just assumed that because you’re so…you that you were innocent to things like scotch and cigars.”

Her nose wrinkled. “I haven’t smoked a cigar—they smell terrible. I’m not interested enough in looking cool to smoke.”

The high corner of my lips rose a notch higher. “I used to smoke like a chimney. Camel Wides.” I handed her a crystal glass and took the seat facing her.

“Do you miss it?”

“Only when I’m editing.” I took a sip, enjoying the smooth warmth as it slid through my chest. “I quit a few years ago when Ma was diagnosed. All of a sudden, doing something that could give me cancer felt like an actual risk. Not the lie our immortal brains tell us.”

“The lie?”

“That it won’t happen to us.” I glanced out the window so she wouldn’t see me. “So, we should get our plan together.”

Her face, which had softened and opened with sadness, snapped into action. “Should I get a pen?”

“Nah, I think we can remember between the two of us.”

She nodded, taking a sip of her drink. She didn’t even flinch, the little badass.

“So,” I started, “when we get to Vegas, I’ve got a hair and makeup crew waiting for you. They’ve got clothes for tonight and through tomorrow. Theo’s got a photographer for the chapel and a couple of paparazzi on call. They’ll shoot us from a distance as we come in and out of the hotel and the chapel. And Theo will meet us at the chapel at seven.”

She nodded again, this time slower.

“When we get back to New York, we’ll need to be seen at least a couple times a week. Dinners are easy. Photographers aren’t allowed in, so we’ll only have to deal with them in and out. Theo will start working on appearances for photo ops and charity donations once tonight is behind us.”

“How much are we donating?”

“We?” I asked without thinking. We. As in us. Because we’d be married in a few hours.

She frowned. “Well, yes. I thought we’d pitch in together.”

The hot spark of warmth in my chest wasn’t from the scotch, and it wasn’t because I’d forgotten she was rich, even as I sat in her father’s private jet. It was because she’d just assumed she’d take financial part in the whole charade.

“I couldn’t ask you to do that. It’s bad enough that I’ve commandeered your life for a year.”

“But what if I want to?”

I blinked. “I mean…”

“You said we could donate to charities I wanted. So I’d like to propose matching your donations, dollar for dollar.”

I shook my head at her, stunned. “Why would you want the financial burden? You’re doing me a favor. Please, let me do this for you.”

“It’s not a burden. And plus, it’ll look great in print, won’t it? Another reason our marriage is for love: I don’t need your money.” Her smile was wily, her eyes sparking with mischief. “Do I have to insist?”

I gave her a dubious look.

“I’m sure Theo will agree if you won’t.”

That did it. I rolled my eyes. “Fine, I give.”

“Good.” She smiled, but the expression fell almost immediately. “I…I’m not sure how to…I don’t know. How to do makeup and dress for this. It’s one thing to put on a little mascara. It’s another thing to