The Wedding Pact Box Set

by Denise Grover Swank

  Focus, Megan.

  She began to pace. If she were smart, she’d march downstairs and tell her family everything, but that had never been her style. Yes, avoidance had been Megan Vandemeer’s philosophy long before this man had come into her life. The fact that she’d immediately broken it off with Jay after finding out he was screwing his secretary—and had been for months—was a huge step for her.

  She stopped and turned to face the man in her room. Could he really be the answer to her problem?

  “Did my parents really buy the whole thing about me calling you Jay even though your name is Josh?”

  “Never questioned it.”

  A knock on the door and Megan’s mother’s voice stopped her. “Megan? Is everything okay in there?”

  The blood rushed from Megan’s head. How much had her mother heard?

  Josh reached forward and opened the door, then stepped back next to Megan.

  Her mother stood in the threshold looking suspicious. “What are you two up to? Megan, did you say you’d had an argument?” Her disapproving tone made it clear who she blamed for said argument.

  Josh snaked his arm around Megan’s waist and pulled her close. “Sorry we disappeared like that, Mrs. Vandemeer. We had a small disagreement before, but we worked everything out. I’ve been ignoring my little lovebug lately.” He tapped Megan’s nose with his index finger, giving her a smug smile that dared her to contradict him. Then he turned to face her mother. “I’ve been really busy at work for the past few weeks, trying to clear my plate so I could get away for the wedding and honeymoon, so . . .”

  Megan’s mother frowned. “But Megan said you were too busy to get away for a honeymoon. I thought you were flying straight back to Seattle after this weekend so you could head to work on Monday morning.”

  Josh’s mouth dropped open. “What?” He turned to look at Megan with a wide smile. “What kind of husband would I be if I didn’t take my bride on a honeymoon?” He gave her mother a sheepish grin. “I wanted it to be a surprise.” Then he turned back to Megan. “Surprise, honey!”

  Megan’s mother placed her hand on her chest, beaming. “I told Megan she needed to go on a honeymoon, but she swore you couldn’t get away and she didn’t want one. Where are you taking her?”

  “Well . . . uh . . .”

  “Yes, honey,” Megan said, lifting an eyebrow. “Where are we going?”

  “Uh . . .” He truly looked stymied for a moment, but then he said, “The Caribbean,” acting as if it were a revelation.

  “That’s wonderful!” her mother gushed. “Which island?”

  “Excuse me?” he asked, clearly uncomfortable.

  “Which island?”

  Megan decided to take pity on him. She still didn’t trust him, and she was certain there was more to his motives than he was letting on, but he’d saved her twice. She owed him something. “I bet it’s the Virgin Islands, isn’t it? Ever since we met, I’ve been telling Josh how much I wanted to go there.”

  “That’s it!” Josh exclaimed. “But now I’ve ruined the surprise.”

  “Oh, sweetheart,” Megan drawled, patting his cheek harder than necessary. “You’re just one surprise after another.”

  He reached up and grabbed her hand, pulling it down to his chest, where he held it over his heart. Laying it on a bit thick?

  “You still didn’t explain what you’re doing up here,” her mother said.

  Megan was irritated. She was twenty-nine years old and her mother was still trying to control her.

  Josh intervened. “Like I said, I’ve been working a lot . . . which means I haven’t spent a lot of time with Megan lately.” He dropped her hand and wrapped his other arm around her as he pulled her to his chest. “I assumed that you and Mr. Vandemeer would want us to sleep in separate rooms until the wedding, so I figured we could enjoy a little time alone together since we were already up here. If you know what I mean.” He winked.

  Megan couldn’t believe he’d just said that to her mother. She kicked his shin, but his smile barely wavered.

  Her mother’s face turned a pretty pink, which Megan didn’t find surprising. Everything her mother did only enhanced her beauty and sophistication. She wasn’t an ugly crier, so of course her blush would look like blush, not like the ugly splotches Megan got when she was embarrassed. There had never been any question as to why her father had married the Southern belle from Atlanta, who still carried her Southern accent around like a badge of honor. But she’d found it impossible to live in her shadow.

  Her mother reached for the diamond pendant at the base of her neck. “Bart and I understand young love. We’re not that old-fashioned. You’re both grown adults, days away from your wedding. We know you . . . do things . . . in Seattle. So Josh, we put your bag in here with Megan’s.” She gestured to the suitcase Megan hadn’t noticed until precisely that moment.

  Josh’s arms stiffened around Megan. “I wouldn’t want to offend—”

  “Don’t be silly.” She waved him off with one hand. “But save the hanky-panky for later and come down to the kitchen. The guests are arriving in twenty minutes.”

  “Guests?” Megan gasped.

  Megan’s mother shook her head. “Really, Megan. Don’t you listen to a word I say?” She released an exaggerated sigh. “I told you about this months ago.”

  Megan hadn’t paid attention. Her mother had gone mother-of-the-bridezilla with planning the details for the wedding, down to the exact size of the lovebirds her mother had monogrammed onto an old handkerchief—seven-eighths of an inch by five-eighths—and Megan had done her best to tune it all out. She was now regretting that decision.

  “I had a feeling something like this would happen,” her mother said. She pointed to the dresser along the far wall. “I made you both an itinerary for the rest of the week so you know where you need to be and when.”

  Josh glanced at the dresser, but Megan kept her attention on her mother. “So we need to be downstairs in twenty minutes?” Obviously her mother wasn’t interested in volunteering what was planned for the evening. She’d need to read it in whatever booklet—or, knowing her mother, tome—was placed on the dresser.

  Her mother rolled her eyes. Even that looked pretty on her. “Not quite. The guests arrive in twenty minutes. I need you downstairs pronto to help finish setting up.” She took a step toward the door before turning back. “And Megan . . . you should consider putting on some fresh clothes and touching up your makeup a bit. You look like you’ve been on a two-day drinking binge.”

  She made an exaggerated grimace, then walked out the door toward the stairs.

  “I’m not sure whether to be horrified or amused that your mother called what we were doing hanky-panky,” Josh said, shivering as though he’d narrowly escaped a brush with death.

  But Megan ignored him, shutting the bedroom door—a little louder than normal but not as loud as she wanted—then running into the Jack and Jill bathroom off her room and flipping on the light.

  “Ohmygawd!” she gushed in horror. Her mascara was smeared under her eyes, and her hair looked like it belonged to a creative child’s Barbie. Her natural waves had ratted into a huge mess on the right side of her head, where she’d been leaning against the plane window. She’d just had a conversation with Josh—and he’d kissed her—looking like . . . this.

  “Your mother thinks we’re going to sleep together tonight,” he said from the bedroom.

  “I know. I was privy to the conversation.” She opened the linen closet and grabbed a washrag and stuck it under the running water.

  “So what are we going to do?”

  “I don’t know. I have bigger issues to worry about.”

  “Your makeup? Honestly, you don’t look that bad.”

  “Maybe not for a zombie!” she moaned.

  “Why are you so worked up?”

  “I looked like this—” she pointed to her reflection in the mirror, “—down there.” She pointed to the door.

  “So?�
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  “So?” She shook her head, trying to swallow the burning lump in her throat. “You obviously wouldn’t understand.”

  “Try me.”

  I will not cry. I will not cry. Why on earth did she care so much about what the man in the next room thought? Soon he’d be gone and she’d never see him again. But she couldn’t ignore the way that kiss had felt . . .

  But even though she was mortified he’d seen her this way, it wasn’t what was really bothering her. How could she even explain it? She’d spent most of the first eighteen years of her life trying to live up to her mother’s expectations, and she’d come up short each and every time. The last time she’d been home was last fall, to shop for her wedding. Trying on wedding dresses was supposed to be a magical experience, but with her mother in the room, each gown had felt like a gunnysack. Not to mention they hadn’t seen eye to eye on any of the details for the reception and ceremony. Ultimately, she’d just given in and allowed Nicole Vandemeer to have what she wanted. So to come home and face the humiliation that would inevitably result when her mother found out the truth . . .

  Tears welled in her eyes.

  She should shove Josh out the door and confess to her family, but she couldn’t bear it. How much more embarrassing would it be if her mother assumed she’d hired this guy, some attractive stranger, to act as her fiancé? Because that’s inevitably where her mother’s mind would go. No, the answer was simple.

  She and Josh needed to stage an epic breakup.

  Chapter Five

  He hadn’t meant to kiss her. Despite the fact that he was posing as her fiancé, he hadn’t given any thought to the probability that they’d have to have some type of physical contact if she agreed to play along. His sole strategy was to find proof that Bart Vandemeer’s company had stolen his design. Once he did, he’d never have to see these people again.

  But something had changed when he kissed her.

  He’d figured out a plan on the way home from the airport. Nicole Vandemeer kept herself so busy reciting every last detail about the wedding that all he had to do was nod and say “uh-huh” every so often, and she was none the wiser that he was plotting his revenge on her husband.

  Josh had to admit that Bart Vandemeer wasn’t what he’d expected. He’d envisioned someone more ruthless, although he wasn’t sure why. After all, there was no proof Megan’s father was responsible for stealing Josh’s design. In fact, his only piece of flimsy evidence pointed to Drew Peterman, Bart’s partner’s son. But even if Bart wasn’t knowingly involved, he was still responsible—he should have asked the right questions when the design was so abruptly submitted.

  And then there was Megan’s wedding. Megan had told him it was a twenty-five-thousand-dollar affair, but based on the details her mother had given him, he suspected the total was much higher . . . which begged the question of where all that money was coming from.

  He’d tried to quiz Bart about his business, just a future son-in-law making polite conversation, but Nicole had tried her best to steer the conversation away from business, frustrating Josh to no end.

  One of the things Nicole had blathered on about had made an impression—she was hosting a massive party for him and Megan that evening. Josh hoped to take advantage of the distraction so he could search Bart’s home office. He’d heard Nicole mention that it was upstairs. Josh could pretend he needed to use the bathroom and then find the home office and search it before anyone would be the wiser. He also considered trying to steal the older man’s keys for a visit to his actual office, but Josh didn’t want to resort to such drastic measures. It was bad enough he was impersonating Megan’s fiancé; he wasn’t ready to jump the shark and resort to breaking and entering just yet. He’d save that for tomorrow night if need be.

  His phone vibrated in his pocket, and he pulled it out, not surprised to see that his own office was trying to reach him. He sent the call to voice mail. He knew it wasn’t his brother, who always called from his cell. It was probably Angie, their business manager. Though they hadn’t told anyone they were in danger of losing their investor’s support, Angie was perceptive and had somehow caught on to the fact that they were in dire straits. She’d tried to pry the truth out of both men, but neither one had caved. Still, Josh was usually predictable. He didn’t take unexplained and unplanned trips, so Angie had probably flipped her lid when he didn’t show up today. All the more reason to ignore her call. He couldn’t handle talking to her right now . . . and he definitely couldn’t do it with Megan Vandemeer in the next room.

  His entire company was depending on him to save them, whether they knew it or not. So why did he keep thinking about kissing his enemy’s daughter?

  He was still desperate to find the information, yes, but his traitorous mind kept thinking about her body pressed against his, the way she’d kissed him back, her lips warm and soft.

  Damn it.

  He needed to stop thinking about kissing her and focus on getting the information he needed to save his engineering firm. The real purpose of this trip.

  It had seemed like a great lead a few hours ago—the perfect answer to his dilemma. Now he was conflicted.

  After Megan’s parents and grandmother had accepted him as her fiancé at the airport, they’d moved to the baggage carousel to pick up Megan’s bags.

  He’d set Megan down in a chair, her head flopping to the side like a rag doll’s. She stirred and blinked up at him after a moment.

  “Hey,” she mumbled, jabbing her fingertip into his chest. “I know you.”

  He forced his voice to stay light and amused when he answered, “I should hope so, honey.”

  She shook her head and his chest tightened with anxiety that the jig was likely up, but she closed her eyes, muttering, “I said I want the red ones.”

  “Red ones what?” Gram asked.

  Nicole rolled her eyes. “She’s talking nonsense, Mother. She’s drunk.” She spit the last part out as though announcing that Megan was Mussolini in disguise.

  Josh was about to come to Megan’s defense when her father walked up.

  “What’s her luggage look like?” Bart had asked. “How many does she have?”

  He knew the answer since she’d mentioned she’d packed only one bag, but what on earth did they look like? “Uh . . .” He was never going to be able to pull this off. What had possessed him to try? He didn’t know anything about this woman other than that her fiancé had cheated on her and that she was terrified of her mother. Oh, and she thought he had a nice ass. Think.

  “We didn’t drive to the airport together,” he blurted out. “I met her at the gate. I know she has one bag, but I’m not sure which one she used.”

  “Don’t you worry,” Bart said, waving him to sit beside Megan. “We’ll figure it out.”

  Within ten minutes, Bart had pulled a pink floral suitcase off the conveyer belt and was rolling it out the door. Nicole Vandemeer decreed that everyone else would wait for Bart to bring the car around, but after five minutes of doing just as she’d set out to do, Nicole grew impatient and decided to wait by the exit. Josh suspected that she was embarrassed to be seen next to her unconscious daughter.

  Megan’s grandmother plopped into the seat next to his and studied him. “You’re not what I expected.”

  He swallowed, keeping his gaze on Nicole, whose posture was finishing-school straight as she stood in front of the sliding glass doors. Nicole Vandemeer hadn’t been what he’d expected either. “Oh?” he asked, trying to sound nonchalant. “How so?”

  “Your smile.”

  Josh blinked in surprise. “What does that mean?”

  “Megan may not talk to her mother very often, but she talks to me. She tries to make like everything’s okay, but something in her voice tells me otherwise.”

  Josh stared at her, unsure of what to say.

  Her grandmother patted his hand. “I’m glad you smile. Megan needs more smiles.” She cast a frown toward Megan’s mother, the older woman’s daughter. />
  Bart had just pulled up, saving him from answering. Josh tried to wake Megan and managed to hoist her to her feet, albeit unsteadily, for long enough to get her strapped into a seat in the SUV. The whole time she kept mumbling something about gingerbread houses. The derisive looks Nicole kept casting at her made him want to avenge her in some way. But that wasn’t his purpose for being here, and it definitely wasn’t his problem.

  Now, several hours later, as he stood in her bathroom doorway while she prepared for whatever social function the queen had organized, he realized he still felt that way. He wanted to help Megan—and not just because of what she could do for him.

  “Go look at the itinerary,” she said, swiping mascara on her upper eyelashes. “We need to know what we’re facing down there.”

  He walked over to the dresser and picked up one of two bound binders. The cover was inscribed with the words The Wedding of Megan and Jay in bold calligraphy. One booklet had Megan written in the upper right corner, and the other read Jay.

  He opened the book on top—Jay’s—and flipped through the pages. The next three days were strictly regimented with a minute-to-minute schedule and detailed descriptions of all the activities. The entries were color-coded with highlighters, and there was a corresponding color key at the bottom of the first page.

  Oh. My. God.

  But even worse was the fact that Mrs. Vandemeer had booked most of the next three days of his life. How was he going to find the evidence he needed if he was required to be at all the places listed on those pages?

  “Well?” Megan called out to him. “What is it?”

  Oh, God. Friday morning he was scheduled for a men’s mani-pedi. Who did that?

  “Josh!”

  “Uh . . .” Terror washed through his body. What in the hell had he gotten himself into? “Uh . . .” He scanned the page. “Oh, your mom told me about this one. Seven p.m. Poolside cocktail party.”

  “A cocktail party?”

  “Yeah . . .”

  “Shit.”

  He looked over his shoulder at her, still in the binder’s horrific thrall. “Is that bad?”