Illegally Wedded

by Jennifer Griffith

  Smooth.

  “Thanks, Piper.” He handed her phone back, letting the side of his hand linger in her palm, basking in the voltage that buzzed between them. She let her eyes lock on his for a full ten seconds as the elevator creaked to a halt on the tenth floor and the cage door folded itself open. “I’ll call you. Soon.”

  She shuffled sideways, taking the phone and dropping it into her purse. After another second, she tore her eyes from his and turned to head toward reception.

  Zach stared openly after her as she swayed over the deep red carpet. Nice horizontal movement. Mmm. Fate or heaven or pure dumb luck had intervened on his behalf today, throwing her directly into his path just when he’d aimed to see her anyway. What did they call it, serendipity? Whatever, he’d take it—all the gorgeous twenty-six-inch-waist of it.

  Booyah! Mission number one accomplished. He had her number in his phone. He put out a hand to lean against the wall and watch her depart, but his hand struck the iron cage mesh of the elevator and he realized he’d have to get out here and head to his desk, possibly past her, which could be awkward.

  His stomach growled. Oh, yeah. Lunch. Grudgingly peeling his eyes from her departing form, he pressed the eleventh floor button, which was where the associates’ break room held all his old friends the vending machines. Once again, he was up for a nutritious lunch of granola bars and bagged peanuts, which he’d likely be eating for dinner as well, based on the billable hours necessary for the Karlovy case.

  Unless Piper Quinn said yes to dinner tonight.

  He pulled out his phone to call her.

  Oh, but she’d been just walking into the law office, possibly for some kind of meeting. Oh, please say she was applying for work at CBH. Throw that grenade into his path every single day, and it would be the best IED he could imagine.

  Shoving his quarters into the slot, he realized this little challenge from Eisenhower had suddenly taken a serious turn. He wasn’t just scraping up someone, whoever, to fill a role. He could potentially snag a wife for career advancement and have a wife, for real, too. Speed and caution were on his must-do list if this was going to work.

  A cellophane bag of pistachios dropped with a metallic thunk, and Zach dropped his phone in his pocket. Give it forty-five minutes, and then he’d call her. He didn’t want to seem over-eager.

  Piper Quinn, what a dream, he thought as he chewed. She might turn out to be nothing more than a pipe dream, but for now, he was happily inhaling that haze. In fact, if she was a fraction as amazing as she seemed at this moment, he’d be crazy to jeopardize things with her by impulse-marrying some other randomly dialed woman from his phone contacts list. He wanted this girl.

  After more coins in the slot, since the pistachios hadn’t cut the hunger, Zach watched the processed snack cake spiral forward on its metal spring and drop. He tore it open. The compressed oats and honey crunched in his skull as he ate them, but they weren’t loud enough to drown out the echoes of how her voice sounded when she spoke.

  What was that accent? He couldn’t wait to hear it again. How much longer? Eighteen minutes had passed. He could call her after twenty, right, not wait forty-five?

  Down one floor, after wiping a stray oat from his tie, he tugged at the heavy wooden door of Crockett, Bowie, and Houston, when a pair of female voices coming from the reception desk arrested his steps.

  Cora’s he knew; her Bronx upbringing couldn’t be masked when she managed the front desk. It had just the right amount of intimidation and finality to make her a valuable asset to CBH.

  The other voice was unmistakable, the one that had gone sneaking through his systems a few minutes ago in sultry tones: Piper Quinn’s. But she didn’t sound luscious like earlier.

  Something was wrong.

  Zach stood to the side of the hallway, in the alcove of a seldom-used supply room door. Even though he shouldn’t eavesdrop—eavesdropping isn’t polite, Grandma Vada might say if Grandma Vada had any manners herself—he couldn’t help himself. Piper Quinn sounded too distraught. Looking as nonchalant as possible, Zach listened, pretending to be answering a text on his phone when someone else walked by.

  He listened, and he learned; and what he learned made his plans go careening in a whole new direction. What Piper Quinn told Cora blew his mind.

  Then he did text someone in earnest, Fuller Eisenhower.

  Zach: Hey, can you cover for me this afternoon? I’m taking off for a while.

  Eisenhower: Did the sun just come up in the west? You never leave for the afternoon. What are you doing?

  Zach: Taking your advice, my friend.

  Eisenhower: And doing what?

  Zach: Ring shopping.

  Chapter Four

  Piper suppressed a growl of exasperation at this fortress of a front desk guardswoman.

  “Maybe you don’t understand what I’m asking.” Piper aimed for a different approach, the back door, friendly approach. “Cora, have you ever been the innocent victim of someone else’s mistake?”

  Cora had a blank stare that could turn a person to stone.

  “Okay, I’ll put it another way. If I don’t get some kind of advice today, there’s a very good chance I’ll be deported to the southern hemisphere in four weeks.” Piper put both palms on the counter of the reception desk. “This would be all fine and good if it didn’t entail being sucked into the clutches of a strange cult and forced to live in a hut and eat about twelve meals a day. Believe me, I love food at least as much as the next girl, maybe more, but I can’t eat that often.”

  There were a hundred reasons more important than this, and she was sounding like a dimwit now. It wasn’t working. Nothing was working.

  Maybe she needed a different kind of persuasion.

  “Listen, don’t think of this as a bribe.” She’d never pictured herself saying those words, ever, but her life had come to this. “What if you come down tomorrow to Du Jour? It’s on the Riverwalk. I’ll buy you lunch. I’d take you now, but it’s closed.”

  Cora’s eyes shifted.

  “You could do that?” Her voice went lower. “I love that restaurant. I’m probably its biggest fan.”

  Ding ding ding! Piper kept her voice calm, her eye on the prize.

  “Put me through to an attorney who can help me with this deportation problem, which has to be dealt with, and I’ll make sure you get your favorite meal. Name your meal, and it can happen.”

  For a second sparks lit Cora’s face, but then the light dimmed.

  “I’m sorry. Much as I’d like to—and believe me, I’d like to—I can’t.”

  Piper stifled a groan. She’d come so close to getting what she needed. She couldn’t give up now.

  “Have you tried the toasted roast beef sandwich on a French roll with applewood smoked mustard and melted muenster cheese? Because it could be life changing.”

  Cora squeezed her eyes shut. “Or a Reuben? With aged Swiss? Wait, no. What am I saying? Get thee hence, lady.” The eyes popped open. “Look, I don’t think you understand. This is Crockett, Bowie, and Houston.”

  “Okay?” It came out as a question because Piper knew this was a law firm. So what? Be the lawyers. Handle her case.

  “No, not okay. Your situation is not in this firm’s wheelhouse.”

  “You’re saying they’re not up to the challenge?” Sometimes it took pushing a button or two to get an ego to rise to the occasion.

  Apparently not.

  “No. You’re not getting it. This is Crockett, Bowie, and Houston. They handle legal cases involving multi-million dollar property disputes between large companies. They handle corporate cases. They handle oil and gas—petrochemical mergers and acquisitions.”

  “But—but I’m going to be deported! And I can’t leave the country, not now. My whole future depends on it.” The Texas Star would not wait. Everything she’d trained and worked for and invested both financially and time-wise, hinged on being in San Antonio when Texas Foodie Magazine’s critic came through in four weeks’
time. “This is really not negotiable. Please? Please, Cora?”

  Tears brimmed, and when Piper blinked, one big hot droplet broke free and rolled down her cheek. She swiped at it.

  Cora winced. “What I’m saying is this is not an immigration law firm. For that you need to go to the other side of downtown. I could refer you to a different firm if you like, but your case isn’t going to be handled by the lawyers here. I’m very sorry. Truly, deeply sorry.”

  She did sound like she meant it. Possibly it was due to the loss of the Reuben much more than the destruction of Piper’s whole future.

  Piper stared a second longer. Cora was not going to budge, and finally Piper had to let the truth sink in that this was not going to happen today. Her shoulders fell, and she picked up her purse, which had slipped to the floor by her feet. From it she tugged a tissue. Her nose was running, and she was a stupid mess. She started to leave.

  “Wait.” Cora stopped her, and Piper paused a moment, turning back. “Look. You’re a nice person, I can tell. And I’m definitely not an attorney, so this is not legal advice. Do you hear me? Not legal advice.”

  Right. Piper nodded, listening carefully, but promising with her eyes not to accept Cora’s words as gospel.

  “I once knew a guy with a friend in a similar situation.” Cora was whispering and glancing down a hallway. Clearly she could get in trouble for this. “He found out he had a couple of options.”

  “Options?” Piper needed options.

  “He could one, leave the country. Then he could try to get back in on a legal visa—but it could take years.”

  “I don’t have years.”

  “Two, he could go into hiding.”

  That sounded awful, like it would involve living in a cave with cave rats and water dripping with plinks into limestone ringed pools, and like it wouldn’t solve anything.

  “Or three,—and this is completely the best if you are already in a relationship—get married to a U.S. citizen.”

  Married! A huge hand gripped Piper’s heart and squeezed. Marry someone? But she was dating Chad.

  “Being married to a citizen apparently gets some people off Immigration’s radar. They’re not about splitting up families most of the time—unless you’ve committed a crime.”

  Crime, no. Heavens no. Piper had never…oh. Unless fraudulently obtaining work and financial aid at college and using forged documents to do so counted as crimes. Hot lava rivers of worry seared through her veins.

  Cora sat back and looked over her shoulder one more time. “For my friend, that was the silver bullet. But you didn’t hear it from me.”

  “Gotcha.” Piper gulped a lump of thanks and terror that had formed at the back of her throat. People really were good and kind at heart. “Thank you. And come into Du Jour for lunch if you can. Keep it top secret, but Reuben sandwiches will be tomorrow’s menu.”

  They shared a look of sympathetic appreciation, and Piper left hope of legal help behind, her stomach a mass of dragonflies—because…felonies. And marriage.

  And…Chad.

  Never in her wildest dreams had she imagined herself being the type of girlfriend to push a guy into marriage, and frankly, up to now Chad hadn’t seemed like the guy she’d ever push, based on how slowly their relationship had been progressing, but Cora was right—if she was already in a relationship, and marriage within a few days was the only viable, cave-free way to escape the clutches of the ICE agents, she couldn’t just approach a stranger on the street; Chad was her best option.

  She got back onto the elevator, flashing back to the ride up, caged together with that Zach guy and his incredible cologne that made her think of ocean breezes coming through earthy forests. Part of her wished she could take a day off from being Chad’s girlfriend, just to explore a possibility with Zach Travis, because the chemistry between them definitely popped. Not that chemistry was a great sole basis for starting a relationship, but there were worse reasons.

  Like an impromptu marriage.

  “Call Chad,” she said into her phone as she rode the rickety old elevator downward. The ride down was a lot slower than the ride up had been. That ascent had gone far too quickly. A memory of Zach’s truly awesome dark hair and funny smile hit her like a wave crashing on her shore.

  But Chad.

  “Hello?” Her boyfriend answered his phone. “Is that you, babe? Because I’m in the middle of…”

  “I’ve got to talk to you about something. It’s important. Can you call me as soon as you have a free—”

  “Call you back. Gotta run.”

  Right. This was not going to be the most joyous conversation she’d ever had.

  Shouldn’t a girl look forward to a marriage proposal—in theory, at least? Even if it was coming from herself to her intended?

  The elevator jerked to a stop on the ground floor, and she wobbled out into the lobby of Crockett, Bowie, and Houston, a law firm that apparently did not specialize in helping desperate frauds, even the innocent ones.

  On the bright side, she didn’t have to rack her brain for what to make for tomorrow’s menu at Du Jour. Corned beef, sauerkraut, and rye bread were easy and delicious and simple. Thank you for that, too, Cora.

  Get married. Right. Within twenty-something days, or else leave Du Jour and her career and her life.

  Leave Mitzi holding the bag and the unpaid note on the building.

  Leave the customers.

  Leave the hot lawyer Zach Travis and his incredible, sharply cut dark hair—who she definitely should forget about right now, since she was going to have to propose to Chad later today when he called her back.

  Wait. A proposal over the phone? Ugh. Her head dropped into her hands as she passed the Unique Boutique with all its incense and bath soap smells. This was just getting farther and farther away from the ideal she’d been taught all her life—man proposes on one knee after asking the permission of his bride’s father.

  Uh, none of that was happening.

  Great. So, it looked like this warped version of her life was the new normal.

  And she’d better get used to it or else start planning her future home decor around circular wooden doorways and houses where even she at five-foot-nothing had to constantly stoop.

  Her back ached just thinking about it.

  Her phone rang. Oh, good. Chad was calling her back already. How unexpected. Her heart clutched. How should she break it to him? Instead, she should just tell him they need to meet up. This conversation should happen when she could look in his eye and talk it out in person. The implications. The duration. The…oh, geez. Now it really did feel like fraud.

  “Hey, babe,” she said when she clicked the answer button. “You have time to get together tonight? Because I have something I really want to talk with you about. I mean, brace yourself, heh-heh, because I’ll be bringing up the dreaded relationship talk.”

  She gave another little nervous laugh. How was Chad going to react? Her trial balloon could be shot down by his bazooka at first float, and then where would that leave her?

  “Uh, yeah. I’m down. Totally. What time should I pick you up?”

  Uh, this wasn’t Chad’s voice.

  “Piper? You still there?”

  She stopped dead in her tracks on Market Street as the guy talked on.

  “Because I’m thinking of a little dinner right on the river. What do you think? How’s six?”

  This wasn’t Chad. This was Zach Travis.

  Chapter Five

  Piper nearly dropped her phone. How was she supposed to recover—and not let Zach Travis think she was hitting on him? Honesty was her only option, no matter how it squeezed her throat.

  “Oh, whoa. I thought I was talking to someone else, obviously.” Her face was probably redder than the borscht she’d made last month for Du Jour. Stupid tell.

  “No, please. I’m not afraid of a girl who speaks her mind—or who likes to move things along.” His voice had a low flirt laughing in it.

  Her nec
k temperature spiked another five degrees, and she started walking—fast—toward Du Jour, away from the temptation of dinner with Zach Travis, even though she was still on the phone with him.

  The bell tower from the San Fernando Cathedral chimed the half hour. Had Zach really only waited thirty minutes to call after getting her number? No, it was less.

  She blinked in the afternoon sun.

  Oh, this guy was too good to be true.

  Either he was a stalker or there had to be a catch.

  Oh, right. She knew the catch: Chad. Chad her boyfriend was the catch. That truth sobered her and she could finally respond.

  “Great.” Honesty about not knowing the caller’s identity hadn’t completely deflected the situation, so maybe humor would. “We can introduce ourselves in an elevator at two o’clock, determine the relationship at two-thirty over the phone, meet for dinner at six, and be married by midnight.” She faked a lighthearted laugh, hoping he’d take the hint she was being facetious.

  “Perfect. I’ll pick you up at six right outside that shop where we met. See you then.”

  Zach had hung up before Piper could protest or even let her jaw drop.

  He hadn’t disagreed.

  What in the—?

  Usually if a woman even joked at the prospect of marriage, a guy got cagey.

  Not Zach Travis. What was he, a rare beast of mythology?

  Well, unicorn or not, she couldn’t go, not if she was going to ask Chad about marrying her as soon as she could see him.

  It was ridiculous. She shouldn’t even consider it.

  Within seconds, Piper was typing a quick thanks but no thanks text. Actually, a text would be ideal. Firm, final. Zach had that incredible hair and the smile that turned her innards into a sizzling fajita skillet complete with smoke and steam—okay, maybe especially because he turned her innards all crackly—a text was the right option. If she let him talk to her again, he’d probably spin some web and nab her again.

  Piper: I’m so flattered you would ask, but I have a boyfriend.

  One launch of the B bomb and it would be over.