“But you’re right. We should go do what we need to. We want this to be as convincing as possible, for both our sakes. So, paperwork?” Her sigh wrapped around him like a thread, drawing him closer.
“We’ll go together. It’ll be fun.”
“Ah, now I know how lawyers define fun.”
He had other ideas of what fun was, but she’d put the kibosh on that. For now.
A strand of blond hair had escaped her ponytail and hung beside her eye. He pushed it back behind her ear. Her eyes closed as he swiped his hand down her soft cheek.
“Mrs. Travis.” He stepped closer to her, and a memory of this morning’s mind-altering kiss distracted him as her scent came up to him on the air.
She lifted her chin. “Yes? I answer to that now.”
Her breath was coming faster.
He stared down into those green eyes and watched as her lips stayed parted slightly. “We’ll do paperwork tomorrow.” He dipped his head and kissed her forehead, tender and chaste. Just like she was. “I’ll see you at two.” He slid his palm down the soft skin of her arm and caught her hand before whispering, “It’ll be our third date.”
Chapter Twelve
“What are you making today, and who was that man in the kitchen with you all day yesterday? How many dishes did he break? Geez.” Mitzi hovered next to the stove where Piper was making sausage and peppers with some of the peppers left over from yesterday’s trip to the farmer’s market with Zach. The farmer’s market. Yeah. The first time she’d introduced him as her husband.
Weird.
“Only two. And they were chipped already.” Piper gave Mitzi a bite.
“This stuff is good.”
“I know, right?” Piper added a little more salt. “We need to remember which stuff tastes best.”
“Why? We’re going to make something new every day.”
“Forever?”
“That’s the gimmick.”
“But I could at least remember this recipe and put it in a tortilla as fajitas someday.”
“That’d work. Okay. You never told me what you thought of the billboard. Or who that guy is. Or why you were three hours later than usual yesterday morning.”
“Nosy.”
“The billboard is about business, at least.”
“What do you want me to say? That I’m ecstatic that a quarter inch of my cleavage is going to be magnified into a ten foot expansion?”
“It’s not that much.” Mitzi snitched one more bite and then wiped her hands on a towel. “I wish I had a quarter inch to show off. I’m more like a three-inch gap. Yours is too luscious to be hidden forever when it’s such a selling point.”
Piper blushed. Her cleavage was going to be on display on I-10. What was she? A pinup?
Time to deflect the subject.
“Whatever. Did you ever make plans to go out on a date with that YourMatch.com guy? What does he do, anyway?”
“Now look who’s nosy.”
“You want me to be nosy.”
“Okay. We did talk on the phone, and he’s a dream.” Mitzi got swoony. “He’s got one of those voices like he could be on TV, and when he talked about different cuisines he’d tasted all over the world for work, it was like he swept me out of this world.”
Up to now, Piper would never have imagined seeing Mitzi so dreamy-eyed. Well, maybe if she’d gone star struck upon meeting the gorgeous local TV chef superstar Steve LaPray, but under no other circumstances.
“Forgive me, but it’s hard to imagine someone named Ignatius being a dream. It sounds like a monk’s name.”
“Right? But he was amazing. He’s got some super secret job he couldn’t really tell me much about. For some reason he’s being cagey about it, but he told me about a project he’s working on. Just hints, was all, but he’s collaborating with other people in his field to start a nationwide search for certain people and get them recognized. Up to now he’s only been working locally.”
“Maybe he’s CIA,” Piper said.
“Or the INS. Or something else government and secretive.” Mitzi suddenly realized what she’d said about the Immigration and Naturalization Service, which was obviously the last acronym Piper wanted to hear about. “Oh. Sorry.”
“It’s okay. When you meet him, I want to, too. Bring him in for lunch.”
“So you’re not mad about my immigration faux pas? Sorry.”
“No, of course not.” Should Piper mention Zach Travis? And how much detail should she divulge? “I told you I found someone to help me out with that situation.”
“The lawyer?” Recognition dawned in Mitzi’s eyes. “So that’s who broke glass in here yesterday. He’s got to be the hottest glass-breaker in San Antonio, let alone hottest lawyer. Good call.” She made one of those sounds she emitted when she was eating cheesecake.
“Thanks. He’s actually pretty nice.”
“He wasn’t at that stodgy firm you went to, was he? The place with the red carpets and the grandfather clocks.” Mitzi sat on the counter like she was about to be fed something juicy. “So is he going to grease your skids for staying in the U.S.?” She wiggled her eyebrows like she’d said something dirty. “Make all your problems go away? In addition to the dirty dishes, I mean? Because that guy can wash my dishes anytime.”
Oh, no, he couldn’t. Not if he was Piper’s husband.
“Please.” Some people. “In fact, he—” She might as well just throw it out there. “—he married me.”
Mitzi fell off the countertop, barely grabbing hold of the cupboard before she hit the floor.
“What?”
Piper’s neck and chin got hot. Why was her kneecap suddenly bouncing up and down?
“’Fraid so.” She flashed the ring in Mitzi’s direction before putting the rice on to boil.
“And you didn’t invite me?” Mitzi clutched her chest. “I’m just—”
That was what worried Mitzi? That she hadn’t been invited? Not that her best friend had married a stranger on the spur of the moment to avoid deportation?
“We didn’t invite anyone. It was just us and the priest.” And the kiss—which was like an actual corporeal being of its own at the wedding, and it was still floating out in the universe waiting to be reclaimed.
Piper waited to kiss on the third date. Their official third date was this afternoon. If she counted the wedding as a date. She did.
Had she let it slip to Zach about her third date kiss rule? She wasn’t sure, but she thought she probably had. He might insist on his rights, at least to that extent.
“The two of you did this—just for me?”
The question took Piper aback. It was a lot more complex than that. And she’d already concluded she couldn’t tell Mitzi about the temporary nature of it. So she certainly couldn’t tell her Zach’s motivation for the marriage.
“Well, you saw him. It couldn’t be all for you.”
“Wait. So you’re telling me Chad is, what? Out of the picture?” Mitzi patted herself on the cheeks a few times and walked a circle in the kitchen. “All it took was getting him out of the country for twenty-four hours and boom. You’re free of him?”
Uh, what was so wrong with Chad? Everyone was suddenly bagging on him. First Birdie with the name-calling, now Mitzi. However, there was no point in defending him now, now that she was purportedly the long-term wife of Zach Travis.
Chad Floyd was a moot point, and a done deal. At least until everything blew over.
What if he doesn’t wait for me?
Oooh. That was a new thought. She let that question float around in nebulous space above her for a while, not willing to let it settle so she could examine the answer.
“I’m afraid Chad isn’t part of this marriage equation. Zach and I are Mr. and Mrs. Travis now.”
“Whoa. Where are you going to live? Is he close by? Birdie is going to miss you so much.”
Wow. Another complexity they hadn’t discussed.
“Did I tell you? Birdie loved the vinyl
I got her for her birthday.”
“Don’t change the subject.”
Piper had to put her off. “I’ll keep you posted.”
Mitzi paced the kitchen muttering, “Married. Just to save my parents and this restaurant.” She came and hugged Piper and the greasy apron she was wearing. “Now that’s sacrifice. Thank you. It’s fast, but I do hope you can live happily ever after. Even if he does break dishes.”
A sick feeling roiled in Piper’s gut. She couldn’t tell even Mitzi that this was a sham marriage, although Mitzi of all people should be able to figure it out.
“I mean, I knew you had to have other guys chasing you, but since you hardly ever talk about them, I thought there was just Chad. He was so bad. I think he stuck out like the sore thumb. So, what? You had this one on your back burner all this time, and when the need arose, he was ready to go?”
Not exactly. “He was at that law firm.”
“Oh, I get it. He hit the yes button the second you walked in with that tight skirt. Glad you wore that on Friday.” Mitzi swiped at her red curls. “Man, I bet you could have had almost any bachelor in this town at your beck and call the second you needed a ring on your finger, though. Just glad you chose a good one.”
“Me too.” The nausea persisted.
“Wish I could get one that fast.”
“You will. When the moment is right. Maybe Mr. YourMatch.com is the guy.”
“Sure. Sure I will.” Mitzi frowned and went back into the office. “Maybe he is. But any guy who won’t even tell you what his job is—that’s a red flag.”
No arguments there.
∞∞∞
Zach should have been working on Karlovy v. Taylor, but he kept straying into immigration research territory. He was working from home, still in his gym clothes—which he hadn’t had time to use in the last few weeks, thanks to Karlovy—but every time he tried to write about warehouses, all he kept thinking was what if this doesn’t work, and they still deport Piper?
After just a few intense days with her, he was getting used to her: her wit, her eyes, her cooking, her kiss. But he’d need more of that in order to define it as getting used to it. He glanced at the clock. Seven hours left until two o’clock—and their third date.
Piper Quinn kisses on the third date.
Yesterday’s kiss. Yeah, a replay of that, with a chance for an extension since they might not be standing in front of a priest for their next kiss, fate willing.
Before that kiss, he’d wanted to keep her here in the States to be his business arrangement wife. But now, after the kiss, bigger ideas bombarded him about every fifteen seconds. Piper at his side at the spouses’ dinner, charming the partners. Piper on his arm at the Spurs game, cheering for a basket. Piper nestled beside him on the couch watching Netflix, between kissing sessions. Piper…after Netflix. Yeah.
Forget Karlovy. Zach chucked his files into his briefcase then shoved aside three boxes and an inch of dust. There. He hefted his Law 5510 textbook Immigration and Naturalization Law that he hadn’t cracked since he eked out a C in the class.
Who could blame him at the time, when he hadn’t seen Piper Quinn yet, let alone kissed her? Besides, at that point, she wasn’t getting shooed out of the country by some overzealous INS agent, whoever that was. How did they even get her on their radar?
Hmm. That was a good point. Something about her deportation smacked of a vendetta, more than anything else. Maybe if he followed the money, so to speak, he’d figure out the best way to get them to call off the dogs.
Piper Quinn Travis wasn’t going anywhere. Especially not before she’d decided he was the guy. The only guy.
And definitely not after that.
∞∞∞
Three Tylenol tablets and a half gallon of Diet Coke later, Zach had a dozen forms: printed, partially filled out, but he’d reached a standstill.
He couldn’t do any more because he, frankly, didn’t know enough about her—and not just about her deepest hopes and fears. To fill out all this paperwork, he’d need addresses, dates, names of roommates, utilities payment receipts, the works. All stuff Zach had no idea about.
A glance at his phone told him she wasn’t going to finish at Du Jour for another couple of hours, but he didn’t want to waste time on this just waiting around. He ground his fist into his palm in frustration.
This wasn’t working.
But, at that moment, the caffeine kicked in and Zach kicked himself. Duh. It was obvious. He’d been acting like a flipping bureaucrat all morning, printing forms, filling out paperwork, when he was a lawyer. Lawyers wrote letters, briefs, lawsuits, and arguments.
Shoving aside the whole stack of useless forms, he put fingers to keyboard and did what he was born to do.
To Whom it May Concern:
Fifteen minutes of sheer legalese inspiration later, he had honed the verbiage to a perfect blend of professionalism and drop this ridiculous case against her now, you bozos.
As a final detail he texted Piper and asked if she knew her case number with ICE. She didn’t respond right away, but she was probably cutting up vegetables or making some kind of savory broth, the thought of which wafted around in his head. Maybe she’d save him a plate. Maybe he should go down there and buy lunch just as they closed up shop and then talk to her. Or he could just go now.
Just then, she texted him with the information, so he geared his stomach back down and put his nose back to the grindstone, creating one more powerful letter of cease and desist language and got it ready to go.
A glance at his watch. He still had an hour. No doubt he could get down to the Federal Building and put this in the right hands before the clock struck Third Date Makeout.
∞∞∞
No question the elevator in the Ernesto P. Gallatin Federal Office Building left CBH’s elevator in the dust. Zach stepped off it, straightened his tie, and strode toward the Immigration and Naturalization Service office, ICE Subdivision. His nose told him again that all bureaucratic buildings smelled the same—of floor wax and burnt copy machine ink.
Immigration and Customs Enforcement. There it was. And here went nothing—or everything, depending on the outcome.
Scads of people loitered about the waiting room, in cordoned off lines or sitting in what looked like tailbone-injury-inducing plastic chairs.
With the charming smile he kept in reserve for the few jury trials he’d conducted, Zach stepped toward the clerks on the front line of defense. All bureaucracies put their most formidable soldiers out front to mow down the weak.
“Next.” The woman didn’t break a smile, even with Zach’s charm dialed to ten. “Case number?”
Good thing he’d asked. He read it off. “It’s for my wife.”
“You’re Mr. Quinn?”
“Zachary Travis. I’m also her lawyer. I have legal documents to leave with whoever is in charge.” He glanced behind the woman to the professionals shuffling paper from copy machine to desks, the fate of thousands at their fingertips.
“That will be Ms. Quinn’s caseworker.”
“Mrs. Travis,” he said to the air, since the vanguard woman had switched to ignoring-him mode and typed something on her computer. “This might be best done in person.”
“Seventy-five minute wait. Next.”
Zach’s eardrums started bleeding at the words.
“No, I’m afraid that’s not possible, Ms., er, Bolingbroke.” She was the human equivalent of a battleship.
“Make an appointment, then.”
“With whom?” He had to get this information. Instantly he pictured a shriveled, angry middle-aged man with a comb-over and a hook nose. “I’d be grateful if this could be fast-tracked. We’re on a tight schedule.”
Ms. Bolingbroke raised a skeptical eyebrow, but said with a bored voice, “That would be unlikely. Miss Valentine is booking personal appointments into late next month.”
Just then, a leggy blonde in a form-fitting red dress walked up behind Bolingbroke in strappy sandals.
She made pouty lips at Zach and then looked him up and down.
“Did I hear my name, Pat? And who is this?” The slit in her dress flashed several inches of thigh. Zach’s collar tightened under the weight of her gaze. “Mm. Yes, the Piper Quinn case. I remember this one. Are you here to represent her, counselor?”
“How did you know I was her lawyer?” This was Piper’s caseworker? What the—? Where was her hook nose? Her middle-aged scoliosis? Her grizzled frown? Her crotchety old man-ness?
There was a chance this Miss Valentine worked for ICE, but in that outfit she could only be an undercover agent working the red light district.
“I know what an attorney’s suit looks like. Come on back.” In a few seconds, she’d opened the security door to the side of all the front lines desks and was waving him into the inner sanctum. “Have you had lunch yet?” She was leading him down a long hallway past door after door of closed offices. “I’ll order something up. You like Mongolian barbecue?”
“I’ve got lunch plans already, thanks.” The fluorescent lights above him buzzed a warning. He shoved it aside and followed her slithering gait.
Pressing open a door, she stood in the doorway, forcing him to brush past her as he entered a room with a desk and two chairs and a monitor mounted near the ceiling in a corner of this room that smelled like too much designer perfume.
“So, Piper Quinn. I remember the case.” They sat down, and Agent Valentine wound a strand of blond hair around her finger, her nails the color of fresh blood. “Young twenties. Illegally here from New Zealand. We don’t get a lot of those.” She looked at him, dipped her eyes, and then looked back up at him, sultry and inviting.
Whoa. She was coming onto him. Zach wasn’t a stranger to getting hit on, but this situation didn’t warrant it. He’d ignore it and hope it went away.
Zach handed her the letter he’d written, then slid his chair as far back as possible from the desk. She leaned toward him as she scanned the letter, chattering the whole time.
“We get attorneys in here all the time, Mr. Travis—it is Mr. Travis, isn’t it?—but hardly ever from Crockett, Bowie, and Houston. Impressive firm. Not much immigration law, though.” She’d seen the letterhead, obviously.
Illegally Wedded Page 16
