The Stand-In

by Leo, Rosanna

  “Then let me out of this wedding. One of the other stand-ins should be able to do it. I’ve helped them all out before.”

  “They’re all booked. With Ava taking off for Aruba, I’ve had to redistribute some of my resources and all the stand-ins have commitments this weekend.” She gritted her teeth. “I need you to do this wedding. I won’t lose my fee.”

  “Margie, I’ll know people there. Do you have any idea how mortified I’ll be?”

  “With all due respect, Winn, I can’t afford to worry about that. You’ll have to pull yourself together.”

  Winn sat back in her chair, gawking at her boss. “Then I quit. I’ll walk out the door right now.”

  Cool gaze pinned on Winn, Margie reached into her desk drawer and whipped out a stapled set of papers. She placed it on the desk. “Your contract. I’d like to draw your attention to the fifth clause on the second page. It says, quite clearly, that because of the timely nature of this work, you are to give me one month’s notice. The Robinson wedding is four days away.” She put the contract back in her drawer. “You can walk out the door, Winn, but be prepared for a call from my lawyer.”

  “You’d sue me?”

  “In a heartbeat.”

  She pushed away from the desk and stood. “Fine. But you know what, Margie? I think I now understand why you had to hire a bridesmaid.”

  The only movement in her employer’s face was a slight flaring of her nostrils. For a moment, Winn thought she might offer a retort, but decided she didn’t want to hear it. She turned and exited the office.

  * * * *

  “Winn, just walk away from the job.”

  “She threatened to sue me, Patrick.”

  “She’s bluffing.”

  “And I’m not prepared to call her bluff.” She curled up on her couch, on the corner bearing Amber’s mascara marks, and tucked her legs under her backside. “No. I gave my word. I’ve signed a contract. I have to do Mike’s wedding.”

  If he’d been wearing one of those blood-pressure cuffs, it would have popped right off his arm. “Your last panic attack was the worst I’ve seen. Winn, your lips almost turned blue. You don’t have to do this.”

  “I can’t afford a lawsuit.”

  “Well,” he replied, grasping at straws. “I’ll retain my dad’s lawyer and I can help you with any legal fees.”

  “Thank you, but I’m not taking your money.”

  “It’s worth every penny if I can stop the panic attacks. Let me help you.”

  “No. I’ve been thinking about this. A lot. One of the reasons I took the stand-in job was for closure, the closure I never got with Mike. It seemed to make sense in theory but didn’t work so well in practice. Enid was right. I should have confronted him ages ago, should have told him exactly how much he hurt and embarrassed me.”

  Even hearing her say the words hurt him. He could swear his ticker seized each time he imagined her in a room with Shithead Mike. “Fine. Tell the bastard exactly what you think of him, but not like this. Not on his turf. Not at his wedding. You shouldn’t have to be a witness to it.”

  “I admit, it’ll be a challenge.” She held her head high. “But I’m a good actress, Patrick. I know I can do this and that I can come up with a satisfactory story for me being there.” The quiet giggle that escaped her made his heart thump again. “And in a perverse way, karma is getting him back. He may have left me for Stacy, but they’ll have to look at my smiling face in their wedding photos for the rest of their lives.”

  He had to admit the idea did make him want to chuckle like an evil clown. “I’ll give you that much but it’s a small consolation.”

  “Maybe.” One side of her mouth twisted upward in a sly grin. She wrapped her arms around his waist. “And you know what might make it even better? If I bring a stud muffin escort, one who’ll dance the night away with me and maybe even grab my ass in public.”

  “Over my dead body.”

  “You, Patrick. I was talking about you.”

  “Oh, right.” He frowned, still not happy about the idea. “Well, it’s a good thing because there’s no way in hell I’ll ever let you attend this wedding without me. I wanna see Shithead Mike and I definitely wanna talk to him.”

  “Wow, I had no idea you could be so possessive.” Her flirty gaze danced toward his chest and back up again. “I kinda like it.”

  Patrick clenched his jaw and looked away. She was taking this all too well, eerily well. For a woman who hyperventilated at the sight of a wedding register, it made no sense she’d be so content to work her former fiancé’s wedding. She’d been jilted, at the goddamn altar, for Christ’s sake! God only knew he wanted a piece of Mike and so should she. She should want to tear him limb from limb. Instead, Winn was planning her smile for the wedding album.

  If she indeed attended this wedding, he fully expected her to fall to pieces.

  And he’d be there to pick up every last one and paste her back together.

  Chapter 12

  “It’s not so bad in here. We’re totally outnumbered by the womenfolk.”

  “Is that so? Maybe I should get my name on the list now.”

  “It couldn’t hurt.” Grandpa Ernie cast an appraising glance up and down Patrick’s form. “A young buck like you would kill in here.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind, thanks.”

  Winn giggled as her grandfather tried to convince Patrick to move into the Sandy Lane assisted-living facility. “Maybe it’s a bit premature, Gramps.” She grinned at Patrick. “Besides, Mrs. Dooley would eat Patrick alive.”

  “Really?” teased Patrick. “I’d like to meet this Mrs. Dooley. She sounds…promising.”

  She shook her head, stifling laughter, as Gramps listed the attributes of both Mrs. Dooley and Mrs. Fletcher. Patrick sat and listened, his eyes wide with amusement and the faintest bit of horror.

  With Mike’s impending wedding, she’d expressed a desire to visit her grandfather, knowing he’d give her a good laugh. To her surprise and delight, Patrick had asked to join her. It still caught her off guard when he expressed an interest in her family because Mike had never done so. It felt good. Especially when she considered the state of her crazy family. Her parents, newly reunited and constantly groping each other like a couple of curious teenagers, made her want to rush to the nearest washroom and bring up her lunch. She knew that was a conversation for another day, and Patrick assured her he’d be there to support her no matter what was said.

  As she sat with her men in the home’s rec room, feeling relaxed despite the tension caused by the upcoming wedding, she smiled at Patrick. He’d been so worried about her working at Mike’s wedding, had shown such care and possessive tenderness. Seeing his reaction had almost obliterated her fear.

  Almost.

  She knew most people would think her an idiot for agreeing to be Stacy’s bridesmaid. Not that Margie had given her a choice. However, as she and Patrick had snuggled under the covers last night, she couldn’t help doing some self-analysis.

  It was time to let go of Mike.

  Sure, she hadn’t spoken to him in a year, but in her own sick way, she’d retained him in the darkest part of her heart. She’d allowed her anger and pain to fester. In permitting him to keep a small hold on her, it had prevented her from giving her heart to any others. It was time to free herself of his grip, in every way. That meant she had to release her anger, move past her embarrassment, and move on. Heck, she shouldn’t even call him Shithead Mike anymore. Every time she did, she gave into her negative feelings and granted him a bit more power over her.

  He was just Mike, a man who had no clue, and he couldn’t have any more influence on her future.

  She’d clutched at her fury so long, just as she struggled for air during her panic attacks. It was time to forgive and breathe easily.

  Winn knew she wouldn’t have come to these realizations without Patrick. Okay, he might not feel the same way about Mike. In fact, she was pretty sure he wanted to pop her ex in th
e teeth. However, Patrick had shown her she had worth, a truth she’d long-since forgotten, ever since before Mike destroyed their wedding day.

  Now, as Patrick arm wrestled with her grandfather, letting the old man win, Winn knew her heart better than ever.

  She loved him, and she’d tell him later today. Excitement for the moment made her heart skip in her chest, like a child scampering to her favorite playground.

  The door to the rec room opened. Enid stormed in, a rolled-up magazine in her hand. She looked at Winn and her crimson-stained lips compressed. Her gaze then flew to Patrick, where it narrowed in clear accusation. Her sister’s fist tightened around the magazine, as if she wanted to punch someone.

  Grandpa Ernie, oblivious as ever to the moods of others, held out his arms for a hug. “There’s my other best gal. What did I do to deserve a visit from my two favorite ladies?”

  Enid approached and planted a kiss on his bald head. “Hey, Gramps.” She turned to Winn, but her angry gaze still sought out Patrick like a harsh beacon. “Sis, I need to talk to you.”

  “Sure. What’s up?”

  “Alone.”

  Patrick took the blatant hint. “Grandpa Ernie, was that a pool table I saw down the hall?”

  “You betcha,” he replied, rising out of his chair with Enid’s help. “It’s a humdinger, too. And we have a bar right next to it. The female bartender is sweet on me. If I smile, she might throw a couple of beers our way.”

  “Sounds like a plan.” Patrick leaned down and kissed Winn and then helped the old man to the door.

  The moment they were out of earshot, she turned to Enid. “What’s with the Medusa glare? You almost turned Patrick to stone.”

  “It’s more than he deserves.” She thrust the magazine at her. “Have you seen this?”

  Winn took it and unfurled it. Player Magazine. She rolled her eyes. “Of course, I’ve seen it. Who hasn’t?”

  “I mean the most recent edition.” Her face softened and fell. “Read the copy on the cover, Winn.”

  Confused, she scanned the teasers. This month’s Player featured a tribute to Megan Fox. Surprise, surprise. Oh, and an article on which motorcycles attract the most women.

  And an insider’s look at the world of professional bridesmaids, penned by Patrick Lincoln.

  A nugget of bile appeared in her throat but she swallowed it. “There must be a mistake. He said he killed the article.”

  “Killed it, my ass.” Enid grabbed the magazine and flipped to a page somewhere in the middle. She handed it back. “He sold you down the river, Winn. Every last secret. All your dirty laundry, here in print for the world to see. Names. Events. Everything. And I’m gonna kill ’im.”

  Winn stared at the periodical in her lap, scanning the two-page expose as she held her breath. Tears welled in her eyes, unbidden and unwelcome, and she swiped at them. She didn’t have the heart to read the exposé from beginning to end right now, but key phrases jumped out at her, as if highlighted on the page.

  Winn Busby, failed actress and professional liar.

  Left at the altar by a man she refers to only as Shithead Mike.

  Frequent panic attacks.

  Willingness to do anything to make her brides happy. Does this mean she caters to the grooms as well?

  Sounds as if Shithead Mike dodged a bullet…

  The magazine slipped out of her hands. The flap of glossy paper on the tiled floor somehow made her ears hurt, so she covered them with her hands. “Oh, my God…”

  Patrick chose that moment to reappear. “Your grandfather’s flirting with the bartender, so I escaped for a minute.” He saw her hunched form and rushed over. “Winn, what happened?”

  When he reached out to touch her hair, she slapped it away. “Don’t touch me. Don’t you dare touch me!”

  At the sight of his wide eyes, her heart broke even more. “Winn…”

  “You fucking asshole,” Enid threatened. “Don’t you ever come near my sister again or I’ll hand you your dick on a platter. Do you hear me?”

  “I don’t understand.”

  Winn retrieved the magazine and threw it at him, not caring they now had the attention of every senior citizen in the rec room. “I read your article. It’s a piece of shit, but hey, thanks for getting the spelling of my name right. It looks really good in black and white.”

  “What?” He thumbed through the pages. “What fucking article?”

  “As if you don’t know,” said Enid. “It has your name all over it and details that Winn shared with you in confidence. How could you?”

  He gawked at the article, his hand covering his mouth as he read it. “Jake…I can’t believe it.”

  Winn tried to stand but a streak of light-headedness rushed over her. Enid helped her up and kept an arm around her waist. “Take me home,” she whispered.

  Patrick reached for her, every line on his gorgeous face sloping downward in stunned disappointment. “Winn, please. Just listen to me for a minute. Please.”

  “I don’t ever want to see you again,” she sobbed. “Just leave me alone.”

  As she turned, she saw his shoulders droop in her peripheral vision. The bastard called her a liar, but he sure knew how to put on an act as well.

  And to think she almost told him she loved him.

  Enid ushered her out of the room, out of the seniors’ residence, and into her waiting car. Her sister buckled her in, which was good because Winn’s hands didn’t seem to work anymore. They lay in her lap, limp, and as Enid pulled out of the parking lot, she stared out the windshield. Seeing nothing.

  * * * *

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Lincoln. You can’t go in,” said Nancy. “Mr. Fowler is in a teleconference.”

  “I don’t care if he’s in a meeting with delegates from the fucking United Nations. I’m going in.”

  He passed the receptionist and pushed his way into Jake’s office. His former friend, indeed on the phone, arched his brows in mild surprise and held up a hand. Patrick didn’t wait. He marched up to Jake’s desk, whipped the phone out of his hand, and slammed it onto the receiver.

  “Hey!”

  “You printed the fucking article, you piece of shit.”

  Jake had the nerve to let out a bored laugh. He stood, walked around his desk, and leaned on it. Crossing his arms over his chest, he said, “Paddy, Paddy. All those years writing about crooked politicians and you were naive enough to believe I’d let go of a good story when I saw it?” He looked him up and down. “You promised me an article. When you didn’t give it to me, I had to improvise.”

  “What happened to your journalistic integrity?”

  “Says the man who slept with his subject.”

  Patrick clenched his fists. “Which is one of the reasons I couldn’t write it.” He fell onto the chair in front of the desk and stared at him. “Jake, man. I came to you as a friend. I explained my dilemma. You used me…and my notes.”

  He shrugged.

  “Where are they, by the way? I want all my notes back.”

  Jake walked to a cabinet, opened it, retrieved Patrick’s leather-bound notebook and tossed it at him. “Take them. I don’t need them anymore.”

  “How could you do this? Winn is devastated.”

  “She’ll get over it. Sounds as if she’s good at bouncing back.”

  “You tarred and feathered her in that piece. Not only did you print the tragedies from her past, you printed lies about her. You made her look like a two-bit hooker.” He stood, clutching his notebook under his left arm. “I want a full retraction and a printed apology.”

  “Not gonna happen, chum. Because of your byline, this month’s issue has sold more than any other.” He had the nerve to smile. “Congratulations. You’re a successful writer again. You can send me a fruit basket as thanks.”

  Patrick had to close his gaping mouth. “What happened to you?”

  “I told you before, Paddy. I’m the same man I always was.” His laugh, a disgruntled bark, surprised him with its b
itterness. “You were the one on the high horse, buying your job at the Torontonian with daddy’s money.”

  “That’s not true and you know it. My father doesn’t even support my career.”

  “Yeah, well, you were still raised in a big, old house, full of shiny silver spoons. Some of us had to fight to get where we are. I built this magazine up from nothing, and if you think I’m going to retract an article for some has-been hack, you can think again.”

  Patrick stood, motionless, unable to understand how he didn’t see this coming. Even in school, there had been a mercenary quality to Jake, a hard edge that he attributed to his painful, early life. But they’d been close, as close as any drinking buddies could be. And when their journalism professors had lectured them, Jake’s eyes had always gleamed with interest and eagerness.

  Yes, and a stubborn ambition, too.

  He never should have come to him. Jake had always shown an appreciation for sleazy journalism and liked to bend the truth. How many times had he witnessed the man lying to the women he picked up in bars?

  And he’d delivered his sweet Winn right into his hands. Shit. He’d been so consumed by lust he’d forgotten about his notes, and now she hated him.

  However, although he’d made errors, Jake had written the article. Jake had lied for the purposes of his bottom line, rather than respecting whatever friendship they used to have. And he’d never forgive him.

  He marched up to the man he used to call friend, reared back, and punched him. He watched, unamused, as Jake sprawled across his fancy desk, scattering papers and pens.

  “You’re right,” Patrick spat. “You haven’t changed one bit.” He turned and headed toward the office door. “Oh, and you’ll be hearing from my lawyer. Thanks to Daddy’s money, we have a vicious one on retainer.”

  * * * *

  The night before Shithead Mike’s wedding, Patrick knocked on Winn’s apartment door. Thank God someone had been moving furniture and he’d been able to sneak into the building. He doubted she’d have buzzed him in.

  He listened at the door, hearing shuffling inside. “Winn? I know you’re there.” He knocked again. “Winn, please. I just wanna talk to you.”