by Jean Oram
“Sorry, son,” the barber said, catching his expression. “We have to complete the look.”
“Please tell me I don’t look like a hipster.”
George chuckled. “I wouldn’t let her do something to you that would have you run out of town.”
“Again, you guys are not as funny as you think.” There was amusement in Olivia’s voice, though. That was good. She probably liked the results.
Finally, George was done. He stepped back to take in the effect. “Yes,” he said thoughtfully. “I think that will do just fine.”
Devon raised his eyebrows at Olivia. She had the same pensive look on her face before breaking into a smile, her cheeks pink. “You look very handsome, Devon.”
“I didn’t need a haircut for that to happen.”
“He’s always been a looker,” George said, flipping the hair cape off him. “And has the confidence to match.” He spun Devon around to face the mirror, giving him a playful smack across the back of his head. He held up a hand mirror behind him, angling the chair so he could check himself out.
Devon smoothed a hand over his head. The sensation was foreign. There was definitely a lot less hair.
“Do you like it?” Olivia asked. She sounded as though she was holding her breath.
“Yeah, it’ll do,” he said eventually. It was an incredible difference. His cheekbones looked like they’d been sculpted, his face more angular. He was striking. “But I think there’s a problem.”
“What?” Olivia began scrutinizing his haircut with concern.
“We’re going to have to hire someone to beat the ladies off of me.”
Her body relaxed and she shot out a hip while giving him a saucy look. “Seriously, Devon? How big is that ego of yours?”
“I thought women were more interested in things like shoe size or hand size?”
Behind him, his barber choked on a laugh.
“Incorrigible,” Olivia said with a sigh. “Come on. We have a press conference in thirty minutes and I have a new outfit waiting for you downtown.”
“I’m like a Ken doll,” Devon muttered, getting another chuckle out of his barber as he paid for the trim. “Thanks, George. You did good.”
“If you’re Ken, does that make me Barbie?” Olivia piped up. Their eyes connected and the air around them crackled with an intensity he’d never once experienced with anyone else. Olivia Carrington being playful, flirtatious.
Man, did he ever love it.
“Sure, Barbie.” He glanced at her chest—it was quite nice in her curve-hugging top—and she swatted at him.
“Careful, careful. Watch the hair. It’s new.”
“Because if I’m Barbie and you’re my Ken, then it means—”
“I don’t have any balls.”
Olivia sent him a look. “I wasn’t going to say that.”
He gave her a soft smile. “It’s okay. I think your makeover will probably be worth giving up my manhood.”
Olivia stood in the doorway near the front of the town’s meeting room and looked out at the people who had gathered for the press conference. Disappointed pretty much summed up how she felt. One man in the front row held microphones for what looks like every news station in the closest city, Dakota, which she supposed wasn’t so bad. There was also Liz Moss-Brady, a local reporter—and gossip—who was chatting on her phone and obviously just putting in time. A few other people were sitting in chairs, looking around as though they expected treats for showing up.
In about three minutes she’d haul Devon out from the adjoining room and hope the reporters got a few sound bites that would push his name forward, get the town and surrounding areas to wake up and take notice.
Near the back of the room, the door was wide open. Logan glanced inside, scanning the room, giving Olivia a small nod before crossing his arms, taking up a post just outside. Through the doorway she could see one black military-grade boot and his shoulder. Total bodyguard.
She shook her head. A bodyguard was still kind of sweet.
A few people shifted as someone else entered. “Are there cookies?”
Olivia shook her head slowly.
“Oh.” The man’s shoulders fell and he left the room.
Cookies. Next time bring cookies.
And where was Vintra? He’d promised to be here, promised not to get sucked in to his experiments and forget to come. He was supposed to explain the science and the sustainable, greener side of her product line, as well as Blueberry Springs’s part in that. Then she’d chip in with how Devon had put it all together.
Dazzle dazzle. Looky here!
She sighed and checked the time. She hoped Mr. Right wasn’t destroying the guest room at Devon’s. She usually kenneled the dog if she had to leave him at home for any length of time, as he had destructive tendencies that seemed to kick in around the three hour mark of his supposed “abandonment.”
Another person came in, looked around and left. Olivia sighed. What was she going to do if they failed to put Devon in the mayor’s seat? How would she face Emma?
Ginger appeared in the doorway, jumping up to give Logan a quick kiss before hurrying into the room. She gave Olivia a big hug. “Hey! I thought I’d come out and show some support.”
“There’s hardly anyone here,” Olivia whispered. “Is that normal for Blueberry Springs?”
“Um, I’m actually not sure if we’ve ever had a proper press conference before.”
Ginger peeked into the adjoining room, where Devon was waiting for his cue. She said with a sly smile, “I like his new haircut. Very dreamy.”
“He’s not dreamy.”
“And that outfit.” Ginger fanned herself. “If he had an accent and I wasn’t married, I would be all over that.”
“Ginger…” Olivia warned, an unwanted spike of possessiveness flaring inside her.
“You can’t send him out like that.”
“What? Why not?”
He looked professional, and the way he paused, listening, helping, seeing a person? He was perfect. She glanced into the room to confirm her assessment, her heart slamming hard against her ribs as Devon looked up in question, his eyes so blue, his shoulders so strong, those cheekbones so—
Ginger giggled and dragged Olivia from the doorway so they were out of Devon’s sight. “He looks like bait. Like…like a playboy ready to ride. Alpha CEO about to conquer every fainting woman with damp panties in his path. You know?”
Olivia leaned away. “Your hormones are completely out of control. He’s not…” The word sexy came to mind. He was sexy. Sex on a plate. Every inch of him lickable.
Wow. Okay, so her own hormones might be a bit out of whack, too.
“He’s hot. Do you not see what you’ve created?”
She did see. That was the problem. He looked exactly like the kind of guy she could go for, the kind she could bring home and have her parents go gaga over. Yeah. That amazing. Even more amazing than Luke.
She should really call the poor man back, she thought distractedly.
Later, later. There was time.
“You need to hitch him up to someone,” Ginger continued. “Otherwise he’s too perfect. There are too many possibilities, endless directions he could go with this new and improved version of himself. Especially since he’s a known flirt.”
“I went too far?” Olivia sneaked another peek at the man in question.
“Honey, he’s dreamy. Perfect. Amazing. Hot. Sexy. Scumpdiddlyicious.”
“Not a real word.”
“Well, if it isn’t, add it to the dictionary and put his picture beside it, because that’s what you’ve created. Marry him off. Now.” She gave Olivia a look and took a seat in the front row, crossing her legs.
Olivia tried to act cavalier, even though her heart thudded extra hard.
A wife.
For Devon.
Why on earth could she see herself in that role?
Olivia could be doing a song and dance up in front of the reporters and nothing w
ould help. Vintra had explained the green aspects of their plans, because the local valerian was indeed exactly what they needed.
She had it. She just had to bring it home and convince these people to vote for Devon.
With enthusiasm, Olivia had talked about Carrington Cosmetics, a small family company that cared about their customers, the land.
People yawned.
She brought out Devon. Heads had snapped his way in interest and she turned the mic over to him with a whispered, “No joking around.”
“The town thinks I’m not good enough to be mayor,” he said, and Olivia froze. “But do you see a town that has jobs? One that supports green initiatives such as organic, all-natural cosmetic lines? One that preserves its identity and values nature?” He gripped the podium, his tone somber and quiet. “We’re dying here. This town grew, but we didn’t have the jobs to keep our new citizens here, and our internet connection isn’t fast enough for people to telecommute with reliability. We expanded subdivisions, but we didn’t create jobs, didn’t financially support improving our infrastructure. So we taxed our local businesses higher to make up for our lack of foresight. And now those businesses are closing. What will happen to our neighbors? Our families? We’re a dying town that will soon to be in the shadow of a million ton dam.” He made eye contact with everyone in the room. “You ever see that movie? The one where the dam cracks, then breaks?”
Olivia shivered as he waited, letting his words sink in before saying, “Help me help you. Help me help Blueberry Springs.”
Nothing.
Liz had gone back to her phone after the buzz of interest in Devon’s new look. The man in the front row was yawning so hard Olivia could hear his jaw popping.
“Is that it, Devon?” Liz asked, standing.
“No, that’s not it,” Olivia snapped, her patience gone. He was a good man! He was doing everything right. Why did they refuse to see that?
“Well, unless you two are getting married, I’m done,” Liz declared, picking up her giant purse. “As nice as you are, Devon, I can’t see you taking the mayoral seat. I’m sorry.”
Olivia swallowed, desperation flooding her. Emma and other women like her were going to lose if the reporter walked out of the room.
Ginger locked her gaze with Olivia’s, giving her a slow nod.
“Then you’re not done, Liz,” Olivia said clearly. She looked at Devon. He always made her feel real, special, a part of something. Taking the fake leap with him, even if just for a week? It wouldn’t be so difficult to pull off. They had enough history to make it look convincing.
But it was deceptive. Wrong.
And she’d get hurt. Open old wounds, then scrape glass across them.
But she could do that for Emma, her sister. Her family, her blood. She could do it for women like Grammy.
Liz turned in her chair to face Olivia, her expression dry, unimpressed.
Ginger pointedly cleared her throat.
There was only one way to save this.
It was now or never.
Olivia should probably choose never.
But before she could pull her brain back to home base to revise the words it was currently sending to her mouth, it completed its mission.
“Devon and I are getting married.”
Devon choked.
His brain stopped working.
Was he still awake?
Because…him? Getting married? To Olivia?
Oh, no. Just…no.
He had to be dreaming. A total nightmare.
Liz, who had been only half present during the press conference, sat on the edge of the nearest chair, her clever gaze taking in everything that was happening up at the lectern. “You look shocked, Devon.”
Olivia reached over and squeezed his hand, her fingers digging into his in desperation, her eyes silently begging him to play along. How did his ex-girlfriend think this was okay? That he’d go along with such a crazy stunt? That he’d want to playact being in love with her? Her. The woman who had thrown him out of her life, then slammed and locked the door after him.
It didn’t matter why she’d done it—she’d done it.
Sure, the past twenty-four hours together had been all right, and they’d managed to play nice and had almost kissed at the concert, but this… There was no backtracking, no “oh, she just misspoke” without looking like a huge fool and completely wrecking what little credence he’d built up in his campaign.
He replied honestly, “I didn’t expect her to say that.”
Liz cocked her head to the side, no doubt picking up on nuances in his body language that he was unable to hide.
It was all a lie. A great big lie. He’d fallen that far in his quest to help the town. Did that make him a true political candidate now? He was a liar, chock-full of deceit, in bed with large corporations.
Olivia took over the mic. Her hands were shaking like leaves in a hurricane and she gripped the lectern, her knuckles whitening. She gave a sheepish, sweet smile to the audience. “We had planned to tell our families first.”
Family.
His family was going to be excited. Shocked. Surprised. Happy. Freaking over-the-moon.
Lied to.
By him.
Olivia was fielding questions about their engagement and proposal with a fluidity that made him wonder how often she misrepresented the truth. No, misrepresented was too kind, too soft. She was obliterating the truth, bulldozing it, burying it, marking its location with a little white cross.
She’d seemed so sweet, so much like the old Olivia that he’d forgotten that she was a businesswoman out to get what she wanted at all costs, and would go right over him if he stood in her way.
He needed to get out of here. He couldn’t pretend that this woman who had shattered his heart was someone he was going to allow in once again. He couldn’t stand in front of the town and pretend she wasn’t a shark, that she was harmless.
She’d broken his heart. That was a pretty big thing in his world.
The small group of reporters were all smiling, laughing, eating it up. Devon’s stomach rolled.
“Devon, tell us more about how you and Carrington are going to create a greener, more prosperous Blueberry Springs.” It was one of the reporters, eager for a sound bite.
Devon blinked. Were they for real? Did they not understand how ridiculous it was that they wanted to hear him repeat what he’d said earlier, like it mattered now that he was engaged to Miss Business? How did that make him a different person than he’d been two minutes ago?
Olivia clasped his hand again, her smile too tight, her eyes locking on his with a desperation that broke through his shock.
He hated himself right now. Hated that he wanted to seize this opportunity to help her, help himself and the town.
His mouth hovered in front of the mic. From down the hall he heard loud voices, and the main door to the conference room closed.
He answered questions on autopilot, feeling uneasy about the increasing noise level outside the room, which was now turning heads. Someone had sent in the protesters.
It was time to go. He politely thanked everyone and tried to act casual as he hustled Olivia offstage. His grip on her arm was tight as he steered them into the connected meeting room. He immediately texted Logan, who was likely very busy on the other side of the wall.
“I am so sorry,” Olivia was saying over and over again, her breath coming fast and hard enough that he thought she might be in danger of hyperventilating.
Devon sent the text and paced, hands in his hair. It was too short. He wasn’t himself any longer. Wasn’t in control of his life, his destiny. It felt as if he’d sold a piece of his soul. Or maybe Olivia had simply carved it off and eaten it again.
“Devon?” she pleaded.
“You just forge ahead with whatever you want, don’t you? What you think is best, without taking into consideration what I might want, how I might feel… None of it matters as long as you get your way.”
She took a step back, blinking. She opened her mouth to argue, her eyes wet. She looked decimated, and he knew deep down that she hadn’t meant to blurt it out, that she wouldn’t choose this farce. But she’d also created a sizable mess, putting him in an impossible position.
Man, that was messed up. How could he actually feel bad for her? But he did. It didn’t help his anger, though.
“I have to lie to my family, Olivia, to voters. To everyone.”
“I know. I’m sorry.” Her head was bowed, her fingers tangled together.
“That’s not who I am. I have never once lied to my family. Not even when I broke curfew as a teenager. And now I have to act as though I love you, and I don’t.”
That was one mistake he’d promised to never make again.
She was blinking furiously, her voice shaking as she repeated, “I know. I’m so sorry.”
“What are we going to do? It’s a mess out there.” They couldn’t take it back; they had to go forward with it. They had to trust each other.
The first time he’d trusted her, she’d taken his heart. This time she could take his family, his town, his very identity.
But they were in it together now, as thick as thieves, and if they were going to make it out the other side without being decimated, they had to be honest with each other and trust each other like they never had before. They had to put all their hurt aside and become a real team.
Someone rapped lightly on the outer door—different from the one that connected to the meeting room. Devon cracked it open. It was Ginger, and the sound of protesters was suddenly overwhelming. He could hear Barry Lunn hollering above the din, “I’m sure they’ll treat those rare plants with care. And besides, she doesn’t really need them—she says their products are already perfectly safe and that they haven’t harmed a single person. Her whole family wears Carrington.”
