Fake Marriage (Contemporary Romance Box Set)

by Ajme Williams

  “You do know that you’re persona-non-grata after what you did at my sister’s wedding.” If he knew who I was, he also knew Sinclair was my sister.

  He gave a chagrined smile. “Yes. I was upset and behaved badly. I’m trying to improve my image. Salvation is my home now and I want to show people that I’m not their enemy.”

  Right. Stark was a good looking guy, but there was a fakeness to it. Like he was over-polished, not just from his expensive haircut and manicured hands, but also in his demeanor. I wondered what he was like at home when no one was watching. Did his hair get out of place? Did he drink beer and burp?

  “That’s why I’m having this event. I’m trying to make amends. So, what do you say? Play whatever you want.”

  “I doubt my band will be interested in working for you.”

  Simon took another sip of his drink, apparently not bothered by my telling him we all thought he was a royal douchebag. “Okay. What about you then? Just you and your guitar.”

  “No.” I took my rag and wiped the counter, hoping he might see it as a sign to finish his drink and leave.

  “I’ll pay you ten thousand dollars.”

  I choked. For a moment, I could only blink at him. Then my senses came to me. It was painful, but I had standards. “No.”

  He studied me for a second. “Twenty.”

  Holy shit. My instinct was to say yes. In general, my band earned fifteen hundred to two thousand for a gig. He was offering me ten times that for just me. But no. I’d be betraying Sinclair, Wyatt, and my town.

  “Tempting, but no.”

  “Twenty-five.”

  What the fuck? All of a sudden, I thought he must have a hidden agenda. I mean who paid twenty-five grand to a nobody guitar player? Then I remembered he was a billionaire. Twenty-five grand was probably chump change. He acted like it was nothing. He offered twenty-five thousand like I might offer ten bucks.

  “I appreciate the offer, but I can’t.”

  He blew out a breath. “I can see it will be harder to get into this town’s good graces.”

  I nodded. As far as I was concerned, it seemed unlikely he’d ever be considered a part of Salvation. We were nice people, but we didn’t forget or forgive very easily.

  “Maybe when I own some of the local businesses it will help. I understand this place does well,” he said.

  Oh hell no. Mr. Coffey wasn’t thinking of selling the Salvation Station to Stark, was he? He’d just talked to me about buying in as a partner. If I didn’t, did that mean Stark would own this place? I’d have to work for him? God, the thought of it made my stomach roll over.

  Maybe I should take Stark up on his offer to play for him. I’d be able to invest in the Salvation Station and have a little bit left over. Better yet, I could keep Stark out.

  “It does all right,” I said. “But why would you invest in a town that won’t accept you?”

  He shrugged. “They’ll come around eventually.”

  I studied him wondering how that would happen. Would he buy the town’s affection? Or would he buy the town and use his power to compel affection. He seemed like the tyrant type.

  Stark downed his drink and tossed a fifty on the bar. “Keep the change.”

  I watched him leave, and with each step he took, worry slid up my spine. Did Sinclair know Stark was trying to ingratiate himself into town? She had to because she’d been there when he offered Trina a job.

  Then again, maybe this was something between Mayor Valentine and Sinclair. The mayor and Sinclair were friendly, but after what had happened with Stark’s prison fiasco, I wasn’t sure that Valentine didn’t hold a grudge against Sinclair for not only rebuffing his advances, but also stopping Stark’s prison. Mo had run his mayoral campaign on bringing jobs into town, and Sinclair had put the kibosh on that. So maybe the mayor and Stark had a new plan that changed from buying up farms for a prison to buying up local businesses.

  Either way, I needed to go talk to her and Wyatt about this development. When I got off work, I rode out to Wyatt and Sinclair’s place before going home to let them know about Stark. I didn’t mention Stark’s offer to hire my band. I wasn’t going to play so there was no reason to share that. But it seemed like they should know that Stark wasn’t done fucking with Salvation.

  After that, I rushed home, because I had a woman to woo.

  18

  Trina

  I finished a report for the mayor and sent it by email to him for his review. I sat back taking a quick look at my desk calendar. My heart jumped. My fake marriage would be over in a couple of days. Had a month really gone by? Was I just a few days from getting my book back and avoiding making a speech at the Harvest Festival?

  I sat confused for a moment as the feeling of triumph I thought I’d feel didn’t manifest. Now that I knew the truth about Ryder’s use of my poems, having the book didn’t seem that important. Of course, I still didn’t want to make a speech. I was glad to be avoiding that, so why wasn’t I feeling more excited about winning this bet? I was going to be going home. Sleeping in my own bed. Living my well-ordered life. I sank in my chair as I realized that going back to my old life was the problem. I’d be leaving Ryder.

  I won this bet; being fake married wasn’t hard at all. But if the bet had been to prove that Ryder was the immature fuck-up I’d pegged him as, I’d have lost it. Yes, he had an unorganized and sloppy way of going through life, but he wasn’t immature. While his life wasn’t well-planned, he seemed content in his work.

  The truth was, I enjoyed being around him. Maybe it was his relaxed, easy-going manner that was nice. Like osmosis, when I was around him, I felt more relaxed too. That was unless we were having sex, but that sort of tension was good. Really good. Fantastic even. The idea that it would end in a few days brought my mood down.

  I tapped my fingers on my desk calendar wondering if he was going to have some sort of special send-off for me, as he seemed to like to commemorate things. We’d not only had a first week anniversary, but a second and third week one as well.

  My eyes narrowed as I stared at a date last week. It was empty except for the little red dot I’d put in the corner. My lungs seized as I realized I was supposed to have started my period last week, but hadn’t. Oh God, oh God…this couldn’t be right. I must have mismarked the date.

  I pulled up the calendar on my computer to look at past months to see if maybe I was becoming irregular. I hadn’t been before. I was on the pill, for goodness sake. But reviewing the last few months, I was able to piece together that I’d had my period right on time.

  How had I not realized that I was supposed to be on my period last week? I was distracted by Ryder. See, that was why getting lost in the flow of things was dangerous. Because I wasn’t on top of everything, carefully executing my life, I ended up missing my period.

  Don’t panic. I pressed my hands on the top of my desk and took a couple of breaths. Think, Trina, I demanded. Order. Plan. Execute.

  I needed a pregnancy test. I stood, and grabbed my purse and rushed out without telling the mayor, Sinclair or Brooke that I was leaving. I walked down the street to the local pharmacy. As I made my ways to the aisle with the pregnancy tests, I wondered how I could buy it without becoming local gossip. I’d tell them I was getting for Sinclair. She was married, and I was an assistant in her office. It would make total sense. If it got out, I’d fess up to her, and hopefully she’d be okay with it.

  I bought the kit without having to make up a story and then hurried back to city hall. I dashed into the bathroom and followed the directions on the box. I sat in the stall with the test sitting on the box resting on the toilet paper dispenser. Thank God no one came into the bathroom.

  After the requisite five minutes, I looked at the test and my heart sank, while my blood pressure rose.

  Pregnant.

  How could this happen? I did everything right! I was on the pill. I was an intelligent, independent woman. This had to be a mistake.

  I needed another
test. I pulled myself together and headed back outside. I started toward the pharmacy, but then worried about buying a second kit. What if it said the same thing as the first?

  I took a seat on a bench in the grassy area around city hall and pulled out my phone. I pulled up the telehealth information from my health insurance provider, and, making sure no one in the area could hear me, called. It took a few minutes, but finally I was on the line with a nurse.

  I explained my situation; I was on the pill, but was a week late on my period and just had a positive pregnancy test. “The test has to be wrong, right?”

  “Not necessarily. You’re more likely to get a false negative this early than a false positive. You should visit your doctor to be sure though.”

  “I’m on the pill.” I felt like I was whining but come on, an unplanned pregnancy wasn’t something that would happen to me.

  “Have you been taking it regularly? Same time, every day?” the nurse asked me.

  “Yes. Of course.” My tone sounded like, “duh,” because I absolutely took it the same time every day. I was the type of person people could set their clocks to.

  “Have you been on antibiotics or other medication recently?”

  “No.” I worked to keep the panic at bay. I didn’t need the townspeople of Salvation to see me completely lose it.

  “Do you take anything else?”

  I scanned my brain. I hadn’t been sick. I’d had a few headaches, but Ryder had soothed those with sex. God damn him.

  “Supplements?” she prodded.

  “Oh, uh, I take St. John’s Wort,” I said. But a natural remedy to help my moods couldn’t be a problem. Could it?

  The sound the nurse made suggested maybe it could. “You need to see your doctor to verify the pregnancy or rule it out.”

  Oh God. “Are you saying St. John’s Wort could have caused this?”

  “Sex caused it,” the nurse said. “But St. John’s Wort can negate the effectiveness of birth control.”

  That couldn’t be right. Was this lady a real nurse? “I’ve been taking both for years.”

  “Have you been having sex for years?”

  I closed my eyes, feeling completely defeated. “No.”

  “See your doctor. It sounds like this isn’t a planned pregnancy—”

  “No.”

  “Find out for sure if you’re pregnant first. Worry about the ramifications of it once you know whether you’re really pregnant or not.”

  I finished the call and just sat for a moment. How could this happen? To me of all people. Everything I did was well orchestrated. I was always prepared. It didn’t make sense that the world would throw me for a loop when I’d been so careful.

  I pushed everything away. It was a skill I learned growing up to deal with my father. Panic and upset were the enemies of getting over problems. The same was true now. I needed to be calm.

  I stood and went back into the building. With my eyes forward and my intention ready to focus on work, I went to my desk.

  Sinclair came out of her office and walked to me. “There you are. Everything okay?”

  I plastered on a smile. “Yep.” I could feel tears starting to well in my eyes. I willed them to stop.

  Sinclair frowned. “You sure? You look…Scared? Upset?”

  How about both, I thought.

  I worked to force myself to appear normal, but the fear couldn’t be contained. “I’m pregnant,” I blurted like a madwoman.

  Just then I heard movement and saw Brooke enter the main office area. Great. Just what I needed. Her eyes widened and she immediately turned and went back into her office.

  Sinclair came around my desk, pulling a chair with her. “Did you just say you’re pregnant?”

  I nodded, wondering how long I’d hold it together before I completely came apart.

  Sinclair looked more intrigued than concerned. “Is Ryder the father?”

  I nodded, deciding it wasn’t worth the effort to ask her if she thought I was sleeping around during my fake marriage.

  She sat back. “I wondered if maybe something was going on, but I’m guessing this wasn’t planned?”

  I pursed my lips and gave her an annoyed stare.

  She held up her hands in surrender. “Hey, you can’t blame me for asking. You’re a planner. Things don’t happen to you unless you’ve willed them to existence.”

  My tears fell. “Right? How did this happen? I was careful. Now what am I going to do? Ryder isn’t ready to be a father. He’s barely grown up himself.”

  Sinclair stiffened. “Why would you say that?”

  “He’s a bartender and wannabe musician. His house is a bachelor pad that needs so much work it might be easier to raze it and start from scratch.”

  “Those things didn’t bother you when you slept with him.” There was a hint of anger and disapproval in her tone.

  I recoiled. Sinclair and I didn’t always see eye-to-eye, but I’d never heard that tone from her toward me before. The time I really needed her support, it appeared I wasn’t going to get it. Then again, since my father left, I’d pretty much been alone. That’s why I’d started taking the St. John’s Wort that got me into this situation. My father had been difficult and often unstable, but he’d loved me and despite his chaotic life, he’d been a sort of tether to the world for me. When he left, I realized I was alone. Everything I had and accomplished since then I’d done on my own. It looked like this pregnancy would be the same.

  I wiped my tears and stood. “I need the rest of the day off.”

  “You need to tell him,” Sinclair said, standing with me.

  I glared at her. “Of course, I’ll tell him.” I wasn’t sure how, but I would. Then, because I was angry that she couldn’t be there for me I added. “I’m not like you. I won’t hide my child.”

  She jerked back as if I’d slapped her. It was a mean thing for me to do, but I was too raw and upset to even attempt to control the cyclone of feelings whirling around inside me. I grabbed my purse and left the office.

  19

  Ryder

  I shut the oven after checking the lasagna. I hoped the way to a woman’s heart was like a man’s; through her stomach. Over the last month, I’d tried to feed Trina well. Surely, she wouldn’t want to go back to take-out and microwave dinners after my excellent home-cooked meals.

  The front door opened. I checked my watch, noting it was early for Trina to be home. I waited for her to join me in the kitchen, but then I heard a door shut down the hall. Usually she greeted me, but maybe she’d had a bad day, so I gave her a minute. I was getting ready to check on her when I heard the water for the tub running. She’d never done that before, so I decided she probably was in a mood and needed some time. I left her alone as I finished making the salad and shoved it in the fridge.

  I poured some wine for each of us and decided to check on her after all. It wasn’t like her not to say something when she got home. Even when she was mad about something at work, she usually said hi. One time, she stormed in and dragged me to bed. That rough tumble would stick in my mind forever.

  This time though, there was no hello. Instead she was drawing a bath. That was different.

  I took the wine, holding both glasses by the stems in one hand, and heading to the bathroom. I knocked softly on the door. “Trina?”

  There was no answer.

  I tried the handle, but it was locked. I cursed myself for fixing the lock on the bathroom door after she’d had a snit about no locks in my house worked. “Trina, baby. Are you all right?”

  I heard a growl. I straightened, surprised by it. Something was really wrong.

  “What’s going on?” I asked through the door.

  There was no answer. Now I was a little annoyed with myself. The very least she could do was to tell me to fuck off if she didn’t want to talk. “Listen, I’ll knock the door down if I have to.”

  “I’m fine.” She said in that peevish tone that suggested I was an annoying gnat. I hadn’t heard th
at in a month.

  “I have wine. Or do you want something else?”

  “I want privacy,” she bit out.

  I contemplated knocking the door down, but knew that would make her even madder. We had only a day or two left in this fake marriage, and I didn’t want to ruin it. She’d quarantined herself because she needed time, and not only should I respect that, but also, maybe she’d done it so she wouldn’t be a jerk to me. I had to appreciate that she’d made an attempt to control her natural urge to lash out at whoever was around.

  I left her there, going to the kitchen. I drank my wine and finished preparing dinner, listening for her movement. Eventually, she drained the tub and I heard her rummaging around in the back. But she didn’t come out to the kitchen.

  Deciding to check on her again, I went back up the hall to hunt her down. She was in her room, not mine, a fact that made my heart thud in my chest. Had whatever happened changed her mind about me? I scanned my brain for something I might have done to piss her off, but couldn’t think of something. Then again, sometimes it didn’t take much.

  I knocked on her door. “Dinner is ready.”

  She didn’t respond. I stood there like an idiot trying to decide if I should invade her space or let her be. The protective man in me wanted to invade and make sure she was okay. The smart man warned me that she’d be pissed off that I felt protective of her, and annoyed that I wasn’t respecting her need for space. With a sigh, I gave in to the smart man, and headed to the kitchen.

  Pulled the lasagna out, serving two plates on the off chance she joined me. I put the salad on the table and grabbed a beer for me. I set her wine by her plate.

  I sat by myself, something I’d done for years before, but tonight I felt lame. Why was I eating all by myself like some poor loser?

  I heard movement, and she entered the eat-in kitchen area. Without a glance or a word to me, she sat and stared at her plate. I’d expected her to look angry and irritated, but instead, she looked sad and lost.