Page 19 of Beauty and the Beach
I shake my head again and try to get his offer to stop bouncing around in there. It’s ridiculous—absurd. It would never work, not in a million years.
“You’re a little off today,” Felicia says as she appears in my peripheral vision, and I jump, glancing over at her. Our stations are right next to each other, but they look vastly different; while I keep my counter mostly bare, preferring to store my tools in the drawers, Felicia keeps her things out. We spend most afternoons with clients, chatting in between and bonding over lungs full of hairspray.
“I guess I am,” I say vaguely, smiling even though I don’t feel like it. “Is it obvious?”
“You’ve been wiping down that same spot for ten minutes,” she says, pointing at my counter. “So, yeah. It’s kind of obvious. What’s up?”
My brother’s best friend asked me to marry him.
“Nothing much,” I say. “I didn’t sleep well last night. And it was a rough weekend.” All true. “But I’ll be fine. My clients were all good today.”
“So were mine,” Felicia says with a bob of her head thatcauses her curly ponytail to bounce. “Let’s hope tomorrow is the same.”
I give her another smile and put down my rag—because Felicia is right, I’ve been cleaning the counter for way too long. “I’m sure it will be. I’ll see you then, okay?”
Her answering nod and smile are half hearted, her brows furrowed with concern, but I can’t bring myself to talk about what’s going on. I sweep the floor quickly and quietly, wipe down my chair, and then head out before anyone can ask any more questions. My parting wave as I hurry out the door is too exuberant, my smile too cheerful, and I cringe internally.
By the time I’ve made it out of the salon, my mind is a million miles away from Sunset Harbor. The warm, early-evening breeze tugs at my hair and cools my skin; I inhale deeply, savoring the fresh air as I trudge through the town square, my thoughts racing.
Why is Phoenix asking me to marry him? I don’t get it. Yes, he wants to inherit the company, and I can admit that his cousin is the worst—he really did call me and ask if Phoenix and I were sleeping together, completely out of the blue. It’s understandable that Phoenix wouldn’t want Butterfield to go to him.
But is that important enough for Phoenix to ask me—someone he hates—to marry him?
He must know other women. Him marrying one of my friends would be weird, but there’s a whole world out there, full of other people.
So why me? Why does he want to marry me instead of someone else, when he dislikes me so much?
Unless…
I gasp, slapping my hand over my mouth. The faint scent of hair product left on my skin stings my nose, but I ignore it.
He doesn’t like me, does he? Phoenix Park doesn’tlikeme.
“No way,” I mutter. A shaky little laugh escapes. “No.” I’m not likable—not to him, at least. We’re not nice to each other. “There’s no way.”
I look ridiculous, I realize, talking to myself, but I need to talk to somebody. So I pull out my phone and call Cat.
“Hey,” I say when she picks up. “I have a hypothetical question for you.”
“Is this one of those hypothetical questions that’s not actually hypothetical?”
I don’t want to lie to her, so I don’t answer. I just go ahead and speak. “Is there any reason a man would propose to a woman he doesn’t have feelings for?”
There’s a split second of silence, and then Cat’s voice explodes down the line. “Did Phoenixproposeto you?!”
“Shh!” I hush her. “Don’t just shout that! He—not really—kind of—” I sigh and force out the word. “Yes? But it wouldn’t be a proper marriage, to have and to hold and all that,” I say quickly, because it feels very important to clarify. “There would be no having or holding. He basically just needs to be married to inherit the family company. And I could use some extra cash, so he would compensate me in return.”
“Okay…” Cat says, and I can hear her struggling to keep up. “So a marriage of convenience thing? I didn’t realize people actually did that in real life.”
“Me neither,” I say. “I just finished reading a good one the other day, though. By Sunny Palmer.” I pause. “Her fictional man was much more tolerable as a fake husband than Phoenix would be.”
“I don’t doubt it,” Cat says grimly. “So Phoenix asked you specifically because…?”
“That’s my question,” I say. Then, though I feel stupid thinking it, much less saying it: “There’s no way he likes me, right?”
“I mean, I don’t know,” Cat says, sounding uncomfortable now. “I obviously can’t say for sure. But I think you’re very lovable”—I snort— “and you guys do pay a lot of attention to each other.”
“Not good attention.”
