“I have a house on the lake in Harmony Haven. I can stay there Friday and Saturday nights,”
“And at Fiddlers,” I pushed.
“Fine,” he bit out. “But Monday the bar’s closed. You come back to Atlanta Sunday nights with me and be part of my schedule here on Mondays.”
“Fine,” I huffed, slumping back into the couch.
The intercom buzzed. “Mr. Brooks, Mr. Strickler is in the conference room with the paperwork for you and Miss Caldwell.”
The fact that they already knew my name sent a chill down my spine. This whole thing was happening. Fast. Too fast.
When we walked across the hall to the conference room, an attractive older man with grey around his temples stood to greet us. West introduced him as Harrison Strickler and he shook my hand, skepticism evident in his eyes. I didn’t blame him. I looked like the poster child for “this girl’s using him.” But Mr. Strickler knew the truth. He knew it wasn’t my plan, so I took a deep breath and settled in the chair that West held out for me.
For a few minutes, we reviewed the papers. I also had Mr. Strickler handwrite the additions I wanted to add before we initialed them. I wasn’t stupid. If I was faking a marriage to someone like West Brooks, I needed legal leverage. Althoughthey both chuckled when I insisted they add in the not falling in love with me clause.
They could think I was crazy all they wanted, but it felt important to make sure that line was inked into the deal.
“Alright,” Mr. Strickler said, stacking the papers. “You’ll be legally married by Friday.”
I rolled my eyes. He smiled kindly, clearly entertained, and left the room.
“Your ride’s ready,” West said, with his phone out.
He grabbed my hand again, leading me out. Hattie gave me a little wave, like I was family now, and the receptionist avoided us altogether. The elevator was blessedly empty when we got in and West let out a deep breath, as did I.
“You okay?” I asked, almost touching his arm. Then I remembered the contract thing. I assumed unnecessary contact was when we were alone and there was no reason for it. Which made sense.
“Of course I am,” he said, and pressed the up button.
“Where are we going?” I panicked. “How is there an up?”
“The roof.”
“Oh, so you can throw me off and keep my bar?” I deadpanned.
He laughed as the elevator doors opened to the distinct sound of helicopter blades slicing through the wind.
“Hugo will fly you back. You’ll land at the medical center. There is a landing pad on the roof. A car will take you home or to the bar, wherever you want.”
“I’m not getting in that fucking thing!” I backed into the elevator.
“It’s safe. It’s fast.”
“I’m not in a hurry. I’ll walk.”
“I fly all the time.”
That was great for him, but I started pressing the down button on the elevator over and over, hoping it closed me in and him out.
“Hey,” he said, stepping into my space, stopping the door from closing, and lowering his voice so I could hear it over the helicopter blades. “There’s nothing to be afraid of. I’ll even ride with you this time.”
“This time?” As if I would ever fall for the ol’ ‘up button in the elevator’ trick again.
“All this back and forth, Blue? We will need to go by air sometimes to make it quick.”
He tried to lead me forward. I resisted, but I stepped forward anyway. The closer we got, the stronger the wind, and I was sure my bones were vibrating.
The pilot jumped out to open the door, waiting for us.
