Legally in Love Boxed Set 1

by Jennifer Griffith

  Josh had a retort, though. “Everybody knows we eloped. So we naturally wouldn’t have engagement photos.”

  “Right. Just fun dating ones.” Tory scrambled to her feet. “Perfect. Thanks for coming down here, Josh.” Then to Morgan she said, “Sorry. I swiped his number from you and texted him about this. It had to get done as soon as possible. We’ll get some shots of you in the waves.”

  Morgan shook her head. “Those waves are freezing!”

  “I know, but you’ll have to pretend they’re warm from the summer, when you met and fell in love.” Tory pointed to the icy water, and Morgan groaned but obeyed, stifling a squeal as the polar-chilled wave covered the tops of her feet.

  “Oh, that is cold!” Josh shuddered as a wave sloshed against his legs. “Snap fast, sister.”

  The moniker brought Morgan up short. Josh was calling Tory his sister—which she was, at least legally. It hadn’t struck Morgan that way before.

  “Okay, I need some fun, playful shots. And then I need some shots of…togetherness.”

  Nice word for it.

  Josh had no hesitation with the playful shots. In two seconds he’d splashed Morgan three times with cold salt water.

  “Hey!” She splashed back. “You’ll pay for that!” The water fight lasted until she couldn’t stop her teeth from chattering, and until he came over and scooped her up in his arms.

  “Ooh, you’re cold.” He hugged her to his warm chest. “Time for the togetherness shots, I guess.”

  Morgan just nodded dumbly. She’d never felt so secure while being held aloft. The wide world narrowed around just the two of them.

  “There! That’s just it.” Tory came closer, aiming in on them. “I like that. Morgan, good. You’re really into him. Josh—keep your eyes on hers. Just like that. Oh, I like that energy surging between you two. Electric. It might short out my camera’s batteries. Yes. Nice. Now kiss her, Josh. We have to have a kiss shot.”

  All during Tory’s photography commentary, Morgan had barely heard it, like a voice from way down in a chasm. Instead, she’d been shivering against Josh’s strong chest, her arms wrapped around his neck, his arms holding her as if he were carrying her over the threshold. Their eyes met, just like that faraway Tory voice said, Energy! Electricity! Her heart was already going like a jackrabbit to keep herself warm against the chilly wind, but when Josh looked into her eyes, the rate spiked—and sparkles of longing spread through her whole body.

  “Kiss her,” the distant voice commanded, and instantly, he obeyed. Morgan fell into the ecstasy of kissing Josh Hyatt—again. This time it wasn’t as zealous as when he gave her the ring and she had challenged him to prove his passion, but it was something new. It was tender and fun at the same time.

  How could one man kiss so many different ways?

  “That’s it. I think we got it, folks. You want to get out of the water now?” Tory yoo-hooed to get their attention again.

  Morgan had to catch her breath, but she got it together.

  Josh was smiling wickedly. “What are you going to tell your friends about that one?”

  Nothing. She was never telling. “We’d better get back and get started on redecorating Josh’s apartment,” she called to Tory.

  “What?” Josh stopped in his tracks. He set Morgan down on the sand. “What do you mean, redecorating?”

  “Come on. We have to make this as real as possible. I’m moving my stuff into your place. Making it look homey—in case it doesn’t already.”

  “It doesn’t. Can’t we just use your place? I was in there. It looks about as homey as a college apartment at Estrella Court is going to get.”

  “Uh, seriously? There are two bedrooms—both with pink curtains. You can’t be supposedly living with two women. That’s so Three’s Company.” She’d seen the reruns. She didn’t know if he had.

  “Come and knock on my door,” he murmur-sang. “We’ve been waiting for you.” So he had seen the sit-com. And his singing voice wasn’t too bad. “Okay, fine. I’ll come move any heavy stuff after I get off work.”

  ∞∞∞

  Josh sat at his desk, looking through the lenses of the microscope. “Hey, George. I think the bacteria count is a lot lower today. The chemists must be doing something right.”

  George came over and took a look for himself. “Lookee there. First good bacterial count all week.” He pulled away from the instrument. “You taking off early today?”

  “I have some stuff to do.” Josh’s head hurt. Putting his apartment in the equivalent of a Halloween costume version of itself was not his idea of a great Friday night, even if he’d be doing it with two gorgeous women.

  Worse, there was no way to disguise his spare room and the compost barrel in it. When Brielle first (and last) saw his hobby, it hadn’t been good. Morgan and her sister were bound to see it—and react.

  “School got you down? You not liking your classes? I never figured you for a political science type.”

  “Classes are fine.” He was keeping afloat in Statistics and Research Methods, which he’d been familiar with in his bio-tech major when he’d attended school before, albeit not with the social science aspect of them, so they were a challenge. However, International Political Economy, Cold War Relations, and Politics of Developing Countries had him struggling to keep his head above water. “I guess I found my niche late.”

  “I guess you are barking up the wrong tree. Look at your patents, kid. All that bio-tech research being relegated to a hobby? Are you sure you want to do that?”

  Josh thought about Brielle, their future together. He might not love poli-sci, but he loved Brielle. “I’m sure.” What George said was true, but in reverse for Josh’s case. If he were to take foreign policy as his career, then he could always love bio-tech research, and his hobby would then never become a chore. It would always be the excitement in his life. If he went after biological research as a career, sooner or later he would come to hate it. Everyone hated their job, right?

  Besides, a job with a foreign embassy would get him away from Bronco long-term, which was what Bronco apparently wanted.

  “Any word on your patents coming through? Because when that happens, I’m sure Oregon’s Environmental and Energy Commission is going to be interested.”

  “Nothing yet.” He’d waited months now, but the U.S. Patent Office still hadn’t ruled on his applications.

  “Okay. Well, have a good weekend.” George went to hang up his lab coat. This place wasn’t bad for a part-time job. Nice people. Interesting work, important to public safety. Even if that whole Seagram Scholarship came through, Josh probably wouldn’t quit his job.

  Unlike Morgan. He’d insisted she quit that Green and Lean place—and even if he had to double his hours here, she was never strapping on roller skates again. That was an order.

  Order. Ha. As if he had any right to tell her what to do. The relationship lines between them were blurry, but he knew he didn’t have that right. He also knew that if he intended to keep the lines drawn between him and that blue-eyed blonde at all, he’d have to stop kissing her, especially when she was wearing only a swimsuit and dangling her long legs over his arm. He muttered a curse at that raspberry lip gloss. When she wasn’t looking he’d search her purse and throw it in the trash.

  Of course, after she saw the barrel of rotting kitchen trash in his spare room, she might not allow him near her ever again. That’d clarify things. So this exercise tonight might work out fine.

  Meanwhile, no more kissing that raspberry lip gloss.

  Even if raspberry was his favorite flavor.

  Josh hung up his lab coat and went home to face the compost and the decorating team.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Josh’s phone rang. He opened his eye and saw it was already past six a.m. Then he opened his eyes further and saw the pink and white curtains at his window, the cleared-off counter of his dresser, the piles of women’s shoes at the bottom of his closet, and wondered if he’d been teleported to
another dimension, a pink one. Huh. It smelled like cherry candles in here. Oh, right. His apartment had been wife-ified.

  The phone rang again. He answered, trying not to sound too groggy.

  “Josh Hyatt? This is Siggy.” A big, jolly voice boomed through the receiver.

  Siggy? Who was Siggy? He didn’t know anyone—

  “I hate to wake a newlywed, but I’ve had a sudden change of schedule. Have to go see some assets in Chile all of a sudden.” Siggy. Sigmund Seagram. So they were on a first name basis now?

  Josh sat up and rubbed the sleep from his eyes, seeing for the first time the enormous kissing picture of him and Morgan in swimsuits looming over his bed. She looked amazing, with that long leg and pointed toe draped over his arm. He looked away fast. Good thing it was coming down Monday or he might let himself drift into a fantasy about that long leg.

  “If you and Morgan aren’t busy this morning, I’d like to come and deliver the check today instead of Monday. How’s fifteen minutes?”

  Fifteen minutes!

  “You can let Morgan know, right? Hi, Morgan!” Siggy hollered as though Morgan were nearby and could hear him over the phone.

  “Uh, how’s half an hour? Can you give us half an hour?”

  Josh shot out of bed, pulling on some jeans and a t-shirt. The house was miraculously clean. Those girls had worked him late. But the place shone, and when Morgan saw the bio lab he had set up in his spare room, she’d said, “Cool.”

  Josh had balked, not sure what she meant by it, whether she was being facetious, but then Morgan had asked, “Are you working on something important?” and he hadn’t known quite how to answer. But she was in earnest, and he’d finally replied, “I hope so.”

  “Cool.” She’d said cool.

  He dialed Morgan. “Hey. Seagram just called. You home? Can you be here looking like my wife in less than thirty minutes? He’s coming with the check in half an hour.”

  She gave a little shriek and hung up.

  She’d be here.

  And she was—about five minutes early. She smelled like lavender, and her hair shone. She even had makeup on. Maybe she was a morning person and Josh’s call hadn’t awakened her. Chalk it up to yet another thing he didn’t know about his wife. So-called wife. Pretend wife. Wife that made him able to go to school—and marry the girl he actually loved.

  Morgan was a good sport if ever there was one.

  “We should put something on the coffee table.” Morgan’s eyes shot around the room, assessing. “School books?”

  “It should be some of yours and some of mine, if we do.”

  “Right.” Morgan had brought her backpack with her, and she took out a huge textbook, Advanced Accounting, and set it next to Josh’s laptop. “Do you like how the walls turned out?”

  Josh hadn’t even looked, but he did now. All across one wall were small photos from their shoot yesterday, followed by a wooden plank that read, The Josh and Morgan Hyatt Family. Then, smaller, below it were the words, Families are Forever.

  Right. Or at least until the annulment comes through.

  They were such heels.

  “I don’t know if we should go through with it.” Josh shook his head, and then he caught a glimpse of Morgan setting a box of cereal on the table and two bowls, neatly placing them on placemats. It was definitely not a bachelor apartment look.

  “We’ve been over this, I thought. We have to make it look right. If we don’t spend any of the money, then we can always just give it back to Mr. Seagram when all this is over. We’ll put it in an escrow account, so neither of us can touch it. Something like that would safeguard it.”

  After a little thought, Josh knew she was right. They could do this without taking advantage of Mr. Seagram—even if he had intended to do something to help Josh for Josh’s mom’s sake.

  “What are all these books on the political history of Europe doing here? I thought you were a biologist.”

  “Nope. Foreign policy is my major.”

  “What? Why? Then what’s with the awesome biology lab in the back room and your job at the water treatment plant? It’s a non sequitur.”

  “Be that as it may, it’s what I’m doing.” Why was he getting all this backlash against his major from people who shouldn’t care about his decision? Was Bronco infiltrating his friends and coworkers now? His wife, even?

  That was another thing. Bronco didn’t know about Morgan yet, at least Josh didn’t think so. Chip and Heather wouldn’t have said anything, as Josh was a taboo subject in the family, and Bronco wasn’t exactly up on social media. There’d been no word of approval or disapproval from that front, but this TV interview might be the death knell of Josh’s peace of mind. Everyone was going to know after this segment aired. Maybe even Brielle.

  “How do I look?” Morgan grabbed his attention, and she spun. She was wearing a casual dress and high heels that showed off calf muscles she must have earned on roller skates.

  “You look great.” He’d better understate it. “Lots better than in that pink uniform they make you wear at Tomato Tornado.”

  “Tell me about it. I hate hot pink. So glad I quit.”

  “You quit?” She’d listened to him? Obeyed his orders? “That’s great.” He could hug her for it.

  “I tried to give them notice, but the manager was so ticked off he just told me to never come in again. I don’t know what I’m going to do for cash now, but I can’t say I’ll miss the place.”

  “If you’re dying to add stress to your life now that you just jettisoned some, you could find a campus job, one that would work with your schedule.”

  “This late into the semester?” She had a point. Josh knew how tough it was to find work in Starry Point, and even tougher on campus. The slots were filled before classes began.

  “Something will come up.” Now he felt bad for telling her to walk away from a paying job. He’d told himself he was urging her best interest, and in a way it shocked him that she’d actually been persuaded by his influence. That fact did do a little to make his shoulders square up. She listened to me. But now…

  “There’s one more thing.” Morgan interrupted his thoughts. “And I’m really sorry I have to say it, especially after what happened on the beach yesterday.”

  “What? What happened on the beach?” They’d made out in the waves. What was to apologize for? Unless she knew her raspberry lip gloss was a lethal weapon against his willpower and had used it on purpose.

  “You know. Tory—in the name of togetherness—forcing us to…” She faltered.

  “Kiss? For the picture. You and I both know it was just a formality—for the pictures. We needed some togetherness shots.”

  Morgan opened her mouth to say something, but then she colored and stopped.

  “The pictures turned out great, by the way. The one in the bedroom is almost professionally good.”

  “Tory must have put that up while I was at work. Well, quitting work. Can I see how it looks?”

  Josh took her to the bedroom, and she hesitated before stepping in. Was she nervous—about being in his bedroom? His innards twisted. She couldn’t be thinking what he’d been thinking—against his will, against Brielle’s confidence and trust. This was a business arrangement for Morgan. That was all.

  “Wow.” She stared up at the photo, almost wandering in, and sat down on the bed. “It looks fantastic. How did she get that shot?” Morgan tilted her head, her blonde curls spilling over her shoulder, her leg trailing off his bed.

  Josh tore his eyes from the leg. He tried to look at the photo over the bed, but that wasn’t much better. This girl was here—in his bedroom, on his bed. His girlfriend was thousands of miles away and hadn’t contacted him in over a month. What was stopping him?

  The doorbell rang, snapping him back to reality.

  “Seagram’s here.” Morgan jumped up. “Well, this totally looks like our bedroom. Except that it’s a twin-sized bed.” She winced and headed for the door.

  A twin
bed! How had he not thought about that? “If anyone asks, tell them we couldn’t afford a bigger one yet. Or better, that we like togetherness.”

  ∞∞∞

  Morgan swung the door open, and there stood Mr. Seagram, jolly giant that he was, his beard trimmed and in a nice, light gray suit. The thing that made Morgan almost lose her breakfast, though, was that he wasn’t alone—he had an entourage.

  “Mrs. Hyatt! Good morning. Don’t you look fresh as daisies. This is Walt and Ernesto. They’re my film crew. And this is Darshelle. She’ll be interviewing you for the video we’ll be posting on the Seagram Foundation’s website, and which we’ll use to bait the local TV stations into doing more publicity.” Mr. Seagram pushed his way into the apartment, and Morgan realized she should have expected other people to be with Seagram. Mr. Seagram wouldn’t be interviewing, running the camera, the sound, the grip, or whatever. “Not to hurt your feelings, but I didn’t realize Starry Point had a ghetto quite as bad as this apartment complex. I hope you’re not paying more than fifty bucks a month for it.”

  Morgan stepped aside as the film crew bustled in and began setting up a tripod and pulling black boxes and wires out of bags. Film! Morgan couldn’t be on film. Not speaking, anyhow.

  “You’ve been wired before for an interview, right?” Darshelle had a roll of duct tape and a microphone. “We’ll just tape this apparatus to your back, and then no one will see the mics. Easy peasy lemon cheesy.”

  Morgan always thought it was lemon sneezy. Or was it squeezy? Anyway, putting on a microphone wasn’t lemon or easy peasy anything, it turned out. The tape might give her welts.

  “I’m not sure about this…”

  “Oh, you’ll be beautiful. I promise.” Darshelle gave her a reassuring smile with her dazzling white teeth against her dark skin. “You look like a dream this morning.”

  Mr. Seagram wasn’t idle, meanwhile. “Josh! Here you are. Nice place. Oh, look. Somebody’s working on something big.” Seagram had swung wide the door to Josh’s spare room, the one with the big plastic barrel of trash in it. Josh had said it was for biology research. He probably didn’t want Seagram snooping around in it. Morgan snapped into action, leaving some cords dangling against her legs.