by Erika Rhys
“That’s the one,” I said. “We were both art majors, which is how we met freshman year. She’s my best friend from college—we were roommates from sophomore year through graduation—and she’s also the kindest, most generous person on the planet. Most of the wealthy kids at Harvard hung out with each other, but Cara’s different. Coming from money eased her path in some ways but not others. Her stepmother hates her, and her father pretty much ignores her.”
“Money isn’t everything,” Mimi said. She glanced at her wristwatch and got to her feet. “But that’s a topic for another day. I need to get the hell out of here, because you have only three hours to shut this place down, make yourself gorgeous, and get your ass across the river to Blacktail, where—fingers crossed—a big white wedding job awaits. The kind of wedding that requires masses of flowers.”
“May it be so,” I said. “May it be so.”
3
AVA
When I arrived at Blacktail and noted the chic attire of the clientele who occupied its tables, I was glad that I’d taken the time to apply fresh makeup and change into my favorite little black dress. Located at Pier A, where Battery Park met the Hudson River, the bar’s dark, wood-paneled walls, stained-glass ceilings, and retro lighting fixtures gave it a twenties vibe. At seven o’clock, the evening was heading into full swing, and as I glanced around the space in search of Cara, a cheerful din of conversation and clinking glassware filled my ears.
Within seconds, I spotted my friend’s sleek blond hair. Seated at a corner table to the left of the bar, she wore a navy-blue sleeveless dress that showed off her flawless figure and toned arms. A full martini waited in front of the chair across from hers, and her own martini glass was half-empty.
“You must have had a rough day,” I said when I reached her. “It’s not like you to start drinking without me.”
She stood to embrace me, but her smile seemed forced. “It’s been a hell of a week,” she said.
“Tell me about it,” I said as we released each other and sat down.
“I will,” she said. “But first, I want to hear how things are going with Oasis.”
“Nothing’s changed since we last spoke,” I said and picked up my martini glass. “But you and other friends are doing your best to help me find work, which gives me hope.”
“Let’s drink to hope,” she said and clinked her glass against mine.
As I sipped my martini, I sensed a nervousness in my friend that was unusual for her, but I resisted the urge to push her to confide in me. Although Cara presented a cheerful face to the world, she also had a deeply private side. Something was troubling her, but whatever was on her mind, she’d tell me only when she felt ready to do so.
She put down her glass, looked up, and met my gaze. “The last time we spoke, you said you’d do anything to keep Oasis going. Do you still feel that way?”
“Of course I do,” I said. “I’m ready to work my ass off at any job that doesn’t conflict with keeping my commitments to my current clients.”
“The job I have in mind wouldn’t conflict,” she said. “But it’s not a typical job. It’s not what you’re expecting.”
“I’m open to anything,” I said. “Anything. I just want to save my business.”
“Before I tell you more, I need you to promise me something.”
“What’s that?” I asked.
“Whether or not you take this job, you can’t say a word about it to anyone.”
Bemused, I stared at my friend. She was weirding me out, but I trusted her good intentions.
“I promise,” I said. “I won’t breathe a word to anyone. Now, can you please just tell me what this mysterious job actually is?”
She leaned forward and lowered her voice. “Marrying my brother.”
After several minutes of profound shock, followed by a second round of martinis and an explanation of Cara’s brother’s financial difficulties, I had the full picture. But while I sympathized with Ronan Kingsley’s situation, which had parallels to my own, I couldn’t imagine being anyone’s fake wife for two years—let alone a society playboy like Cara’s brother.
But vodka and the relief of discussing her idea had lifted Cara’s spirits, and she was certain that she’d found the perfect solution to everyone’s problems.
“My brother’s a great guy,” she said. “But he’s also a man-whore, with horrible taste in women, which is why I have to find the right fake wife for him. With your background, you’re perfect.”
“What do you mean?” I said. “My background couldn’t be more different from yours and Ronan’s.”
“You went to Harvard.”
“On scholarship. As part of the poor-kid quota.”
“Doesn’t matter,” she said. “You might not have grown up with money, but after Harvard, wealth doesn’t faze you.”
“Actually, it kind of does. I’ve just learned to conceal my reactions.”
“That’s all that matters,” she said. “You’re smart and beautiful. You know how to dress, talk, and blend in. And I’d trust you with my life.”
“I’ve never even met anyone in your family,” I said.
“You know I avoid subjecting anyone I care about to Dad and Veronica,” she said. “But because of our friendship, you know a lot about them. And also because of our friendship, it’s plausible that you and Ronan met through me and fell madly in love.”
“On the surface, I suppose it’s believable enough,” I said. “At least to anyone who believes in happily ever after, which you know I don’t—at least not since Brian.”
“Your ex-fiancé was a lying, cheating sack of shit.”
“He was,” I said. “But it’s been two years since I dumped Brian, and at this point I’m just grateful that I found out who he was in time to avoid the mistake of marrying him. Some men simply aren’t cut out for marriage.”
“That’s what Ronan says. He says that he could never limit himself to one woman and that he doesn’t believe in making promises he can’t keep.”
“At least Ronan’s honest about who he is,” I said. “He sounds kind of like Mimi. Her life is a revolving door of men, but she’s very upfront that all she wants is a night or two of fun. Meaningless sex isn’t my thing, but neither is judging how other people live their lives—as long as they’re open about it.”
“You and Ronan are both totally trustworthy, which is why this marriage arrangement can work,” Cara said. “Everyone benefits, and no one gets hurt. Ronan gets the trust money that belongs to him anyway. His employees get to keep their jobs. As soon as you’re legally married and Ronan gets access to his trust, he writes you a check that lets you keep Oasis—and as a side bonus, we get to be sisters for two years.”
“In my heart, you’re my sister already,” I said. “But marrying your brother—even if it would solve a host of problems—just doesn’t make sense. It would mean lying to everyone for two years. And you know how I feel about lying.”
“You and Ronan wouldn’t be lying to everyone,” Cara said. “Since the legal part would be real, you’d simply tell people the truth—that the two of you are married.” She shrugged. “You know—the Facebook-relationship-status version of your life, which is all most people need to know anyway.”
“I get your point, but lying to friends is different.”
“How many friends know the full reasons for your breakup with Brian?”
“Just you and Mimi.”
“So you’d want to be honest with Mimi,” she said. “That could be negotiated.”
“What about your friends—and Ronan’s?”
“Aside from me, Ronan’s only close friend is his business partner, Jack. And apart from Ronan, the only person I really talk to is you.”
“What about your family? I know you’re not close to any of them except Ronan, but lying to them for two years is still a big deal.”
“The rest of my family are chronic liars themselves,” Cara said. “Dad lies to Veronica about his constant affa
irs. Veronica lies to Dad to make my half brother, Aiden, look good or to make me and Ronan look like shit. And Aiden goes along with every whopper of a lie that spews from his mother’s Botoxed face.”
There was no arguing with Cara. She’d fully convinced herself that a fake marriage between her brother and me was the best solution to both our financial problems. In her mind, the only obstacle between me, Ronan, and a wedding date was the negotiation of what she clearly considered minor details.
However, Ronan himself was supposed to meet us here later tonight, which would let me shut down this crazy idea once and for all. When Cara had told me that she’d arranged for him to meet us, I’d only agreed to stay for two reasons—out of respect for our friendship and because after years of listening to her talk about her older brother, an opportunity to finally meet him was too intriguing to pass up.
“What time is Ronan supposed to arrive?” I asked.
“At eight.” Cara checked her wristwatch and then smiled at me. “He’ll be here in fifteen minutes.”
4
AVA
At eight o’clock sharp, Ronan Kingsley arrived at our table. While I knew him to be a handsome man from photos that Cara had shown me, he was even better looking in person. With dark, cropped hair, designer stubble, and a perfectly fitted dark-gray suit that only enhanced his tall, muscular body, Cara’s brother might have stepped off the cover of GQ.
He sat down beside Cara and kissed her cheek, before giving me a winning smile and extending his hand across the table.
“I’m Ronan,” he said. “And you must be Ava. I’ve heard a lot about you.”
“Likewise,” I said as I reached forward and took his hand. Intense blue eyes met my gaze, and a spark of unexpected attraction jolted through me. Unsettled by my reaction, I withdrew my hand as quickly as I could without seeming rude.
It was then, for the second time that evening, that Cara surprised me.
“I’ve said everything I have to say,” she said. “And I’ll have your backs if you decide to go forward with the marriage idea. But the only way this can work is if you two get to know each other.” She slung her purse over her shoulder, rose to her feet, and looked at us. “Which is why I’m leaving now. Talk to each other, order some food, and spend an hour or two together. That’s all I ask.”
“No promises,” Ronan said calmly. “But I’ve wanted to meet Ava for a long time, and tonight’s the perfect opportunity.” He looked at me. “Ava, would you have dinner with me?”
Something in his deep voice and relaxed demeanor settled my nerves. While his raw male magnetism had caught me off guard, it wasn’t surprising that I’d needed a moment to adjust to finding myself this close to such an attractive man. After all, I’d been a virtual hermit for the past two years. After breaking off my engagement to Brian, I hadn’t felt like socializing, and by the time I’d recovered from the hurt and anger of my ex-fiancé’s betrayal, I’d been working around the clock to get Oasis off the ground.
“Of course,” I said. “I’d be more than happy to have dinner with you.”
Cara gave us both a huge smile. “Good. I’ll catch up with you both tomorrow.”
And with that, she turned and walked away. For a long moment, neither Ronan nor I spoke, and as the silence built between us, I struggled to think of what to say. I needed to tell him that while I sympathized with his financial difficulties, I wasn’t about to marry him—but where to begin?
“This is weird,” Ronan said.
“Kind of surreal,” I agreed.
“Let’s get one thing straight,” he said. “I came here to appease my sister, but while I’m sure you’re a great person, I’m not a fan of Cara’s fake-marriage idea.”
“I feel the same way,” I said. “I’d do almost anything to save my business, but the idea of getting married is just over the top.”
“Excellent,” he said. “Now that we’ve put that subject to rest, how about some food?”
“Sounds great to me,” I said. “I usually eat a bit earlier, so I’m kind of ravenous.”
He signaled a nearby waiter, who hurried over, took Ronan’s request for a glass of Scotch and mine for a bottle of mineral water, and handed us each a menu.
“Want to share a side order of fries?” Ronan asked.
“Absolutely,” I said. “Who doesn’t love fries? For my entrée, I’m going with the sirloin.”
“Good choice,” he said, flashing me a grin. “I’m planning to have the same.”
I closed my menu and smiled back at him. Now that we’d cleared the air, I felt free to sit back and enjoy what promised to be a delicious meal, with no other expectations on either side.
After our waiter brought Ronan his Scotch and took our order, we settled into an easy conversation, which continued throughout the meal. Over dinner, we swapped stories about our lives and work, and Ronan made me laugh with a few humorous anecdotes about himself and Cara. Over dessert, we discovered a common interest in classic American cinema and sparred over whether Rear Window or North by Northwest was Hitchcock’s best movie. By the time we parted ways just outside the Bowling Green subway station, where Ronan had insisted on walking me, it was nearly eleven o’clock.
“Thank you for having dinner with me,” he said. “I’m glad that we finally got to meet, although I would have preferred that our first meeting happen under different circumstances.”
“The pleasure was all mine,” I said. “Since starting Oasis, I don’t get out much, and when I do, it’s rare to run into a fellow Hitchcock fan.”
His face split in a broad smile. “If I was in the market for a wife, she’d have to be a Hitchcock fan.”
I laughed and gave him a thumbs-up. “Good taste in movies is on my top-ten list too.”
“Now that we’ve met, I’m sure that we’ll run into each other again,” he said.
“I’m sure that we will,” I said. “Good night—and best of luck with your business.”
“Thank you,” he said. “I wish you the same.”
And with that, he turned and walked away. As I descended the stairs to the subway platform, a glow of satisfaction filled me. Although the evening hadn’t ended the way I’d hoped—with a new wedding client for Oasis—it had brightened my spirits. Cara’s desire to help meant the world to me, and as it turned out, I hadn’t had to disappoint Ronan, either. His reaction to Cara’s crazy marriage idea had been similar to my own.
With an ear-splitting screech, the train from Manhattan to Brooklyn braked to a halt in front of me, and as I stepped aboard and took a seat, my sense of well-being stayed with me. While my financial situation was on the verge of becoming dire, I could scrape by for another month or two. Tomorrow morning, instead of staring at depressing spreadsheets and sinking into despair, I would focus on generating creative ideas and finding work.
And somehow, I would find a way to save my business.
5
RONAN
“Where’s your head today?” my business partner Jack said to me from his seat on the opposite side of my desk. “I need you to focus on this contract, which has to go out within hours.”
“Sorry,” I said. “Too many thoughts buzzing around in my head to focus.”
“Talk to me,” Jack said. “Tell me what’s on your mind.”
I stood up from my desk, walked to the glass wall of my spacious corner office, and gazed over the rooftops of Manhattan. While I owned the majority of Kingsley Technologies, Jack was a significant shareholder as well. We’d been best buddies since rowing crew together in college, and from the day that he’d joined me at Kingsley Tech, two years after I started it, we’d run the company together. Over the years since, he’d become my closest friend. Like me, he was a confirmed bachelor with good looks, a full head of hair, and the kind of build that got women’s attention. We often began evenings barhopping together, splitting off when either of us spotted a woman we wanted to pursue.
“Remember my sister Cara’s wacky idea?” I said.
“How could I forget?” Jack said with a chuckle. “Your sister adores you, and she’d cut off her right arm for you—but Ronan Kingsley married? I’ve got a pretty good imagination, but it doesn’t go that far.”
I turned to face him. “Last night Cara dragged me to Blacktail to meet the wife she’s picked out for me—her best friend from college, Ava Walker.”
“That sounds awkward.”
“It was—for the first few minutes. But then Cara left us, and I told Ava I wasn’t seriously considering the marriage idea; she said that she felt the same way, and we ended up chatting about movies over steak and fries. She was good company, and I enjoyed having dinner with her.”
“Sounds like you dodged a bullet,” Jack said.
“That’s what I thought too,” I said as I sat back down at my desk. “But afterward, on the taxi ride home, I started wondering if Cara’s idea could actually work.”
Jack gave me a knowing look. “This Ava chick must be seriously hot.”
“It’s not that,” I said. “I mean, she’s a beautiful woman, in a young Demi Moore kind of way. Tall, dark, slender, and the same age as my sister. But Ava’s looks weren’t what struck me about her.”
“Understood,” Jack said. His green eyes twinkled with amusement. “You like your women blond—and stacked. But if it wasn’t her looks that grabbed you, what was it?”
“I don’t know how to explain it,” I said. “She was just so normal. Talking to her was easy—she’s smart, and she has a good sense of humor. And she’s a class act—articulate, knows how to dress, and a Harvard graduate.”
Jack laughed. “Ava sounds like the kind of girl your father and stepmother would pick out for you.”