CHAPTER
SEVEN
CARTER
Standing outside Luna’s door once again, I feel like my world has become some over-scripted pseudo-reality show in the last twenty-four hours. I’ve gone above and beyond for deals before, but this is so much more. No matter, though, because I’m doing this, as crazy as it is.
I knock on the door, and in the few seconds before I hear Luna turning the lock, I have one last thought of making a run for it and calling the whole thing off.
But before I can, the door swings open.
“Wow, you look great.” The words pop out of my mouth before fully forming in my head, but they’re true. Luna is wearing a dark green dress, showcasing an hourglass shape she usually hides beneath the oversized overalls and frumpy uniform. Her hair is down and curled, her lips glossy, and behind her glasses, her eyes are almost doe-eyed with liner and lashes.
In an instant, her smile falls. “You don’t have to sound so surprised. Come in while I grab my purse.”
I can’t help but notice the way her ass sways left and right with every step of her clicking heels on the wood floor as she strides to the kitchen. And of course, she catches me looking when she spins back around.
“Seriously?” she huffs, totally busting me.
Shrugging innocently, I reply, “What? I’m just appreciating my wife, and I said you look great.”
“Don’t even start. And it’s not what you said, it’s how you said it,” she says quietly. I open my mouth to ask what she means, but she cuts me off with an outstretched palm. “Can we just go?”
“Sure.” I agree because it seems like the safest bet before we go to Elena’s and have to sell being a happily married couple. I offer my elbow, hoping some gentlemanly charm will help, but she struts right past me and out the door. Though, if I’m not imagining it, she’s swishing her hips a bit more now that she knows I’m watching.
She locks the door behind us and then downstairs, she snorts when she sees my car parked on the curb. “Should’ve guessed.”
“What?” I question, not sure what’s irritated her now. First off, the Mercedes CLS is a perfect vehicle for me and my lifestyle, sporty and powerful enough that I can pass anything I need to on the highway, but safety conscious, with airbags everywhere and antilock intelligent brakes. The thing’s even eco conscious, with a hybrid drive that lets it get good in-city gas mileage. And it’s not too crazy looks-wise either, in perfectly glossed black and chrome, with a smoke gray leather interior.
I could have easily bought something more expensive. So what’s Luna’s issue?
“That’d you’d drive a car like this. Fancy, but not flashy. It’s just . . .” She pauses, searching for a word as her eyes lock on mine, delving into my soul. “You.”
Feeling unsure, I reply, “I’m going to choose to take that as a compliment.”
In the car, things don’t get any better as I get down to business. “I figure we need to have our story straight in case Elena asks any questions. I looked up how Thomas and Elena Cartwright met to see if we could work in some similarities for connection. It was pretty straightforward—they met through friends, dated for a short time, married, and lived together for almost fifty years of wedded bliss, by all accounts. They never had children, but Thomas has a niece he doted on as almost a substitute child. The Cartwrights are known business minds, with a variety of investments, but they’re also philanthropists, working with everything from children’s hospitals to women’s causes in developing countries.”
“And art,” Luna reminds me. “That’s why I’m doing this.”
Despite her direct hit to my ego, I tease, “And here I thought you wanted to spend the evening with me?”
“You thought wrong.” She looks out the window, watching the city fly by. “So the story is . . . we met through my brother, dated, and fell in love. You proposed at the museum and we married after that. You work for your family business and I do tours at the museum. Probably best to keep it as true to life as possible so we don’t misspeak.”
I nod and then remember. “I told Zack about the deal too. He was surprised you agreed but said he was fine with it.”
She turns her head slowly, and when I glance over, her lips are pressed into a thin line.
“What?” I ask, splitting my attention between her and the road.
“You asked my brother for permission when he has absolutely nothing to do with this? I don’t need his or anyone else’s permission for anything.” Her tone is no-nonsense, and I’m left staring at the back of her head when she whips around and resumes staring out the window. Her lips move slightly, as if she’s talking silently to herself. Or possibly preparing a speech to rip me a new one.
I decide that it might be in my best interest to keep my mouth shut and not argue that talking to Zack about taking his little sister out to dinner, even on a fake date, much less in a fake marriage situation, is completely reasonable. He’s my best friend, and the last thing I would do is disrespect him by seeing his sister behind his back, especially for something outrageous like this.
We ride in silence for several minutes, the only sound the interruption of the automated voice giving me directions. “Next exit, 126 miles.”
Shit. It’s a long drive to the Cartwright estate, at least three hours, and I think we’re going to be traveling in utter and awkward silence. Still, I set the cruise control and think of turning on the sound system. I could use a few hours of surround sound. But that would require talking to Luna about what she’d like to listen to, and the vibe she’s giving off tells me her answer would be the sound of my balls being chewed on by rabid toy poodles or something like that.
When my phone rings, I’m actually thankful for the distraction. I hit the button to answer and my brother’s voice sounds out.
“Carter, man . . . I need your help.”
I groan in annoyance. Kyle always needs something, usually a swift kick in the ass, and he manages to blow up his life at the most inopportune times. He’s the youngest Harrington, and as the baby of the family, you’d think he was coddled, but you’d be wrong. He was basically left to his own devices growing up and used our parents’ money to get into and out of trouble.
Drag racing? Yep. Both illegal street ones where he pretended to be in The Fast & The Furious franchise, and even some on a track . . . where he wiped out a half-million-dollar Lamborghini Huracan.
Out of control parties? Of course.
Brought home by the local police? So many times I lost count.
But did he ever pay a ticket or fine, or spend time behind bars? Absolutely not, despite it being warranted a few times. And since becoming an adult, there’s no telling what he’s done because he sure wouldn’t share it with us.
“I’m sure you do. What’s wrong?”
“Where are you? Any chance you can swing by for a minute?” He’s trying to sound casual, but there’s a thread of distress in his voice. And I’m already calculating the time it’ll take to get to Elena’s if I add in a stop at Kyle’s. The dinner is way more important, but he’s my brother, even if we’re not the closest.