“Six short months. Malcolm and I lasted six years. Try explaining that breakup to everyone.” She shouldered her purse, a sign she didn’t have the time or the desire to talk about her own closet-dwelling skeletons. “I have to meet a client at Starbucks. Another coffee for me. Hopefully I can maintain rather than behave like a hyperactive squirrel.”
“Your blood type is caffeine. I’m not concerned.” Merina’s smile faded. “Thank you for coming by. You can bill me.”
“Fine.” Lorelei pulled open the front door. “You owe me a dirty martini with extra blue-cheese-stuffed olives.” She winked and stepped out into the crisp morning air, then added, “Take the deal, Mer. He’s being fair and there is nothing in there about consummation.” She shrugged a petite shoulder. “Unless you want there to be.”
At her best friend’s sly smirk, Merina shook her head adamantly. “I wouldn’t sleep with that jerk.”
“Well, if I were you, I’d negotiate some jewelry and nice outfits out of it. You will probably have to succumb to a few public kisses, but then you’re off the hook and the Van Heusen is yours in the divorce.”
“Jewelry,” Merina said drily as she leaned on the doorjamb. Because she was not going to admit she’d just pictured Reese Crane’s firm mouth surrounded by stubble and wondered how good his lips would feel on hers.
It’d been a while since she’d dated anyone. A longer while since she’d had a good kiss. What was that guy’s name who met her for drinks a few months back? Darryl? Dylan? Well, whoever he was, he hadn’t been a good kisser.
“Oh, and get some shoes out of it too.” Lorelei kissed her hand and waved good-bye. As her Mercedes pulled away from the curb, Merina considered the very real opportunity she’d been handed. Maybe this was her chance to do like her best friend said. Win back the VH, keep their staff intact, and move out of her parents’ house with a clean break.
By fall, she could be sitting pretty, the entire debacle a part of her past.
At the kitchen table, she shoved half the muffin into her mouth and swept the prenup into a stack while she chewed. She cradled it to her chest and finished off her coffee.
“Okay, Mer,” she said as she watched the wind blow the budding trees outside, “you can do this.” But as she looked down at her cell phone, she imagined it’d grown teeth. What was she supposed to do? Call?
Text him?
She didn’t owe him an answer until tomorrow, but she wasn’t putting off this decision another minute. She’d already spent more time fretting and less time sleeping than she could afford.
If the options were lose the VH—watching her parents be forced into retirement and their staff file for unemployment—or marry Reese Crane, Merina would marry the man.
So. Maybe the best way to handle this was the most succinct way.
She opened the old text message from Reese and punched in one word. Then she stared at it for the count of three, took a deep breath, and hit SEND.
* * *
Fine.
Reese narrowed his eyes at the one word sitting on his phone’s screen.
Fine? He assumed that was Merina’s way of saying yes. Not the most heartfelt acceptance of his offer, but then he hadn’t presented the proposal in a heartfelt way.
Reese was still pursing his lips in thought when Bobbie cut in. “Mr. Crane?”
“Yes,” he said, dropping the phone on his desk and meeting her eyes. She’d come in here to review his schedule for next week and probably thought he was ignoring her. But he’d heard every word. And now Merina’s message had changed a few things. “Next week’s meeting times work, but I need you to reschedule my lunch appointment tomorrow and arrange a meeting with Merina Van Heusen and Penelope Brand instead.”
Bobbie’s eyebrows shot up, but she didn’t argue. “Very well. Here in your office?”
“Yes. No,” he amended quickly. “We’ll use the conference room. And have my lawyer swing by later this afternoon. I have a contract that needs his immediate attention.” He wanted that prenup finalized. The fewer delays the better.
“Yes, sir.” Bobbie left his office and Reese leaned back in his leather high-back and propped his elbow on the arm of the chair.
Merina was going to marry him. Looked like she was on board, and that gave him a sense of satisfaction. He knew she’d see things his way.
“Reese’s Rocket,” Tag announced, barging through Reese’s office door. His grin was shit-eating, his beard neatly trimmed for a change, and his clothes just what Reese had come to expect.
“Henley and cargo pants. Are you working on the water heater?”
Tag waggled his phone. “That’s one helluva hashtag.”
“What are you talking about?” Reese turned his attention to the stack of phone calls he had to return. Bobbie still insisted on jotting down phone numbers of callers on those WHILE YOU WERE OUT papers he hated so much. He had a trashcan filled with wadded up pink notes. “I need to buy Bobbie an iPad.”
“She’d use it as a coaster. She wouldn’t know what to do with it,” Tag said.
“Fact,” Reese agreed.
Tag plopped into the guest chair and leaned back, legs spread, mouth still grinning. Giving up the ghost, Reese dropped his stack of missed phone calls and said, “Out with it.”
“There are photos of your junk.”
“Pardon?”
“Well, not your junk,” Tag said, shaking his head at his phone’s screen. “But the outline of your junk. You either need a better tailor or you need to start wearing briefs.” He tossed his phone onto the desk. Reese lifted the device and found a photo of him, cropped to showcase one particular part of him. His…pants. The poster had drawn a giant red circle around Reese’s junk and added an arrow and three exclamation marks. The hashtag next to it read #ReesesRocket.
Reese’s…Rocket? Seriously?
“Fantastic.” Reese handed back the phone. “On the list of things I do not need, at the top is press focused on my reputation for—”
“Man-whoring?”
“Dating.”
“It is fantastic, actually. You can’t buy this kind of press. Who’s with you?” Tag held the phone up again.
“I went out with Elaine Parker’s daughter, Primrose.” Reese recognized his suit and the swish of blue dress cut out of the edge of the photo from a charity event last year. He knew exactly who was responsible for this.
“Ah. Primrose. She’s young, dumb, and full of—”
“Money,” Reese finished for him. Primrose was the “cute niece of that famous designer” Merina had mentioned the other night. She had asked him to attend the event with her, which he would have turned down if it wasn’t a charity with Crane Hotels front and center. Turned out she was clingier than he would have expected. Primrose hadn’t stopped calling him for four months. And now this.
“Well, she ain’t mad at you,” his brother said with another grin.
No, she was apparently trying to draw his attention because he was paying her none. “It’s not exactly a compliment.”
Tag’s smile disappeared and he held up a hand. “Excuse me. If she called your dick ‘Reese’s Rodent,’ that wouldn’t be a compliment. ‘Reese’s Rocket’ insists you know how to use it. That it’s a thing of power.” He made a fist.