Page 26 of Bridesmaid for Hire
She moves over toward the front of the bar where she grabs the bartender’s attention and orders a drink.
A drink. As if nothing spectacular—or absolutely fucking crazy—justoccurred.My best friend’s little sister, posing as my girlfriend, is going to be in my boss’s daughter’s wedding.
How the fuck did that happen?
Whatever she just ordered, I’m going to need at least five of them to get through the night.
CHAPTER FIVE
MAGGIE
“WHERE ARE YOU GOING?”Iask as Brody moves toward the lobby.
“What do you mean where am I going?”
“Uh, the bungalows are that way.” I jerk my thumb toward the golf cart parking lot.
He pauses for a moment, his eyes searching mine, and then searching behind me. A secret is hiding behind those dark brown eyes, a mischievous secret.
“Right, just have to grab something real quick.” He takes off toward the lobby, a pep in his step.
What is he up to?
For the rest of the party, we mingled, Brody attempting to look like he was in love with me, while I held the team on my back by stroking his arm, holding on to him, and offering him compliments in front of his coworkers. All the while, he was a frozen mess in a cream linen suit that was completely drenched in sweat. I hope that’s the last time he plans on wearing it because the thing needs to be burned.
I lean against a pole in the lobby, wishing the time difference between here and California wasn’t so extreme. Otherwise, I’d be texting Hattie, letting her know how I not only infiltrated my way into the party, but into the actual wedding. What are the chances?
Not sure how happy she would be given Ishouldbe vacationing, but sometimes a girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do.
Brody comes back into view, rolling a suitcase behind him. He strides up to me and smiles. “Ready.”
“Ready for what?” I ask.
“Well, I figured we should talk, don’t you? Get our story straight given the fact that you just invited yourself to my boss’s daughter’s wedding.”
Perhaps he’s right. I’ll give him that.
“Fine, but what’s with the suitcase?”
“Wasn’t able to check in earlier. What bungalow are you?”
“Seventeen,” I say.
“Great.” He smiles. “I’m eighteen.”
“That’s oddly coincidental.” I eye him again but frankly I’m still jet-lagged and so tired from the day that I don’t have it in me to question him.
“Maybe they knew you were going to be a calculating shrew and put us next to each other.”
“Or maybe they knew you were going to be a sniveling weasel with no backbone and needed a strong woman to help you out.”
“I have a backbone,” he says as he follows me toward my golf cart.
“Says the guy who couldn’t take his linen suit jacket off because he was sweating so profusely, he knew his white shirt would be see-through.”
“It’s hotter than the devil’s asshole here. My body has not adjusted.”
“Maybe don’t wear a suit jacket to begin with.”
