Page 32 of Arranged To Be Mine

“See!” I said to no one. “I bought cashmere pajamas. I wanted them. I bought them.”

I padded back downstairs to the kitchen. I needed a drink. Not champagne. I really did not love champagne. My alcohol choices were definitely a product of being raised by a single father.

I opened the bottle of Johnnie Walker Blue Label and poured two fingers. The whiskey burned going down, but it was a good burn. A grounding one. I carried the glass to my living room and settled on the couch, staring at nothing.

How much had my life changed in the span of a few hours?

This morning, I’d been Darcy Corwin, CEO-in-waiting, recovering from a PR disaster but with a clear path forward. Tonight, I was Darcy Corwin, alleged girlfriend of Beau Blackwell, caught in a web of lies that I hadn’t even helped spin.

I was not an optimist by nature. I never had been. While other people saw silver linings, I saw storm clouds. While they hoped for the best, I planned for the worst.

And right now, I could see at least a dozen ways this could blow up in my face.

What if we got caught in the lie and it made everything worse? What if the fake relationship overshadowed everything I was trying to accomplish at Corwin Gems? What if people decided I was just one of those women trying to glom onto a Blackwell?

I took another sip of whiskey, letting the scenarios play out in my mind like a horror movie I couldn’t turn off.

But then another thought crept in.

Beau was hot.

I hated admitting it. It was just a fact. Those blue eyes. That jaw. The way those broad shoulders filled out his tuxedo.

Those lips.

Damn, he was a good kisser.

By the time he’d pulled away, I’d almost forgotten the whole thing wasn’t real. My heart had been racing, my skin flushed, my mind completely blank except for the tingle of my lips where his had been.

That was dangerous. The kind of thing that could complicate an already complicated situation.

His heart had been in the right place, even if his lips weren’t.

I drained the rest of my whiskey and set the empty glass on the coffee table. I needed to sleep. Tomorrow, I’d figure out how to deal with the latest exploded grenade in my life.

The next morning, I sat at my desk staring at my laptop screen, trying to focus on quarterly projections that suddenly felt meaningless. The numbers blurred together. I couldn’t stop replaying the kiss in my mind. It was like a song that got stuck in your head, except it was a ten-second montage.

My office door flew open without warning. I glanced up in time to see Dad storming in. His face a shade of red I hadn’t seen since I was sixteen and came home two hours past curfew.

“What the hell were you thinking?” he demanded.

I straightened in my chair, instinctively going into defensive mode. “Good morning to you too.”

“Don’t.” He pointed at me, eyes flashing. “I hired Beau Blackwell to fix your image. Not to—” He gestured wildly with his hands, apparently unable to find the words. “Not to make out with you at a charity event in front of half of Los Angeles.”

“It just kind of happened.”

The words sounded weak even to my own ears. I knew it the moment they left my mouth but he caught me off guard. Because I’d been daydreaming about the very thing he was pissed about.

Dad’s eyes narrowed. “It just kind of happened? That’s your explanation? You tripped and your mouth landed on his?”

“We were being cornered by influencers. They were asking about the ice-queen thing. Beau stepped in and stopped it.”

“By sticking his tongue down your throat?”

“Dad!” My face heated. “There was no tongue, thank you very much.”

He leaned forward, planting his hands on my desk. “Explain it to me. Because from where I’m standing, it looks like you have terrible judgment. I’m starting to question whether you’re ready for this responsibility.”