"Sure. I'm guessing you can't?"
"Have I mentioned my old boss was a prick?"
Selma laughed. "Once or twice."
"Well, if I'd waited another couple of weeks to quit I would have been fine. But because of the timing--about which I wasn't told in advance--I can't access any of my pension funds. At least not until I actually retire. And I figure Easton doesn't want to wait that long."
"You don't have anything else squirreled away?"
"I did. Then I bought my condo and my car."
"Can you get an equity loan?"
Hannah shook her head. "I got a great deal on my condo, but the previous owner had trashed it. So I used an equity loan to pay for the repairs and remodel. I told you. I'm screwed. But I don't want to give this up. I mean, I want it. I want the law firm. I want the partnership. And I really don't want to let Easton down." The idea of disappointing her best friend in such a massive way clawed at Hannah's gut. Not only that, but she knew that Easton was relying on their new practice just as she was. Neither of them currently had jobs. This was it. This was their future.
And unless she could figure out a solution, Hannah was going to be the one to make it all go to hell.
"You're going to hate this idea, but Easton's done really well. And not to brag, but Austin Free-Tail is definitely on the rise, too. Either Easton or I could lend you the money. It's not like you're a risky investment."
Hannah shook her head. "Borrowing money from friends means that at the end of the day you have money, but no friends. Not happening."
Selma made a face, but didn't argue. "What other option do you have?"
Hannah sucked in a breath. She had only one other option--and it was a little dicey. Worth it, but dicey.
"What?" Selma prodded. "You're thinking about something. Just spit it out."
"Right. Okay. Here's the thing. This isn't a new idea between Easton and me--the partnership, I mean. I first suggested it years ago, not long after I signed on at Brandywine and realized the work wasn't for me." She rolled her eyes. "I always told everyone I loved it, but the truth was ... well, not so much."
"You're saying you had the money then, but not now. So this was before you bought your condo?"
Hannah shook her head. "No, I already had the condo, and I had my equity loan. But back then, my parents were willing to fund me if I went out on my own."
"Were willing," Selma repeated. "But they're not now?"
"Pretty much." She drained the last of her Loaded Corona, then signaled to Eric, the bartender, to make her another. She loved the simple drink--a bottle of Corona with the neck poured off and filled with rum, then topped with a slice of lime--but right now it wasn't about taste. If she was going to talk about her mother and Ernest, she wanted the fortification of a good, old-fashioned buzz.
Across the table, Selma was sitting patiently, but Hannah could see the questions brewing in her eyes. Time to dive in. And why not? Maybe Selma would have a solution.
"Did Easton ever tell you about my dad?"
Selma's brow furrowed; clearly that wasn't the lead-in to the conversation that she'd expected. "I don't think so."
"He died when I was little. Just a toddler, really. He was a cop, and he was killed in the line of duty. It was--well, it was rough. Especially for my mom. Honestly, I don't remember my dad all that well, but my mom really had to scramble. She'd been a housewife, and after he passed, money was really tight. She'd dropped out of school, but she went back, got her degree, and ended up working as a teacher. She was determined to pay my way through college."
"Good for her."
"I know. She was amazing. But money was still tight, and she always told me to be smart. To pick a career where I could make money and always support myself. And she put aside fifty grand of the money from one of my dad's life insurance policies in a savings account. She told me that he'd gotten the policy with me in mind, and she said that she would give the money to me when I was settled with a good job and a solid career, but needed a little extra cash to help me get even farther."
Selma leaned back, her head tilted slightly with obvious confusion.
"Yeah," Hannah said. "I know."
"Then why? Why are we even having this conversation? You're each putting fifty into the business, right? If you have fifty just sitting in the bank..."
Hannah took a second to let the familiar bubble of anger settle. "That would be because of Ernest."
"Who's Ernest?"
"My stepfather. Once he came on the scene, my mom changed her tune. It wasn't the business that mattered, it was my life. She told me that it was still my money, but my father wouldn't have wanted me to fritter my life away working--"
"Fritter?"
"That's what she said. And so much more. Bottom line is that I get the money when I'm in a stable relationship. Then, according to my mom, I'll be using it to support my domestic life, even if I decide to put it into my business."
"Wow. Why? Where did that come from?"
Hannah shrugged. She had her theories, but it didn't matter. All that mattered was figuring out a way to get the money.
"So basically, we need to hook you up with someone suitable."
"Who knows? I actually asked for the money about four years ago. I wanted to use it to buy a condo. One that didn't need all the work mine did. And back then, I was in a relationship."
"And she said no?"
"Apparently, she and Ernest didn't like the fact that my partner's name was Janet. But honestly, even if Janet had been a Jack, maybe there would have been some other excuse. I'm probably stupid to think that I'll ever get that money, and it's so frustrating, because I know that Daddy got that second policy so that I'd be taken care of. But he put it in Mom's name, and now I'm screwed."
"Well, you're not with Janet anymore. Maybe your parents could tell it wasn't a permanent thing."
Tiffany, one of the servers, dropped off the fresh Loaded Corona along with a basket of Pretzel Bites with Beer Cheese Dip. "On the house. Eric said you two look like you're doing serious work and needed fuel."
"Serious scheming, you mean," Selma said, with a thank you wave toward Eric.
"Scheming?" Hannah repeated after Tiffany had moved to another table.
"Sure. We just need to find you a relationship. And as for permanence, I'm thinking it only has to be true love until the money's in your hand."
"Yeah, well, I like the way you think." And, honestly, she felt no guilt at all about the possibility of pulling a con on her mom and stepdad. After all, Ernest was practically drowning in money, so it wasn't as if her mom needed the funds. And Hannah's father's wish was for her to have the money. As far as she was concerned, her mom had been playing dirty. And if Hannah had to jump in the mud to get what was hers, then that's what she would do.
Except she needed someone to jump with her, and there wasn't anyone on the horizon. "The problem is that my only option for a potential fake relationship--one that wasn't even really a lie--doesn't work anymore."
"Yeah? Who?"
"Easton."
Selma's eyes went wide and she crossed her arms over her chest. "And it wouldn't be a lie because why?"
Hannah flashed an impish grin. "Because we're partners, right?"
Selma snorted. "True that."
"But seriously, even if I wanted to use Easton as my beard, it wouldn't work. Ernest comes to Austin pretty frequently, and eventually he'd see you and Easton together. And somehow I don't think he'd appreciate my man cheating on me."
"Probably not. Plan B?"
"If I'm going to do this--and I am, because what choice do I have--I need to have a believable relationship, probably an engagement. I can share the wonderful news this weekend at their annual wedding anniversary party. And then later I can call my mom in tears to tell her about our catastrophic breakup. After the money is in my hands, of course."
"Fair enough. Who?"
She glanced around the bar. Saw a few of her friends who were already paired
off as well as several customers she didn't recognize. "I have no idea. Maybe I need to step into the land of fiction. Jean Paul. And he's a French archeologist who teaches at Stanford, but we met when he was doing a seminar in Austin, and now he's on a dig in Africa. But we're madly in love and we're planning a wedding in Provence."
"I thought lawyers were supposed to be better liars."
"Funny. As far as I'm concerned, Jean Paul is the perfect boyfriend."
"Not even close. The secret to lying is sticking close to the truth. Everyone knows that."
"So what are you saying?" Hanna asked.
A wide, slow smile slid across Selma's face. "I'm saying you need to leave it to me."
Chapter Three
"Come on, Griff," Matthew Herrington said as he spotted his newest personal training client. "One more, and you'll hit a personal best."
"Keep goading me, and I'll hit you," Griffin snarled, his arms shaking as he pushed the barbell up higher and higher until Matthew caught it and helped rack the weight.
"That was spectacular," Matthew said, with genuine enthusiasm.
"No kidding." Selma's voice filtered in from across the gym--the locked gym--and she started walking over. "How long have you been training, Griff?"
"Not long," Griffin mumbled, his head ducked as he sat up, then shrugged back into his ever-present hoodie. He zipped the jacket and stood, his back to Selma. "I'm going to go hit the shower. See you around, Selma," he called over his shoulder as he trotted toward the back of the gym.
As soon as he heard the locker room door snap shut, Matthew rounded on his sister. "What the hell is wrong with you?"
"With me? What are you talking about?"
"The man was working out in gym shorts and a tank top. What the hell do you think I'm talking about?"
For a moment, she only looked at him blankly. Then her face cleared, and her eyes widened with horror. "His scars. Oh, shit, Matthew, I'm so sorry. I wasn't thinking. I mean, when I talk to him in The Fix, he's so cool and funny. It didn't even occur to me."
Matthew exhaled noisily, then nodded. How could he stay annoyed with a woman like his sister? Someone who understood why Griff would be self-conscious about his scars, but at the same time really didn't get it at all.
Matthew got it, though. He knew what it was like to have the other kids stare and snicker. Not for his looks--at least, not once he was in high school and started working out--but because of his reading and his grades and his damn stutter. The stutter was long gone, but he was still a slow reader. Still couldn't force himself though the must-read classic novels. And news magazines made his brain come close to exploding.
Math he got. Numbers settled their little asses into their lines and columns and did what they were told. But words...
Well, words could lead him down all sorts of paths, and those paths inevitably ended up twisted around in his mind. And when he was young and had to stand in front of the class, turning beet-red as he tried to wrap his mind and his tongue around the words and the thoughts...
Yeah, he understood why Griffin was self-conscious. Matthew might not have massive burn scars covering half his body, but he knew what it was like to have an unwelcome spotlight shine on you.
"I really am sorry," Selma said, as the silence lingered.
"It'll be okay. But you know, there was a reason I locked the door to the training room." Matthew had a few clients who came in the evenings for personal training appointments, and since the main part of the gym was available 24/7 to any of his gold-level members, Matthew had set up a private training facility in a back room with its own coded entrance.
"I just assumed that you were training."
He almost pointed out that he didn't want to be interrupted while training any more than his clients did, but there came a point with his sister when it was best to just back away slowly. "It'll be fine. Griffin's cool. He knows you didn't mean to embarrass him."
"Do you need to go clear the air with him now?"
Matthew shook his head. "Nah. Chances are he left through the locker room." He sat down on the padded bench that Griff had vacated. "It's past nine, anyway. Why aren't you with Easton? Everything okay?"
"Are you kidding? Everything's perfect. I'm dying for a juice," she added, crossing to the refrigerator in the corner. "I told him I needed to see you. By the way, he said you should come over for dinner soon."
"Sounds like a plan."
There'd been a moment when Matthew had feared that he'd have to beat the living shit out of the lawyer, but Easton had rallied and done himself proud. As far as Matthew could tell, Easton and Selma were about as happy as a couple could get, and Matthew was thrilled that not only was his sister madly in love, but she'd also calmed her wild child ways. At least in public. But so long as Easton could handle her, that was hardly Matthew's concern.
He was, however, a tiny bit jealous, an emotion that was all the more potent since he'd never expected her to settle down--at least not anytime soon. Staying in one place--with one person--had always made her antsy, a fact she'd always blamed on their screwed up childhood. Being abandoned in a mall as a pre-teen by your mother would do that to a person, she'd always said.
To him, though it had done the opposite. He craved stability. A home. A family.
He wanted what his parents had--his real parents, not the biological father who'd disappeared or the biological mother who'd left them to fend for themselves in the alcove between Sears and a cookie stand.
For his entire adult life, Matthew had craved a home and a family. And now he was the one living his work, and his ever-wandering sister was the one who'd settled down.
Maybe he shouldn't complain. After all, he had a thriving business and a fat bank account, and that wasn't half-bad for a high school dropout.
But he wanted more. He just wasn't sure how to get it.
"You have that look," she said, returning and handing him a can of coconut water. "Are you still annoyed with me for interrupting?"
"No. It's fine. I was just thinking."
"Yeah? Well, if you're in the mood to think, I'll give you something to noodle over."
"So we're getting down to it?" he asked. "What you needed to see me about?"
"Pretty much," she said, then settled cross-legged on the floor and looked up to where he was still seated on the bench. "I want you to do a favor for Hannah."
"Hannah?"
She exhaled noisily, buzzing her lips. "Come on, Matthew. You know Hannah. The lawyer. She's even worked out here a couple of times with--oh, with the girl we met at The Fix who's dating Nolan Wood. That drive-time radio guy."
"Shelby," Matthew said. "And of course I know Hannah. I was just surprised that you want me to do a favor for her."
Which was a total lie. He wasn't surprised about the favor. He wasn't even thinking about the favor. All he was thinking of was Hannah. Her bright smile and musical laugh. Those wild blond curls and her slim, strong build. She'd come in a couple of times with Shelby to workout, and watching her do squats in those tight black leggings and the pink workout bra had almost been the death of him.
Hannah Donovan was funny, sexy, and smart as hell. And as far as Matthew knew, she'd never paid him the slightest bit of attention.
"Are you even listening?"
His sister's voice jolted him back from the vivid images of Hannah that had begun to flood his mind.
"What? Yes." He stood, mostly because he simply needed to move. "You said she needs a favor. What kind?"
"I just told you--I knew you weren't listening."
"Selma..."
She lifted a hand in a never mind kind of gesture. "She needs you to pretend to be her boyfriend."
He stopped pacing. "What the hell?"
"Honestly, Matthew, you'd really be helping her out."
He sat down again, then bent forward as he dragged his fingers through his hair. When he finally sat up straight again, he wasn't sure if the situation was funny or pathetic. But he'd always prided hi
mself on being an optimistic guy. So he was putting his money on funny. With a splash of pathetic thrown in for good measure. "Listen, Selma. I know you mean well, but fixing me up this way isn't going to--"
"It's not about you. I swear. And honestly, I kind of misspoke."
"What do you mean?"
"She doesn't need a boyfriend. Or not just any boyfriend. She needs a serious guy. Like, honestly, a fiance would be perfect."
He gaped at her. "Are you crazy?"
"A little. Why? Is that a problem? It would all just be pretend."
He pushed back onto his feet and started pacing. "I swear to God, Selma, I love you to death. But either I'm one hell of a lot slower on the uptake than I like to believe, or you are intentionally messing with me."
"I'm not. I swear. It's just--oh, hell. It's complicated."
"Then simplify it."
She blew out a breath. "Fine. Selma's dad wanted her to have fifty grand in life insurance money. But Selma's mom has control of the money and she's not forking it over until Hannah is all set up in the throes of domestic bliss. There." She lifted a shoulder. "Guess that wasn't so complicated after all."
"Complicated? I think you skipped over complicated and moved straight to insane. Not hard to explain, but pretty damn impossible to pull off."
"Oh, come on," she urged. "You could totally manage it."
He stared her down. "And you're in the middle of this because?"
"Well, duh. Because of Easton."
He made a whooshing motion over his head. "Can we try that one again?"
She rolled her eyes, looking more like the little sister of their youth than she had in years. "She's Easton's best friend. They're planning to open a law firm together. But she's strapped for cash, and she's not comfortable letting Easton finance the whole venture."
"And if she doesn't get her inheritance, then she may pull out of the partnership with Easton," he filled in.
"Which would completely suck for everybody," she finished for him. "I knew you'd get it. So you'll help?"
"Selma..."
"Please? As a favor to me? Your wonderful sister who loves you? It's important to Easton. After everything that happened after that fiasco at the Children's Museum--"
His eyes widened. "You're laying that at my feet? I wasn't the one photographed with my skirt up around my ears."
"It wasn't that high. And we were behind closed doors. It's not our fault if no one knows how to knock these days. The point is," she rushed on, "that getting this law firm off the ground is important to Easton. And it's important to Hannah, too. And I've seen the way you look at her. This won't exactly be torture for you."