"I'd have to be dead not to look at her, but she's not my type." That was a total lie. But it was close enough, since he was damn sure that he wasn't her type. "And on top of that, I seriously doubt that I'm the guy who's going to make her parents leap for joy."
"You're a man. Trust me. With Hannah's family, that's plenty to make them happy." She looked at him with wide, puppy dog eyes. "Will you do it?"
As far as Matthew was concerned, the whole thing sounded like a recipe for disaster. But instead of saying no, he waffled. "I'll think about it."
Selma's smile bloomed wider than it should for such a vague response, and Matthew was left with the sinking feeling that he hadn't heard the last of this. "Thanks, big brother. I can't ask for more than that."
Chapter Four
"I got it!" Elena Anderson practically sprinted across The Fix toward the table where Hannah and Selma were sharing a Friday evening pitcher of The Fix's amazing Pinot Punch and chowing down on Pimento Cheese Poppers. "You are looking at the newest employee of the Austin Center for Downtown Conservation and Revitalization."
The daughter of The Fix's owner, Tyree, Elena had short hair, beautifully sculpted cheekbones, and skin as dark as her father's. At the moment, she also had the widest smile that Hannah had ever seen.
Hannah didn't know Elena well, but even so, she jumped up and followed Selma's lead in giving the other woman a quick hug and heartfelt congratulations.
"Thanks so much," Elena said when they were seated again. She filled one of the empty glasses with punch and raised it. "To the start of my fabulous career," she said, and they all clinked glasses.
"Elena wants to go into urban planning--she's starting a graduate program in the fall," Selma explained.
"I'm hoping to specialize in the planning of growing communities, especially towns with a lot of history--like Georgetown," Elena said, referring to a small town about thirty miles north of Austin. "Regulating and planning growth while maintaining the character of towns with an historic Main Street or a square. That's what really interests me. And that's what the ACDCR is all about."
"That sounds really fascinating," Hannah said.
"Ultimately, I want to work for a statewide or national consulting firm, but this is a great beginning, and considering all the talk about historic preservation along Sixth Street, it's going to be terrific experience."
Selma reached over and grabbed Elena's hand. "I'm so excited for you."
"Yeah, well I owe you big time, you know."
"Really?" Hannah asked. "Why?"
Selma lifted a shoulder in a casual shrug. "I didn't do anything but say that Elena's awesome."
"Yeah, well Ms. Gonzales really likes you. She talked about what an excellent job you did restoring the building that houses the distillery, and how much she appreciates it when you donate stock to benefits, and on and on and on."
"Like I said, all I did was sing your praises."
"Well, I appreciate it," Elena added. "Of course, I think she's also impressed that my dad owns this building. It has quite a history, too, you know. But at the end of the day, I'm giving you credit for helping me land the job. And in your honor, I'll buy the next round."
"In that case, I will happily accept the credit," Selma said, then turned to Hannah. "See? I got her a job and you a fiance. Honestly, I think I earned major friendship points this week."
"Wait. What?" Hannah leaned forward. "Have I been drinking too much punch or did you say that you found me a man."
Selma sat back, buffing her nails against her chest. "Am I good, or what?"
"You're amazing. But who?"
"Matthew, of course."
"Seriously?" Elena's eyes were wide. "He agreed to pretend to be engaged to Hannah?"
"She told you about that?" Hannah asked Elena, who had the grace to look sheepish. "I mean, it's okay. It's not a secret. Well, except to my parents."
"I only told Elena that I'd asked him," Selma clarified, frowning at Elena. "And of course he's happy to do it. He's completely down with the whole idea."
"Really?" Hannah couldn't keep the dubious note out of her voice. "That doesn't seem like him at all."
"Oh, please," Selma countered. "He's quiet and a little shy, but he's always down for helping a friend."
"I guess so. I mean he--oh." There he was, the man in question, coming out of the small back bar with Landon Ware, a local detective who was dating Taylor, another employee at The Fix.
Boyfriend. The word filled Hannah's mind, and she swallowed. Matthew could definitely fill that role to her satisfaction. He was too good-looking by half with that perfectly cut body, his broad shoulders, and angled face accentuated by an aquiline nose that gave him a sophisticated cowboy kind of look. It wasn't just his appearance that was attractive, either. He had a quiet, easy-going way about him that seemed very Texas-like, as if he was used to spending long days alone on a ranch. And wasn't there a song about a lover with slow hands and--
Yeah. Better not go there.
She stood up. "I should go tell him how much I appreciate him doing this."
"Oh, don't do that now," Selma said. "If you talk to him now, he'll just have to explain to Landon."
"True. I guess I can--oh, he's free. Be right back." She heard Selma call after her as she hurried toward Matthew, but she couldn't hear her friend over the din. She kept on going, determined to tell her newfound savior how thankful she was that he'd do such a huge favor for a woman who was practically a stranger.
She'd crossed half the bar when she saw that Megan Clark had reached him first. A cold knot that had to be frustration--it could hardly be jealousy--settled in her stomach, and she willed it away, then casually continued on toward the bar. She ended up taking an empty stool a few seats behind Matthew. She ordered a shot of Selma's Bat Bourbon, then shamelessly eavesdropped as Megan asked Matthew to please reconsider.
"It's good for business, after all," she said. "Nolan told me his stats are up since he won Mr. April, and he's getting even more callers during his show."
"Megan..."
"And that whole scandal with Easton and Selma? Totally kicked off the radar after he won the Man of the Month contest."
That was not only true, but Megan's words also clued her in to the topic--apparently Megan was trying to convince Matthew to enter the Man of the Month contest, a bi-weekly calendar guy contest that the folks at The Fix had started as a way to get more attention for the bar, which had been in some financial trouble at the time. As far as Hannah knew, it had worked, because the place always seemed crowded and solvent.
Hannah hoped the bar wasn't in danger of closing, because she loved the place. It felt like home, with the familiar faces and the mouthwatering menu. Plus, she really wanted to see Matthew in that contest, and she had a feeling that might be a long time coming. She'd heard through the grapevine that he'd already turned Megan down multiple times.
"Please," Megan added. "You'll end up on Brooke and Spencer's reality show, too. And think of all the possible new clients you might woo."
Matthew chuckled, the sound low and enticing even where Hannah was sitting. "Did you actually say 'woo'?"
"I'll say whatever you want if you just tell me the magic words."
"Okay."
"Well?" Megan pressed.
Matthew chuckled. "I said okay."
"I know. Just tell me what you want me to say and I'll--oh. You mean you'll do it? You'll actually enter the Mr. October contest?"
"You wore me down. Or maybe your wooing did."
"You are the best," she said. "I have to go tell Jenna," she added, referring to one of the co-owners of the bar with Tyree. "Seriously, thank you so much."
As Megan practically bounced toward the hallway that led to the kitchen and office space, Hannah slipped off her stool and walked around to face Matthew. "Hey," she said, then immediately apologized when he choked on his drink.
"Hannah. Sorry." He coughed and took a deep breath. "Didn't see you there."
&n
bsp; "I didn't mean to scare you. I just wanted to thank you for agreeing to join me in this farce."
He cocked his head, his brow furrowed.
"Our fake relationship, I mean." She nodded toward Selma, who responded with a listless three-finger wave.
"Oh. Right. Sorry," he said with a small frown. "I had to shift gears there for a minute."
"Selma told me you'd come on board. Surprised the hell out of me, but then I overheard you just now with Megan..." She trailed off with a shrug. "Guess you're doing favors for all the girls."
For a moment, he simply looked at Selma. Then he chuckled and said, "Yeah. I'm probably crazy for doing it, but it's not like I can turn either of you away."
"You're a lifesaver," she said. "And doing this so last minute is particularly spectacular of you." And then, without thinking about it, she put her hand on his shoulder, leaned forward, and brushed a quick kiss over his cheek. He smelled like a forest after a rainstorm, fresh and clean, and she lingered a moment, thinking that there was something comforting about the scent of him and the strength she felt beneath her palm.
Maybe this was a stupid thing that she was doing, but in that moment at least, she was glad it was Matthew who was going into the fray with her. Because if nothing else, she was certain that he'd hold her close, play the part, and catch her if she stumbled.
She pulled away, feeling gooey and a little shy as she smiled weakly at him. "Anyway, thanks. I'll load you up on all the info about everyone during the drive tomorrow. Three hours to Dallas should be plenty of time for us to make up and memorize our story. So I'll come get you at nine, okay?"
Chapter Five
Matthew was awake by five. By seven-fifteen, he'd gotten in a two-hour workout, including a three-mile run along the river.
By eight he'd finished breakfast, and by nine he'd run out of things to do except worry.
Which pretty much put him back where he'd started, as he'd been worrying--or, more accurately, he'd been kicking himself--since Hannah cornered him in the bar last night.
Not that the actual cornering had been unpleasant.
On the contrary, the sensation of being near her had been spectacular. He'd felt it--felt her--humming through him. Like he'd walked too close to a transformer, and his body had begun to buzz from the electricity in the air. He'd wanted to touch her simply to find out if sparks would shoot from his fingers. And when her lips had brushed his cheeks, it had taken all of his effort not to turn his head and taste that sweet mouth.
She'd made an impression, all right. She'd fired his senses. Struck a nerve.
Whatever you wanted to call it, she'd done it.
Which probably explained why he'd agreed to participate in this scheme. More, it probably explained why he hadn't politely but firmly backed away when she'd texted him last night.
He'd read it so many times he could practically recite it: Hey, it's Hannah. You looked a little bit spooked in the bar, and I started to wonder if maybe Selma hadn't completely filled you in. The party's tomorrow at my parents' house in Dallas. Drive up Saturday, come back Sunday. I thought Selma had told you, but knowing Selma...
Anyway. Hope that's still okay. Ping me back if you need to bail. I'll understand. XOXO, Hannah.
She'd signed it with hugs and kisses.
How could he bail after that?
He couldn't, of course. Which was why he'd written back a quick text that completely absolved his sister, said that he was looking forward to the drive, and promised to download a couple of playlists for the road.
At the time, he'd thought of it as an adventure. He was a chivalrous guy doing a woman a favor.
Now, he'd amended chivalrous to foolish. Because honestly, how could this possibly end well?
He was still pondering that when the doorbell rang and he almost jumped out of his skin.
Also foolish. Because this wasn't a date. He had nothing at all riding on it. Nothing at all to be nervous about.
Nothing, that is, except the fear that he'd slide deeper and deeper in lust with her. That he'd realize she was funnier than he'd first thought, prettier than he'd seen. He'd want more--
And he'd be denied.
And that, he thought, seemed to be the story of his life.
"Get a grip, Herrington," he muttered to himself as he headed to the door. "This isn't a first date. You're not logged into some dating app trying to find true love. She's not looking for anything more than cash, and you're her ticket to payday."
Good advice.
All he had to do was remember it--and try not to screw it all up for her.
With one final, fortifying breath, he pulled open the door and felt his stomach slip to his knees. God, she was gorgeous.
Her blond curls bounced in the September sunlight, streaks of copper giving credence to his memory of the sparks that seemed to have arced between them. She wore a maxi skirt that clung to her hips and accentuated her thighs, along with a pale pink V-neck blouse that managed to look both casual and classy. She wore minimal makeup, but her lips were lush and red and so very kissable.
"You look fabulous," he said as she stepped inside, and damned if his voice didn't break like a teenager's.
"Thanks. So do you."
"I wasn't sure about the dress code." He was wearing jeans, a plain white tee, and a pale blue button down shirt.
"You look perfect. Very Texas. And if my parents are true to form, this will be a cocktail party on the ground floor, with the doors to the patio wide open. An indoor-outdoor thing with lots of alcohol and limitless barbecue."
"Well, at least that part won't suck."
She laughed. "So you're expecting the rest of it to be a nightmare?"
"I'm just hoping I don't screw it up for you."
Her sweet smile shot straight to his heart. "You couldn't possibly." She nodded to the leather duffel he was using as an overnight bag. "If you're ready, we should probably hit the road."
He bent to pick up the bag. "Yeah," he said. "I'm as ready as I'll ever be."
*
Nervous wasn't exactly the right word, but Hannah had definitely been feeling some trepidation before she and Matthew started out on their two hundred-mile journey from Austin to Dallas. Highland Park, actually. An upscale community surrounded by the city of Dallas.
By all rights, she should have been nervous about the upcoming party. Ernest wasn't a fool, and neither was her mother. If they knew that she was putting on a show just to get the money...
But what choice did she have? And besides, it was too late now. She'd made her plan; now she just needed to follow it.
That, however, wasn't what had set her nerves to humming before they'd hit the road. Instead, she was all too aware of the man who would be joining her. A man who--for no reason other than loyalty to his sister and the kindness of his heart--was doing this awesome favor for her. Maybe she was making more out of it than she should, but the whole thing seemed so sweet. So chivalrous. Like she was a lost princess and he was a knight in shining armor.
All of which was why she'd expected the trip to be mostly quiet and a little awkward, with the two of them being overly polite in order to compensate for her ridiculous case of nerves.
Instead, he'd plugged in his phone, hit a button, and within minutes they were jamming to a playlist full of everything from Michael Jackson to Ed Sheeran to P!nk. Then, after a dozen or so tracks, he'd turned down the volume, and they'd slid seamlessly into a conversation about their first concert experience.
"I was twelve," he told her, "and still getting used to having a real family. Don't get me wrong, I adored the Herringtons, but they weren't even officially our parents yet. We were still fostering. And then one day they said they were taking us to a concert. They took us to see Eminem--because someone had told them that was who all the kids loved."
"But you didn't." Laughter filled her voice as she tried to picture him politely telling his new parents that he'd love to go.
"Not me. Not even Selma. But we bo
th pretended like we did. We faked singing along. We screamed when he came on stage. We ended up competing against each other to see who could fake being a bigger fan. And in the end, we had one of the best nights we'd ever had."
"Did you tell them?" She took her eyes off the road only long enough to see his face.
"Not even to this day."
"They sound really great."
"Yeah," he agreed. "They are. We drew the short straw at birth, but we got lucky in the end. What about you?"
"I was a toddler when my dad died, so no concerts with him for me."
"I'm sorry."
"Thanks," she said, because what else was there to say?
"I know your mom struggled after that, but she obviously held onto the life insurance money that your dad had earmarked for you. She still has it, after all."
Hannah tightened her grip on the steering wheel. "Yeah. She's still got it."
"If she's not using it, and if your father wanted you to have it, why doesn't she just give it to you? Was it your dad's wish that you be in a relationship?"
"No," Hannah said sharply, then shook her head. "If that's what Daddy had wanted, then I wouldn't take the money until I was fully committed to someone. All he said was that it was for me."
"Then why?"
"Because my mother...oh, hell. It's like she found Ernest, and everything she used to think or believe went flying out the window."
"Ernest is your stepfather."
He spoke the words as a statement, but she nodded anyway. "They got married long after Mom had put herself through school and started working as a teacher. But he changed the dynamic completely. I was about to start law school, so I wasn't around much, but we get along okay. About most things."
"What does he do? He's a lawyer, too, right?"
"What doesn't he do? He's a lawyer, but he doesn't practice so much as he consults and lobbies. He owns a couple of companies and sits on about a dozen boards. As far as my mom is concerned, the two of them are the picture of all that is right and good in the world of marital bliss." She grimaced. "I don't know. Maybe they really are happy. But the way she talks about my dad now..."