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Michael
I can’t say I’m not intrigued. A sexy, confident woman tacks an entire wedding to a board in a dive bar and then tries to put me in my place? I want to know more.
Too bad a bride doesn’t come with the wedding—then she’d probably have some takers. The idea hits me hard. A bride. A wedding already planned. It sounds like a quick answer to my problem.
I grab the flyer and stuff it in my pocket before walking to the table in the corner. Derek’s already there, looking as out of place as I do in his suit and tie. I can’t help but look for the woman as I walk, and find her at booth on the opposite side of the bar. She doesn’t see me, or maybe she doesn’t care to.
Derek gestures to the bar when I reach the table. “I ordered your drink. And really…I have no idea why you wanted to meet here. It’s…dirty.”
I chuckle. “Exactly. No one will find us here.”
“Who’s looking for you?”
“Everyone,” I say. “Especially the press.”
Derek grins. “That was your fuck-up. Now you have to deal with the consequences. Just tell them the truth and get on with your life.”
The truth? Shit. No one wants the truth. They want a fairy tale. They want to think I have the perfect woman, ready for the perfect wedding, and soon to follow, the perfect babies. And Derek is right, I fucked up. I alluded to a woman—one that doesn’t exist.
But my partners start in on me every day. They’re like my parents. When are you going to get married? Settle down? Have kids? You need someone to bring to our functions, someone to share this life with.
They’re all certain they know exactly what I need. And once I’d given the impression that I already had a woman, someone ran with it. Now the papers and magazines are running story after story. Who’s the mystery woman? Who has Michael Parsons been hiding? And the latest—and the worst: Who’s Michael Parsons’ fiancée?
I’m not sure how I’d gone from having a potential love interest to having a fiancée, but somehow I had.
Our drinks arrive and I down half of mine in one gulp.
“Easy,” Derek says. “Getting drunk isn’t going to solve the problem.”
“Neither is telling the truth.”
“Say you broke up. No one will ever know there wasn’t a woman.” Derek lifts his drink in salute. “Then you can go back to being a bachelor.”
“Even if that’s what I wanted, it wouldn’t fix the problem.”
Derek shakes his head. “There is no problem. If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it.”
Derek is forever seeing things in black and white. He’s my lawyer—a good friend, but still—I pay him to see things in black and white. But I also pay him to find loopholes and work things to my advantage. Right now, I have an idea about him working something to my advantage, but I’m not sure we’ve had enough to drink yet.
No…even with five more cocktails Derek is still not going to think this is a good idea.
Derek gestures to the waitress for another drink.
I ask her to bring the intriguing woman and her friend a round of whatever they’re having, and Derek lifts his eyebrows. “Who is it?”
“Tall, honey blonde, and angry,” I say. I point to the booth on the other side of the bar, but doubt he can see much.
“So much for laying low.”
“I don’t think she has any idea who I am.” Not in this neighborhood. Not how she was dressed. She didn’t seem like a businesswoman.
“She looks hot.”
I nod in agreement. She is. All that wild hair, a flash of temper. I wonder whose wedding she’s trying to sell. Hers? I almost pull the flyer from my pocket, but decide against it. I’m not prone to snap decisions. I have to think about this.
In the meantime, I’m going to enjoy my evening away from the press, away from prying eyes, and with a good view of a sexy woman.
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T he next morning, I wake to find the flyer on my end table like a reminder. A reminder that I don’t have a bride—I don’t even have a girlfriend—and I definitely don’t have a pending wedding.
I sit up and scrub my hands over my face. I press the button beside the bed to open the screen over the windows. Outside, the sky is a dramatic blue and buildings rise up around me.
The view is picturesque, and suddenly I’m wondering why I don’t have anyone to share it with.
Sure, I could call Monica or Stephanie. One of them often joins me at functions and dinners. I have fun with them. But lately…I want more. I don’t want one-night stands.
But more than that, I don’t want to explain to my partners, my friends, my family that I’m bringing Monica or Stephanie wherever I’m going, but we’re nothing more than friends. With benefits, of course, but still.
I need to start thinking like a businessman. It’ll look good to have the same woman on my arm at charity balls. The same woman with me when I attend weddings. The same one walking out of my building with me when I head to work.
It’ll look good for business and it’ll take off some of the personal pressure.
I pluck the flyer from the end table and read through it more thoroughly this time. I can’t tell who the woman is from this, only that she’s selling everything. A wedding venue, the cake, flowers—the honeymoon? Damn. What happened? Had she called off the wedding? Or maybe this has nothing to do with her at all and she’s just helping a friend.
But a woman who’d sell her wedding dress is clearly bitter about something. Probably an asshole fiancé who chickened out at the last minute.
I’m curious about the situation, but even more curious about the woman. She’s included a number at the bottom of the flyer. Nothing is stopping me from calling it.
Worst case scenario, I ask her to coffee or have lunch with a sexy woman. Can’t hurt.
I ignore the advice I’m sure Derek would be giving me right now and dial the number, hoping the woman from yesterday answers.