My Fake Fiancé_Navy SEAL Romance Page 3

  She rolled her eyes, her frustration thinly veiled. “I was saying that I called Donna, and she can see you anytime this week.”

  “Donna?” I swirled my mostly empty glass in my hands. I really wanted another drink, but since I was driving, it was a bad idea.

  “My personal shopper.”

  I paused. Personal shopper? “Why do I need to see Donna?”

  “Haven’t you listened to a word I have said?”

  “Tell me again.”

  “Your father is entering the campaign late in the game. So, we have to make up for lost time. We have a very tight schedule of canvassing that includes grassroots fundraising, membership drives, galas, dinners, parties, baseball games and BBQs. Your father has something scheduled practically every single night.”

  I raised my head and met Dad’s eyes. They shone with hope, and I had to swallow to ease the guilt that wrapped around my throat, suffocating me.

  I averted my eyes, preferring Mom’s disapproving eyes. “What does this have to do with me?”

  “Beth”—her exasperation was apparent—“Because you’re going to be front-and-center of this campaign.”

  “Why would you say that?”

  I wasn’t the front-and-center type. Never had been. It was part of the reason such a big rift had wedged its way between Mom and me. She wanted a daughter she could show off, and I wanted to be my own person.

  “Because you’re part of this family, and we need you to help with the campaign.”

  Oh, fuck.

  Fuck no.

  Fuck me.

  Fuck.

  She continued, oblivious, “It’s going to be fun. We’re going to go shopping together, and I’ll buy you lovely outfits.”

  I needed to stop this runaway train. Now. There was no way I’d do this. It wasn’t even an option. “Dad, I’m very happy for you and your career plans, but I don’t think I should be campaigning with you.”

  “Why won’t you help your father?”

  “I have my own life. I have work and commitments.”

  Okay, that was a lie. Kind of. Lately, my life had been reduced to watching a whole lot of Netflix—sans chill. But that sure as hell didn’t mean that I wanted to commit to spending every waking hour for the next seven months alongside my parents, pretending to be a happy family.

  That was never going to happen. Mom and I could barely stomach each other’s company, and Dad always deferred to Mom for everything. I hated fighting with my parents. I really did. But there was no way I would take any of this lying down.

  “What’s it going to take?” she finally asked.

  Negotiations. Mom truly believed everything had a price. She’d never been able to realize she couldn’t buy my love or attention. All she had to do was care for me, and she’d get it for free. The whole thing made my stomach churn.

  I rubbed my forehead. God, why was everything such a battle with Mom? Every single time we got together, it was some sort of negotiation. Nothing was ever about what was right. It always came down to what I could do for them. Of course, I wanted to support my father, but if I got dragged into this, Mom would own me for the next several months.

  I carefully set my cutlery down on my plate, and a waiter instantly appeared to whisk it away. “I am not sure I can commit to anything at this point.”

  “Yates thinks it necessary.”

  I tilted my head slowly, taking in her posture. “Why does my ex-boyfriend have any say in this private matter?”

  “He’s my campaign manager.” Dad sounded bored with this conversation.

  My jaw dropped open. “Please, tell me you’re joking.”

  “He’s completely qualified,” Mom rushed to tell me. “He has a bachelors in marketing and an MBA from Yale.”

  “I know where he went to school, Mom. I dated him for three years. What I can’t wrap my head around is why you hired him when there are thousands of other candidates.”

  “He’s the best.”

  I swallowed. Did Mom even care about my feelings? Didn’t she know it crushed me when she put Yates and his needs before my own? He was the cheating ex. I was the daughter. The math should have been easy.

  Mom droned on about Yates’ accomplishments and the things he had planned for our family, but I was officially done entertaining this conversation. I had to protect myself. I deserved to protect myself.

  My eyes skimmed the room, not surprised to see Yates shaking hands with someone at the end of the room. He was like a prince here, loved by all. He was the all-American boy with his boyish good looks, perfect blond hair, dazzling white smile and bright blue eyes. In faded pink slacks, a crisp white dress shirt and his standard navy blazer—a jacket I knew cost no less than five grand—he looked like he stepped off a GQ summer shoot.

  Dating Yates had been easy. Too easy. He was charming, witty, and carefree. He had a lot of money and knew a lot of people. And to be honest, I had cared for him. Deeply.

  When he’d cheated on me, he’d hurt me more than I wanted anyone to know. I remembered the day I had ended it with him. It was the only time I’d actually seen him scared, but his panicked words erased any doubts I’d had: “Who cares who I fucked? I’m with you. Doesn’t that count for something?”

  He couldn’t understand why I played by different rules than anyone in this world. Our fathers cheated on our mothers. It was par for course on the Upper East Side. My need for fidelity would never be something he could wrap his mind around.

  Mom reached out and uncharacteristically touched my hand. The small gesture made tears prick the back of my eyelids.

  “You look tired, Beth.”

  I was tired.

  Since I had broken up with Yates, I’d lost my home, security, and job, which had become such a living hell, I'd quit it in a fit of rage. My parents may have been rich, but I was broke, and I couldn’t catch a break to save my life.

  I was working as a temp for peanuts, and I was barely able to make rent and feed myself on anything other than instant ramen. My savings were drained, and I needed a real job, but it wasn’t from a lack of trying.

  “Let me think about it,” I said, unwilling to commit to this.

  Mom and Dad exchanged a look until Dad finally nodded. “I’ll be expecting your call.”

  Chapter 4

  My hands stilled on my keys as a text buzzed from my old friend, Janet.

  Janet: Hey, Beth! What r u up to tonight?

  Me: On my way home

  Janet: Come out with us

  Me: No, thanks. Not tonight

  Janet: But it’s my birthday

  Wow. I was such a shit friend. I laid my head on the steering wheel. Janet had been my friend since grade school. We weren’t close anymore, but that, in part, was my fault. She ran with a fast crowd, while I preferred spending my nights watching Netflix.

  Me: Happy Birthday!

  Janet: You’re coming out.

  Me: Can I take a rain check? I have nothing to wear.

  Janet: I’m coming over with clothes for you

  I groaned and stared unseeing at the parking lot. When was the last time I had gotten drunk? Maybe a night out would cure how shitty I felt.

  Me: Nothing revealing

  My phone rang, as I walked in the door.

  “Hey, Em.”

  “What’s wrong?” At my hesitation, Emily continued, “I can hear it in your voice.”

  I released my frustration in a pent-up breath. “Couldn’t be better. Tonight I had dinner with my folks. And then I got sucked into going out with Janet.”

  “What? Why?”

  “Today’s her birthday. She texted me and guilted me into birthday drinks, and I caved.” A long paused filled the line.

  “It’s not Janet’s birthday. Her birthday is in December.”

  I worked to unlock my apartment door. “Are you sure?”

  “Absolutely.” One of Emily’s gifts was remembering this kind of stuff. She had to be right.

  I leaned my head against my front door, closing my eyes against the smooth wood. “That brat. She totally conned me.”

  “Are you sure you want to go out with her?”

  I paused. “Why? What do you know?”

  “It’s probably nothing, but I’ve heard that she’s been wrapped up in some bad stuff lately.”

  “Really? Where have I been?”

  “Be careful, okay?”

  “I’m not going to stay out that late. I’ll go for a couple drinks and be home before midnight.”

  “Will you text me when you get home?”

  “You’re sweet, but you don’t need to worry.”

  “I’ll worry if you don’t. Besides, I’m up twice a night with Theo.”

  I stopped walking. “Really?”

  She laughed. “Yes.”

  “Why?”

  “He gets hungry.”

  “It scares me how little I know about kids. Are you sure you picked the right person to be his godmother?”

  “He only needs love from you.”

  “Well, he’s got it.”

  “Remember to text.”

  “I promise. It’s going to be a really tame night. No antics.”

  I could almost hear the world laughing at me.

  “Turn around,” the cop demanded, ice in his tone.

  Oh fuck.

  Fucking fuck.

  I turned around but not fast enough for him. He shoved hard against me, causing me to topple against the metal table. I cried out as he jerked my arms back, twisting my left elbow.

  “Please.” I gasped in pain.

  “Shut up.”

  The pressure on my wrists increased while he removed the handcuffs. I exhaled as they came off. He yanked hard on my shoulder, hauling me back to my feet.

  “Sit down.”

  Stunned, I staggered to the cold metal chair beside the table. He exited the room, shutting the door behind him without sparing me a second glance. Pain vibrated down my arm, and panic laced its way across my chest.

  Holding my injured arm against my body, I took stock of the interrogation room. The brick walls were painted puke-beige. Other than the one-way window across from me, the room was eerily windowless. A plain clock ticked loudly in the silence.

  12:47 AM.

  There was nothing to look at but my reflection in the mirror. My hair was wild. My dark lipstick looked too stark against my pale skin. In the harsh fluorescent light, my heavy eye make-up made me look cheap.

  I’m drunk. This isn’t happening to me.

  The door opened, and a woman marched in. I studied her warily. Her blonde hair was pulled tightly into a bun at the nape of her neck. She wore a white blouse and a pair of jeans. The plain wedding band on her left hand was the only jewelry she wore, and if I had to guess her age, I’d say thirty-something.

  Wordlessly, she pulled out the seat across from me. The metal of the chair scraped against the cement floor, like nails on a chalkboard.

  When she spoke, her accent was a faint European accent I couldn’t place. “My name is Detective Christensen, and I work in tandem with the narcotics unit of the New York Police Department.”

  I didn’t speak. I couldn’t. Narcotics? Oh, this was bad. Very bad.

  She picked up her pen. “Why don’t we start with your name?”

  I chewed on my lip, trying to remember what people said in the movies.

  Her eyes narrowed. “Look. Don’t get cute with me. We found enough cocaine in your purse to put you away, but I’m going to let you in on a secret. We don’t care about a small time fish like you.”

  Not my cocaine. Not my drugs. I took a deep breath and remained silent.

  “We need to know where you got the drugs and you can walk out of here with a sworn statement.”

  This was a nightmare.

  She leaned back and crossed her arms over her chest. “We can do this one of two ways. You can cooperate and walk out of here in less than two hours, or we can arrest and process you. Then, we’ll put you in a cell until your first of many court appearances. So, why don’t you stop wasting my time and do this the easy way?”

  My father was going to kill me.

  “I’m going to exercise my right to remain silent. I want to speak to a lawyer,” I blurted out.

  She shook her head in disgust. “You want me to arrest you? Is that what you want me to do?”

  I remained silent. My legs were practically shaking from fear, but I had to stick to my plan.

  “Look.” She leaned forward and softened her tone. “You really don’t want to go that route. I get that you want to be a tough girl, but if you don’t cooperate with us, you’re leading yourself into a world of hurt.”

  “I’m going to remain silent.” My voice wavered. “I know I get one phone call.”

  “A pretty young thing like you,” her eyes flickered over me, “You have no clue what will happen to you in prison. When you’re first led to your prison cell? All the inmates chant ‘fresh meat, fresh meat.’”

  That sounded worse than awful.

  She paused. “You won’t last a week in prison.”

  I was pretty sure she was right, but even if I wanted to talk, I didn’t know what to say. When I had dropped my purse in the bathroom of the club, there hadn’t been drugs in my purse. “I’m going to remain silent. Let me talk to my lawyer.”

  She shook her head but stood up. “Fine. Follow me.” She led me down the hallway and stopped in front of a small room that held a phone on the wall. No chair. No furniture. “You can make your call here. This is a private line. Whatever you say during your call cannot be used against you in the court of law.”

  I stood there, unsure.

  She rolled her eyes. “So…make your phone call.”

  I walked over to the phone and picked up the filthy, sticky receiver. I didn’t have a lawyer. Without my cell phone, I only knew one phone number by heart. I took a deep breath and dialed. The phone rang five times as I eyed a piece of paper taped above the phone, noting the precinct number and address.

  “Hello?” Emily sounded way too awake for the middle of the night.

  “Emily?” My voice shook.

  “Beth? What’s wrong?”

  I took a deep breath and glanced behind me. The detective stood outside the room, texting on her phone.

  “I’m in trouble. I think I’m about to get arrested.”

  “Where are you? What’s going on?”

  “I’m so sorry. I didn’t know who to call.”

  “Hang on a second.” I could hear her talking to Jackson.

  His voice came on, “Beth?”

  “Hey, Jackson.”

  “Are you okay? Did they hurt you?”

  “No.”

  “Do you know what they are going to charge you with?”

  I squeezed my eyes shut, unable to process that this was actually happening to me. “Drug possession.”

  He was all business. “Do you know where you are?”

  I read him the address and waited as he spoke with Emily.

  “Beth, we’re going to make some calls, okay? Emily has a great lawyer she’s already on the phone with.”

  “Thanks.” My voice wobbled.

  “I’m sorry we can’t be there right now, but I’m going to take care of this for you.”

  “Okay.” I swallowed. “I’m really, really sorry.”

  “Don’t say a word. Hang tight, and we’ll get you out of there.”

  I stood there for a long moment after he hung up. I turned around and walked back to the detective.

  She eyeballed me. “Let me guess. You’ve been instructed not to speak or do anything.”

  I gave her a small, apologetic look.

  She shook her head. “Okay. Let’s get you back to interrogation.” She led me back down the hall, into the same room from earlier. “Wait here.” She placed her palm on my shoulder and shoved me into the room before shutting the door behind me.

  I sat back down. My left arm throbbed with pain. I wanted to drop my face in my hands and weep, but I wasn’t sure who was watching through the mirror, so I crossed my legs and schooled my expression to nothing.

  This was a nightmare of epic proportions. I really didn’t want to think about how bad this was. I was starting to sober up, and the soberer I became, the more I realized how truly fucked I was.

  My father was running for mayor.

  If they found out who I was, if they actually arrested me, I would singlehandedly ruin everything for my father.

  Chapter 5

  The clock ticked off almost another hour before the door opened. The detective stood by while a huge man, dressed in a grey tee and faded jeans, stepped into the room. My breath hitched in my throat as his eyes slowly took me in. His expression was impassive as his gaze moved casually down my body.

  He looked familiar, but I couldn’t place him. Who was he? Another detective? The ‘bad cop’? He turned and gave the sour-faced detective a look that clearly said, ‘fuck off,’ which had her slamming the door behind her.

  Now it was only the two of us. He crossed his muscular arms over his chest and leaned against the wall, dropping his eyes to the black military watch on his wrist. His messy dark-blonde hair stuck out wildly beneath his baseball cap, his sculpted face and hard jawline gave him a rough edge, and his wide sexy mouth was currently tight with annoyance.

  If I wasn’t in the middle of the biggest shit storm of my life, I might have appreciated that this guy was a solid ten on the scale of hotness, but right now I felt too freaked to care. I wanted to go home. The sooner, the better.

  “Are you a cop?” I hated how stupid and hesitant I sounded.

  “You don’t recognize me?”

  My jaw dropped. I’d recognize that voice forty years from now. The emotionless robot—sans the godawful Duck Dynasty beard. This was Theo’s godfather?

  “You look different.” Totally smoking hot kind of different.

  “I’m not the only one.” His eyes traveled over my legs.

  I crossed my arms over my chest, trying to hide my discomfort. The dress Janet had insisted I wear was ridiculous. Skin tight, short, low cut and white. I looked like a street corner regular, and I knew it.

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