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“They’re fine. I was just about to try on another pair.”
“Okay, then come out so he can see how beautiful you look. So colorful! And that hat…” She does a chef’s kiss.
“Umm, that’s okay. I think we should skip the fashion show. We need to get back to the lodge for supper.”
“No, babe, I’d love to see what you’re wearing. Come on out,” he says, and I can almost picture him with a big stupid grin on his face.
I pull on the cargos, then slide the curtain, expecting him to laugh.
“Very nice. You look good in red. You should wear it more often.” He turns to Marisol. “I’ve literally never seen her in anything other than black and white.”
“So boring,” she answers, shaking her head. “We’ll fix that.”
“Yes, let’s. I want to see my lady in lots of colors for a change,” he says. “Oh, and she’s going to need a backpack and a swimsuit. You don’t happen to have those, do you?”
“I certainly do,” she tells him. “Sexy bikinis.”
He grins at me and my stomach does a little flip without my permission. “She’s got bikinis, babe.”
Twenty minutes later, I walk out of the dressing room in my new jeans, a long-sleeved tee that says, “Life’s better in the Sacred Valley,” and the red poncho.
Marisol is humming to herself while she rings everything up and packs it carefully in my new backpack. Somehow she talked me into the bowler hat and a chullo. I stare, horrified at the amount of money I’m about to spend. I wonder if Keenan would let me expense it? Or maybe the airline will reimburse me? I’ll have to figure something out because this is going to cost a fortune. My face heats up with embarrassment and fear while I watch her ring it up. The heat is probably also because of this super warm alpaca wool poncho and socks. But, mainly, it’s embarrassment. I’m hoping he doesn’t notice. I also hope my credit card goes through because it’s due next week and I’ve charged it up something fierce this month.
“Three-thousand, two-hundred and twenty-nine.”
My jaw drops. “Dollars?”
“Soles.” Doing the math in my head, I feel my heart sink. I’m about to spend almost twelve hundred dollars which I know isn’t going to fit on my already-stretched card. I dig around in my purse for my wallet, preparing myself to ask the dreaded question of ‘can I put it on two cards?’ but when I look up, Ty’s already handing her his black card.
“Oh no, I can’t let you?—”
He grins down at me. “Of course I’m buying. You’re my best girl.”
Marisol beams at us. “He’s a keeper, this one! Don’t ever let him go if you know what’s good for you.”
“Oh, I won’t,” I say, adding, “He’s my boo.”
Ty snorts out a laugh, then wraps an arm casually over my shoulder. “And you’re worth every penny I make.”
“So romantic!” she squeals, handing the backpack to Ty.
I grin up at him, then turn to her with a sassy look. “Well, it’s not like he’s a billionaire or something…”
As soon as we walk out into the night air, my heart lurches. What am I doing? Flirting with the enemy like this? Shamelessly, I might add. And even worse—I like it. I mean I really frigging like flirting with him. It’s the most fun I’ve had in … well, years, really.
What would Allie say? She’d be horrified. And the rest of the team would ice me out if they knew that I was feeling all sorts of feelings I shouldn’t be. It hasn’t even been one day. I am a weak, weak woman, turning into putty at the hands of a very evil man. Well, not evil. But certainly selfish to put that stupid club ahead of the foundation. Plus he said all that awful stuff about us to the media—how he never would have put in a dollar if he’d known the types of projects Dr. Napper was funding. I hate him, right?
Yeah, I still hate him. Now that I remember all his criticism over the years and what he said earlier today about shutting everything down. He’s the worst person ever.
Only maybe he’s not…
13
And Back to Our Regularly Scheduled Program…
Ty
Whatever weird spell we were under in the store ended the second we stepped outside. Gone is the flirty Ms. Fox, replaced by the serious version again. We walk along in an awkward silence for a couple of minutes while I go over what just happened. I have no idea why I decided to pretend we were married. No clue. I guess I thought the whole thing would amuse me. Or maybe it’s the altitude playing tricks on my brain, but the thing is, I didn’t mind having Marisol think Gwen Fox was my wife. Even though I don’t now, nor ever have, wanted one. But obviously, the whole thing was a mistake in judgment because now things are strained.
