Page 124 of The Fake Out

—JULIA B.

Piper went into hyperdrive. “How serious is he? Would he do this?”

“He would probably gnaw off his own hand for that kind of money.” I flopped my head back on the couch.

After I’d explained what my father wanted, Chris had called Piper immediately and she’d met us at the Wilson place an hour later. Even though it was almost midnight, she’d come dressed to impress in a deep-blue power dress, killer heels, and her game face. She must roll out of bed ready to take on the world.

“The timing of this sucks. Chris is supposed to be interviewed tomorrow”—Piper peeked at her watch and winced—“make that today, with Phoebe Mayfield at KRRE about the Children’s Heart Fund fundraiser. This will overshadow it, and after he just got back in their good graces.”

It wasn’t fair. My father, and by association, me, could ruin it all for Chris.

“Mae, can you call your father and tell him we’ll have an answer by tonight? That will buy us some time, I hope.”

“What are our options?” Chris asked. He was sitting in the chair across from me, his mood unreadable as it had been since I’d told him all of it.

“If we ignore him…” Piper began.

I cut her off. “He’ll sell it, and he won’t feel bad about it at all.”

Chris pressed his lips together in a thin line. “Nice guy.”

“The best,” I muttered. “I’m so proud.”

“In that case, he sells it to the highest bidder, we could deny it.” Piper picked up the copy of the contract my father had left. Our signatures were clear and legible. It wasn’t the original, but it was a copy of it. “But this looks pretty damn legit. I’m good, but I don’t know if even I can talk our way out of this.”

Chris leaned forward and rubbed his forehead. “And it’d just be another lie.”

Piper paced the room. “Our other option is to give him what he wants. Pay him the money. But I have a feeling if we do that, he’ll just keep coming back.”

Like cockroaches and bad movie remakes.

My eyes drifted to Chris and my heart twisted. Wasn’t that part of the problem? I was part cockroach, biologically speaking. As long as I was connected to Chris, my father would have a connection to him too.

“Piper’s right. You cannot pay him,” I said, my voice firm. “What if you blamed it all on me somehow?”

“What do you mean?” Piper asked.

Chris shifted in his chair. I felt his eyes on me, but I ignored the pull to look at him. Refused to remember that just two hours ago, we’d danced, and he’d said things that terrified me in good ways.

“You say that I duped Chris. I agreed to the engagement, but it was all just an excuse to blackmail him.” Nervous energy forced me out of my seat. I circled the room. “Think about it. You make me the bad guy. Make people feel sorry for Chris. He gets to go on with his life, keep working with the charity.”

Piper thought about it before nodding hesitantly. “That could work. I mean, we’d have—”

Chris cut her off, his voice low. “What about you?”

“I’ll go back to my life. I have work and Mama, and Iris will need help with college next year. It will be like it was… before.”

There’d be backlash. I’d probably be the most hated woman in Two Harts since JoBeth Cockran ran off with the Cupcake King leaving his wife with six kids to raise on her own. But it wouldn’t last forever.

Chris’s gaze was piercing. “That sounds terrible.”

“I know this will surprise you, but there is life after Chris Sterns.”

But if I were honest, it was going to be terrible. Because I’d gone and broken that stupid contract. This wasn’t just a business arrangement anymore, and it hadn’t been for a long time. My foolish heart liked Chris’s smiles and his stupid opposable thumbs and the way he got under my skin and listened to me and somehow managed to be a soft spot for me to land when I didn’t even know I needed one. So, yeah, it was going to be horrible.

But I didn’t have a choice. I had to do this. For him.

“Piper”—he didn’t take his eyes off me—“can I talk to Mae alone?”