Page 132 of Bona Fide

“Must be from being inside all the time,” I counter lamely then casually take a sip (more like a very fast gulp) through my straw.

He perks a dark brow. “Really? I swear I heard somewhere that you liked being outside in hot tubs.”

“Wha—”

“We’re back!” Layla exclaims, skipping down the beach with another man in tow. The moment she stops moving around is when my vocal cords break off and hit my gut.

Chase.

Like the real one. The one I ran into at the coffee shop thinking that I was talking to him when I wasn’t. Blonde hair, blue eyes, the all-American male with a smile that makes you instantly blush because he isn’t even trying. The same man I thought I was talking to for—

“Reagan, this is my soon-to-be husband, Chase O’Neill.”

He smiles and extends his hand. “Really nice to meet you...finally.”

Layla doesn’t catch on to the meaning of his words. I mean, why would she? Thank fuck she doesn’t ask or think too deeply into it because that conversation would be awkward as all hell.

Oh, yeah, soooo...I thought I was talking to your fiancé, and I sent him a picture of me in my bra once. We talked about meeting up once, made some inappropriate comments to each other—but don’t worry! It was ACTUALLY the President of the United States posing as him. False alarm!

“Dinner is at eight,” Layla advises, tucking her arm under his with a shit-eating grin. “The resort set us up with a really nice spot where we won’t be disturbed.” She looks over at Wade. “We’re letting our families do their own thing tonight. Tomorrow, we’ll make sure everything is taken care of.”

Taken care of? What would he need that was so special for tomorrow besides...oh.

Layla mentioned how she didn’t want any cameras except for the photographers she hired. All cell phones would be collected before the ceremony.

So that the media doesn’t know he’s here.

Unless…

My gaze pulls back to him as he takes a slow drink of his whiskey. His blue eyes challenging me to leak that he’s here.

Well, well, well...another little secret.

A small hand lands on my arm. “See you at eight?”

My first reaction is hell no. I am not going to sit at the same table as the man whose wife almost killed my mother. Who lied to me for months. Who fed me bullshit lines to make me feel like he wanted me.

And maybe he did.

But I feel as though he liked the idea of me. That I was an escape from the problems he didn’t want to face or solve. Something he could hide behind so that he didn’t tarnish his perfect little career.

“My assistant and I were actually thinking about going to—”

“She’ll be there,” Wade chimes in for me, lifting his glass to his lips again. “She loves going the extra mile.”

Layla looks between the two of us while I keep my glower to myself. “Alright...well, since Wade recommended you, I’m assuming—”

“Let’s go grab one of those frozen margaritas,” Chase blurts. “And let these two catch up.” Layla tells us that she’ll see us later as she and Chase saunter off towards the resort, leaving me in the most inconvenient spot I’ve ever been in.

I’m about to run.

Straight to my room, pack up the small amount of things I’ve unloaded, and go stay somewhere else.

“I see you’ve kept—” My head snaps back to him.

“Don’t fucking speak to me when you know I don’t want to even be near you,” I seethe. “Why did you get me here, Wade?”

He shrugs, letting his attention glaze over to the ocean behind me. “Chase asked me for a wedding planner…” He flicks his eyes back to me. More like burns them into me with the way my face blazes like I just got a sunburn. “And I knew one.”

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