Page 8 of Just My Fake Husband

“Why don’t you tell me what you know, and I’ll decide if you need any other information?”

“Dad said you went on a bender in the Czech Republic, lost a bunch of money, got the investors’ panties in a bunch, and he had to let you go.”

Okay. Even now, it’s hard to hear it rattled off so succinctly like that, without explanations.

Or let’s call them what they are: excuses.

“Did he give you any ideas on how I can get my job back?”

“No.” Sebastian’s eyebrows lift. “What are you going to do?”

I rub my palms together. They’ve suddenly grown cold. “I—I have to right all my wrongs, get my public image back to where it was. Then he’ll consider it.”

“Huh. And how long is that supposed to take?”

I hesitate. “At least a year, he says.”

“Very interesting.” He slides his bottom jaw over to one side, chewing on his lip. And then, just like that, Sebastian’s already heading to the front door. I’m relieved. I don’t need his judgments right now. I don’t need his prying.

“Hey, if you have to hire River on as a freelancer for a bit, I’m fine with that.” He reaches the door and turns back. “She’d do a good job. But I’m not sure it’s PR help that you need, and maybe that’s why she said no. Maybe the answer goes deeper than that.”

A dull throb starts behind my breastbone. Isn’t the answer always deeper than that? I’ll deal with those other things once I fix this.

“I need the investors and clients to know that what happened in Europe is never happening again,” I insist.

“Okay.” His brows knit together. “Just . . . maybe take this year as an opportunity instead of a punishment. Take advantage of the time, you know?”

Advice from Sebastian is like watching our niece, Navie, trying to button up her coat by herself: endearing and frustrating.

I swallow. “Sounds good.”

Sebastian doesn’t know the half of it. He doesn’t understand the depths of what I have to do to restore the company’s image and get Dad to believe in me again.

Because he’s right. Cultivating a new public image would only go so far. Sure, it might help the board want to rehire me, eventually.

But the public eye isn’t my biggest concern. It’s my dad.

I’ve lost his trust, which means I’ve lost everything.

My dad has a certain way of looking at the world. He’s drilled into me from an early age the importance of marriage, of aligning myself with a woman with values to not only forge an image of security and stability but to anchor myself.

As rough as my parents’ marriage was for so long, he never wavered in his love for her or in his belief that she was the best thing to ever happen in his life.

A woman on your arm and in your ear, he’s said over and over again. A wife to show the world you’re “all good” and to motivate you tobe“all good.”

And as much as that’s always felt like an old-fashioned, probably unfair expectation, I know that’s what he believes to his core.

So, until I somehow meet the woman of my dreams and convince her to marry me, all I know to do is ask River for help with all the chatter, all the beliefs about me that have suddenly cropped up.

A sourness cuts down my throat.

And the selfies Todd took of us in Prague flash through my mind.

Please, Ms. Judkins, can you help me get rid of those, too?

Chapter 3

River

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