Page 94 of Love Overboard
She tapped her fingers on her forehead. It all made sense. The job-hopping. His ability to show up anywhere and at any time without consequences or recrimination. He was the owner’s son. “Does that make you a billionaire? Like one of the heroes in those romance novels Gerry reads?”
“Not quite.” He grinned. “The last time I checked, I was still in the millions category. It’ll take a good thirty years before I reach billionaire status.”
Lacey’s breath escaped in a short, exasperated puff of air. “Why are you smiling?”
He sobered. “I’m sorry. I know this is a lot to take in.”
“You think?” She struggled to keep her voice quiet. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I was waiting for the right time.”
“There were plenty of right times. When we first met, you were Jonathan King McMillan. When we met again, two and a half years later, you were Jonathan King McMillan.” Every time she said his name, Lacey bit out the words. “When we officially started dating, you were Jonathan. King. McMillan. Stop me if I’m getting anything wrong.”
Red tinged his cheeks. “No. You’re correct.”
“You lied to me.” She said it simply, without any emotion, like she was remarking on the weather.
“You don’t have to make it sound so serious, I only—”
Lacey’s ball gown billowed as she spun and walked away. She rounded the corner and collided with Emily crouching on the other side.
The little spy straightened and patted her gray hair. “Excuse me, dear. I misplaced my—”
“Don’t bother.” Lacey veered around, but Jon caught her at the edge of the tent before she walked into the noisy party.
“Lace, wait.” He observed Emily hovering nearby, walked in front of Lacey, and lowered his voice. “Please let me—”
“Hey, Jon. What time does the midnight buffet start?” A man in a feathered gold mask that matched his sparkly tank top and spandex biker shorts approached their trio.
Lacey rubbed a hand over her face.
Jon jutted his chin forward, his tone dripping with sarcasm. “Mid. Night.”
“Wow.” The guy backed up. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to bother you.” He waggled his head as he walked away.
Lacey gave Jon the eyebrow. “Don’t take it out on the passengers. You should behave with professionalism, even if theycan’tfire you for it.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means no one is going to risk offending the owner’s son.”
“Forgive me for being rich.” Jon raised his palms and laughed, but the sound carried no real mirth.
“It’s not about being rich.” Her volume rose. “It’s about the fact that you lied to me. Every day. Day after day. Month after month.”
“Excuse me, Mr. Cruise Director?”
Lacey and Jon turned again to find a woman with a broken mask.
She held the silver bedazzled piece of plastic by its elastic band. “Do these come in any bigger sizes?”
Emily swerved around them. “I can help you, dear. Follow me.” She cast a worried glance their way, then left with the woman.
“Ay! Ay! Ay!” Someone at the ball repeated the cry at lightning speed. A woman in a hot pink gown with a satin bow on her head skated across the polished wooden floor as if it were made of ice.
Lacey stared at the scene that was unfolding like a half-baked sitcom. Was this a practical joke? They must be filming her with a camera. Any minute now, Jon would drop the act, point a couple finger guns at her, and yell, “Gotcha!”
But he didn’t.
