Page 24 of Vicious Arrangement
Her boyfriend? “Angus? Who the fuck is Angus?”
“My dog. Don’t worry, you won’t even know he’s there.”
I’m not a dog person, I’m not a pet person. Sometimes I wonder if I’m just an Asher and Josh person. I know people like me, but I don’t tend to keep many friends. Too many people like the money over anything genuine.
“Okay, fine.” I finish my bowl of soup and push it away. “We need to meet tomorrow in the a.m. to get a license,” I say, “and then I’ve scheduled at ten a.m. on Thursday?—”
“That’s two days’ time. I’m working?—”
“Change it.”
“I’m a nurse.”
I don’t care. “Change it. I’ll come in and talk to them. It’s your wedding, tell them that.”
She grits her teeth and says, “Fine. I can swap.”
“The wedding will be back at City Hall. And don’t be late.”
“You’re the one with time management issues, not me.”
I’m glad when the entrées come, and I can’t help thinking that maybe she’s a real force to be reckoned with.
Like nothing I’ve ever met before.
Chapter Seven
ARIA
“Well,”I say, shoving a hand into the back pocket of my jeans, trying to control the jagged, wild beat of my heart as the morning sun hits Noah’s hair when he gets out of a black car and, perfectly dressed in a suit of cobalt, runs up the steps to me, “you’re not always late.”
“No,” he says, flipping his wrist to look at his black Patek Phillippe watch, like I’m encroaching on his time. “I’m not. Can we get this over and done with? Do you have your papers?”
I tap my bag. “Birth certificate, criminal record, and past husbands all in here.”
“Droll.”
But while he doesn’t smile, those dark chocolate eyes are warm with a sparking humor in them.
I hate myself for it, I really do, but I want to see that dimple appear in his left cheek.
He just powers ahead into the monolith of City Hall, leaving me to hurry behind him. I don’t come to Lower Manhattan often,but this is one reason I never thought I’d be visiting for—a marriage license.
Suddenly, Noah stops and turns, pulling me against him, engulfing me in that pepper, bergamot and wood. The sensual scent is still evocative in this unromantic place and he slides a hand into my ponytail and brings his mouth in close. “Ready?”
I can’t make words, and he smiles slowly, that dimple appearing, making my knees go weak, everything in uproar inside of me. Then he lets me go, pulling his hand from my hair, taking the elastic with it.
“I like your hair down. I like it with a little more curl.”
“And I like you not at all.”
He laughs. “Now you look like a bride to be who’s flustered. Good.”
With that, he turns, taking my hair band and leaving me with nothing else to do but fume and follow.
“Asshole.”
I realize laterthat morning that I don’t know where he lives. On a scale of romantic to absolute strangers, the whole affair after we got the license was strangers in different continents. He told me don’t be late and got back in his—the back seat, and disappeared.
