Page 12 of The Wild Card
“And now you want what—me to go in there, help you lie your way into a job, and then … we fake break up at some point once they deem you not a flight risk?”
All of this sounds odd. Not just the lying, but potential employers being so paranoid about Molly staying that she felt like she needed to fabricate a story.
“Pretty much.” She looks sheepish now, which is pretty appropriate given the situation.
I’d prefer contrition. Real, actual regret for lying.
Because little lies, as I’ve learned in a very personal way, have a way of snowballing into big, painful, life-wrecking ones.
I wish I weren’t still so raw that Molly’s actions—far less nefarious than my ex’s—didn’t make me so disappointed. Didn’t make me lose some respect for her.
Maybe she had a good reason, I tell myself.
But what reason makes lying okay?
“I know it’s the worst idea ever,” she says, “and I should just tell them the truth, but I really need this job.”
Speaking of the truth, I should tell her now who I am. But instead, I find myself studying her profile as she stares down at her lap. It looks like she’s chewing the inside of her cheek.
I’m a mix of conflicting emotions. Hurt and disappointed about not being recognized. Surprised and bothered that she lied in a job interview. Concerned about the desperation leading to the lie.
It’s this last one that sticks with me. I feel an odd sense of kinship with whatever Molly’s going through. Like me, she seems a little lost. Or maybe I’m just projecting and it’s just me who’s feeling lost.
Whatever the case, this is Chase’s sister. He’d want me to watch out for her. And maybe … I can have a little fun with this. A little gentle payback for her lapse in memory and for choosing to lie.
I unbuckle my seatbelt and her head snaps up, her expression full of surprise. I reach over and press the button to release hers as well.
“All right, sugar. Let’s do this thing.”
CHAPTER 4
Molly
Well,that was easy. A littletooeasy.
I mean, let’s look at the facts: I found a guy who’s cute—more like smoking hot—seems kind, and is probably not a serial killer.Andhe agreed to be my fake boyfriend for this lunch even after I admitted I lied during an interview.
Honestly, I thought he was going to say no to me.Iwould have said no to me. And under normal circumstances, I’d never have gotten into a vehicle with some stranger. Maybe it’s the desperation or the fact that he looks familiar—and somehow trustworthy—but I don’t feel like I’m in any danger. I’m weirdly … excited.
The only thing I wish? That’d I’d met this guy under some kind of normal circumstances. Because if I had, maybe this could be something other than a giant mess of my own creation.
“What’s the catch?” I ask, rounding the front of the truck to meet him.
“Catch?”
There’s something about his tone. Like he’s trying to sound surprised by my question but is actually totally aware of what I’m askingandhas a catch in mind. He sounds like he’s being coy.
“Yeah.” I cross my arms, leaning a hip against his truck. “You agreed to play along with my stupid lie—what’s the catch? Am I going to owe you some outstanding favor you’ll call in at a time of your choosing or what?”
He mirrors my pose, which drags my gaze from his bright-blue eyes to the way his arms test the limits of his sleeves. It’s quite the test. For quite a pair of biceps.
“Why does there have to be a catch?” he asks, and I jerk my gaze away from his arms.
“Ever heard the expression there’s no such thing as a free lunch?” I ask, offering him a wry smile.
“I thought this literallywasa free lunch,” he fires back with a little grin of his own.
“It is. But the expression means nothing is ever free. Not really. Someone paid for this lunch even if it’s free forus.”
