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MIA
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Engaged? To ConnorBarrett?
What was I thinking? Ihadn’tbeen thinking—that was the problem. I can’t even explain where the idea came from. The words just fell out of my mouth.
Let’s call it survival.
Now, though, I am in an even bigger pickle. My family thinks I am engaged to one of the wealthiest men in the U.S. Connor thinks I am a girl he enjoyed—hopefully—great sex with last night. Someone he will never see again.
If he finds out, I will look like an idiot.
I have to fix this.
But my situation is far worse than I thought. Salvo Vitale? Surely, my father can’t force me to marry someone I don’t want.
Right?
I mean, I know how these things work in the family, but it’s not the last millennia anymore. Right?
And it’s kind of illegal.Right?
I nearly snort at my legal argument. As if that stops mobsters from doing anything.
My father demanded I end the engagement while asking a whole lot of questions.
When are Mr. Barrett’s people announcing our engagement?
Is he ever planning to ask for my hand?
Does he have a death wish?
When is the wedding planned for?
Am I pregnant?
All of which, of course, I have no answers for.
Except there is no baby, and we aren’t actually getting married—least of all because Connor knows nothing about it.
I have to tell him, and fast.
There’s every chance, despite me agreeing to bring Connor over to the house—I know, I’m insane!—that my father could go over my head and contact the sexy billionaire directly.
I don’t trust my father.
It’s better Connor hears it from me.
Herein lies my next problem. I have no way of getting in touch with him. We didn’t swap phone numbers, and aside from hovering outside his building like a crazed ex-lover, I’m not sure what else to do.
I could go to his office tomorrow. Or ask Donna for his number. Which would need an explanation, and I don’t have any spare brain cells left to conjure something clever.
I could break into our company database and pull his details? I doubt he has his personal phone number listed, and sending an email will be intercepted by his PA.
Can you imagine it?