My Best Friend's Bride (3 page)

Morgan Swift leaned across the small café table and frowned. She had light brown hair with frosted tips, and highlighted her petite figure with a jacket and matching slacks. She was approaching forty but looked ten years younger, except for when those worry lines surrounding her eyes deepened. Like they were doing now. “You’re not going to like this, Jill, but I’m going to be brutal.”

Jill slowly lowered her glass of Chablis. When Morgan had asked her to lunch, she should have expected an ambush. Instead, she’d hoped they’d be celebrating Jill’s third book deal getting finalized.

“I hate to break the news,” Morgan continued, “but your numbers on
Long-Term Love: Making It Last
weren’t…encouraging. In fact, they kind of stunk.”

Jill knew it hadn’t performed as well as the first book, because it hadn’t hit any major lists. Still, she’d thought it had done reasonably well. She’d been on talk shows, done interviews… “But I thought the presales were—”

“Mediocre at best.” Morgan dropped her voice an octave. “That write-up in
Tempo Beat
sure didn’t help.”

Jill let the word slip out on an exasperated breath. “Cassandra.”

“You can’t entirely shoot the messenger,” Morgan said. “A ‘relationship expert’ who can’t keep a boyfriend of her own for more than six weeks
is
kind of news.”

“That’s not news! It’s gossip!”

“Is what the article alleges true? Do you really start analyzing them by week five?”

Jill set her wine on the table and clasped her hands together in her lap. George Wesley; of course it had to have been him. Maybe Paul Thurston too. Who knew how many of her traitorous exes had spilled to Cassandra on the condition of anonymity? Could have been dozens! She cocked her chin to the side and asked evenly, “Are you with me or against me, Morgan?”

Morgan flinched, apparently affronted. “With you! Of course! It’s just that…” She took a hurried sip of wine, then dabbed her lips with a napkin. “I need to know what we’re dealing with here.”

“I don’t get what you’re saying.”

“I’m asking you if you can do it, Jill. Tackle a relationship for the long haul.”

“You’re asking me?” Jill staged a laugh. “I wrote the book on relationships, if you’ll recall. A number one bestseller!”

“Hmm, yes. One on getting them started.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It was the second step, the part about keeping them going, that fizzled out.” She shook her head sadly. “I’m going to be honest about this even if it pains you. Because your pain is my pain. We own it together.”

Jill understood this was true. As her book agent, Morgan got fifteen percent. But fifteen percent of nothing was zero. Jill’s stomach clenched, anticipating the next sock in the gut.

Morgan exhaled sharply. “It wasn’t easy to pull this off, because Browning’s none too happy,” she said referring to Jill’s publisher. “In fact, they didn’t even
want
a third book, but I insisted. After all, we had a three-book deal.

“The thing is,” she continued, “without their full backing, book three doesn’t stand a chance. We need marketing support, a dynamite cover, advanced advertising, book tours!” Morgan’s eyes shone with passion, and Jill recalled why she’d hired her. Morgan was not only good, she was driven. She was also as smart as a whip.

“So…?” Jill pressed. Morgan had obviously hatched a plan to make this work.

“So…”
Her enthusiasm was growing so fast it was almost contagious. “I proposed we take this to the next level. Go all out!”

“Great!” Jill replied, not fully understanding what that meant. “Then they accepted my proposal?”

“Ye-es…” She drew out the word. “But not exactly as it stands.”

“What do you mean, not exactly as it stands?”

“There were a few modifications.” Morgan stared at her salad plate and started slowly spinning her wineglass by its stem. The goblet completed two revolutions before Morgan raised her eyes and spoke with a pasted-on grin. “Jill!” she said brightly. “You’re getting married!”

Jill, who’d begun to take a sip of water, choked. She quickly lowered her glass and covered her mouth with one hand. “What did you say?”

“Married,” Morgan stated matter-of-factly. “You really can’t get much more long-term than that!”

Jill blinked; her whole world had gone fuzzy. Maybe she was dreaming and none of it was real? She pinched her leg through her skirt just to be sure.
Ow! That smarted!

“Well, don’t just sit there,” Morgan complained. “Say something.”

Jill set both elbows on the table and stared in disbelief. “That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard.”

“It’s a strategy for saving your career. Don’t think I haven’t studied this. Considered it from every angle. Jill, this
is
the only way. You’ve got to rebuild your trust with the public. Book buyers must
believe
you know whereof you speak.”

“Yes, but…married?” Jill was still trying to wrap her head around it. “To whom? Did the publisher pick the groom?”

“Of course not. That’s your job.”

“Awesome.”

“The title’s been all worked out,” Morgan informed her. “
Married Love: Keeping Those Home Fires Burning.
We’re betting it will sell like hotcakes.” She polished off her wine. “Provided you’re actually married, that is.”

“But I don’t have to be married to write that kind of book. I’ve had plenty of experience, my background in counseling…case studies.”

“No dice. This has to be the real deal. You with a ring on your finger. You’ve already duped the public once with
Long-Term Love: Making It Last.
They want to hear from
you.
You’ve got to make this book less clinical, more personal. Jillian Jamison practicing what she preaches!”

Jill’s head throbbed. She needed this third book, she really did. She desperately needed the money. That’s when a solution hit her. Nobody said she had to stay married forever—just long enough to pull off this project. All she had to do was find a guy to go along with it. That might prove a little tricky, but it certainly wasn’t impossible. She already had a candidate in mind.

“How long does it have to last?” she asked. “The marriage?”

Morgan shrugged. “How long do most marriages last these days?”

“Some less than a year.”

“That may be pushing it.”

Pushing it a little, maybe, but the idea was starting to grow on her. Especially if she could contain it, control it, and make it her own. Jill’s mental wheels turned quickly as the strategizing began in her brain. “Think about it, Morgan. I do the wedding, the big buildup…all that. It’s agreed. Who can blame me if things go sour some time after? It wouldn’t be my fault, or his either, as long as we tried. Just one of those things. Think of the public sympathy we could build. It might even lead to a fourth book,
Love after Love: Amor from the Ashes.
”

“Ew! Are you planning on cremating someone, or getting divorced?”

“Okay, maybe the title needs work.”

“I don’t know, Jill. That sounds risky. What about book sales?”

“The big push will be prerelease and during release week. I’ll do the talk shows, tours—whatever it takes—to build up big numbers by then. By the time my marriage…unfortunately tanks, my book sales will be rocketing! Straight up to the stars.” She sure hoped so, anyway. The book would have to earn back the advance and then some for her to cover her own obligations, as well as offer a financial enticement to a fake fiancé.

“And then?”

“With two bestsellers under my belt, I’ll be a hot property, won’t I? If Browning no longer wants me, I’ll go to another publisher. I’ve got lots of great ideas. The proceeds from this book could tide me over in the meantime, if I’m prepared to give it my all.”

Morgan surveyed her cautiously. Why was she acting skeptical? She was the one who’d devised this whole sordid plan. Jill was merely taking the lemons Morgan had thrust at her and making lemonade, using psychology and working things to her advantage. Jill felt her confidence surge. She was fully game-on. She could commit to marriage for a year, of course she could. It was just like accepting any job. All she had to do was hire an assistant…um, partner…in name only! That was clearly better than the alternative, rejecting this arrangement and seeing her grandfather moved to a lesser facility. She knew how her publisher worked. Browning didn’t keep deals on the table indefinitely. If she was going to accept, she’d have to move quickly before someone in editorial changed their mind.

“Look, Morgan, I know how to do this. I’ve learned from the first book—and the second—what does and doesn’t work.”

“Precisely what the publisher is counting on.” Morgan withdrew a contract from her purse and handed it over. “The advance I negotiated is hefty,” she said. “You can’t mess this up.”

“I don’t intend to.” She unfolded the pages and flipped through them. “Wow, very cool. A much higher percentage on residuals.”

Morgan preened like a peacock. “
And
merchandising. We really believe this can go big, Jill. Viral, even. Forget interviews, this could spawn an entire reality TV series!”

“
I’m
not going on television. Not in that way.”

“Nobody said you had to. If a series comes out based on your book, it will profile other couples. Maybe couples having relationship troubles. Your words of wisdom will help them bring it all back together. They’ll put the advice in your book to use, and the audience can watch as they heal and move forward.”

Jill felt as if she’d been steamrollered. Like this idea had taken on a life of its own. Each time she thought she was totally on top of things, Morgan flattened her with something else. “I see.”

“You won’t have to do a thing about it, other than collect your share of the profits. That’s what I’m trying to tell you. This deal is huge. All kinds of potential.”

This snowballing arrangement was sounding more doable by the minute.
Potential
was code for big money. And if the sum were large enough, it could easily be shared. Okay, not half-and-half, but she could offer the groom a percentage. Jill knew just the guy in need of cash. He got bonus points for being someone she trusted.

“All I have to do is get married?”

“Yes, and you’d better make it snappy. Browning wants an engagement on the table when you receive your advance money.”

“But it’s okay if it’s”—she hesitated on the word—“fake?”

Morgan lunged forward to grab her wrists. “Shut your mouth and seal those lips! That’s the last time I ever want to hear you say that.” She spoke in an urgent whisper. “For the rest of the world, it has to look real, all right? For the publisher too. Publicly? In the papers and on camera, you’re a pair, all lovey-dovey. Whatever you and your new hubby-to-be do—or don’t do—in the privacy of your own home is totally up to you.”

Chapter Three

Hunter folded the contract and stuffed it back in its envelope, handing it to Brad.
 
“There’s nothing you can say to convince me.” Brad sat back in his bucket seat behind the steering wheel. They’d left the bar and were supposedly on their way home. The only thing was that Brad had failed to start his car. “So—what? You’re going to hold me hostage until I agree?”

“No. I’m just asking you to think about it,” Brad said. “Like a rational person.”

Hunter sputtered a laugh. “Nothing about this is rational!”

“Consider it a lease, a living arrangement.”

“You’re forgetting two very important points: A, I already own my condo and B, I like where I live.”

Brad jangled his keys and cranked the ignition. “You think you know a man,” he said, shaking his head.

“This is ludicrous, Brad. I can’t believe you agreed to it in the first place.”

“I already told you, she was desperate.”

“Um-hum.” Hunter pulled out his shoulder harness and clicked the seatbelt in place.

Brad sprang at him and latched onto his lapels. “Now
I’m
desperate. Can’t you see?”

Yep, he could pretty much read that in Brad’s eyes. He looked like a cross between a frightened rabbit and a chicken about to get its head lopped off. “I’m sorry, man. I feel for you, I really do. And Susan, but—”

Brad tightened his death grip on Hunter’s jacket. If he didn’t let go soon, he’d crease it and Hunter would have to get it dry cleaned. “You don’t know what it’s like. Loving someone like I do her.”

“Jill?” Hunter couldn’t help but say. He pressed his lips together to keep from smirking.

“No, jerk! Susan!” He released Hunter’s suit coat and pushed away.
 

It was almost scary seeing Brad this way. He appeared borderline crazed, like he might do something unpredictable. It occurred to Hunter that perhaps he should be the one driving.

“I apologize,” he said in a placating tone. “I didn’t mean to make light of it.”

“Yeah. Well, fine! You shouldn’t have!” Sweat beaded Brad’s forehead and he lifted the oil-checking rag on the console between them to dab it, leaving a black smear on his face. Maybe if Brad didn’t drive such an old clunker he wouldn’t have to check the oil twice a week. The sad truth was that Brad could use Jill’s money far more than Hunter needed it. Financially, Hunter was doing fine.
 

In a last-ditch effort, Brad shot him a pleading look. “I told you about her grandfather?”

“Heartbreaking,” Hunter deadpanned. “Though not my problem either.”

“She’s really under pressure, Hunter.” Brad paused and pursed his lips in thought. “But you can’t let on that you know that.”

“Why not?”

“It’s personal, might embarrass her.”

“More personal than getting married?”

“You’re not seeing the bigger picture!”

“Yes, I am, and it’s a nightmare.”

“Yeah, well, I’m living it.”

“Maybe you should have thought that out before.”

Brad glared at him angrily. “Jeez, guy, do you even have a soul?”

Hunter was fairly tough. Practically made of steel. But ouch, yeah, that pinched a little. Hunter stared at his best friend since the eighth grade. The guy whose skin he’d saved by not ratting Brad out to the headmaster after the two of them had shaving-creamed the chemistry lab. Brad was always coming up with mischievous plans and getting them into trouble. Correct that: Only Hunter got into trouble, because the administration routinely suspected him, the boisterous athlete. Timid Brad, with his keen focus on academics, had been beyond reproach. Hunter had not once squealed on Brad, and had always taken the heat. Even though every single lamebrain scheme had originally been Brad’s idea.