Tall Tales and Wedding Veils (9 page)

She went to work scrubbing the sink as best she could. Just because Tony didn’t think it was important didn’t mean it wasn’t. Sooner or later, he was going to catch some horrible disease because he didn’t have the sense to keep things clean, and who would have the last laugh then?

But after a few minutes, she started to imagine him out there laughing and shaking his head at the nerdy, too- serious, overly sanitary person she was. She slowed down her scrubbing, and pretty soon she tossed the cloth aside, rinsed her hands, and sat down on the toilet lid, feeling dumb.

Ajax.
God.
She was talking about cleaning products, and he was talking about phone sex. That, right there, was a microcosm of their relationship.

Heather buried her head in her hands.
Microcosm.
Just the fact that she’d
thought
that word meant she was one of the most boring women alive.

If she listened hard, she could just make out the sound of Tony’s voice. Undoubtedly he was having a hot conversation with Rona, one that had nothing to do with germs and everything to do with sex. And just for a moment, she wished she was the kind of woman who said to hell with the necessities of life and dove right into the fun, even though she couldn’t imagine a scenario in which that would ever happen.

When Tony told Rona he wasn’t coming over after all, it elevated her whining to an unprecedented level. He tried joking with her to shake her out of her bad mood, but still she kept yammering that somebody else was rolling in millions of dollars that were rightfully hers.

Finally he couldn’t take it anymore and told her exactly what Heather had said-—if she couldn’t remember the numbers, how did she know they were the winning ones? He should have taken his own advice and skipped the logic, because Rona said she just
knew
and that he was a horrible, horrible person for being so unsympathetic, and if she did win a million dollars someday, she wasn’t giving him a dime of it. In light of that, he figured phone sex was out.

More evidence that he didn’t know when to keep his mouth shut.

Then, out of nowhere, another woman popped into his mind. Babette. Oh, God.
Babette.
How could he have forgotten her?

Babette was an Air France flight attendant, a woman who made the average nymphomaniac look like a cloistered virgin, the kind of woman who brought the sexual experience to a whole new level with no strings attached. And she’d be here in a couple of weeks for their monthly rendezvous. Tony looked forward to being with her the way a kid looks forward to Christmas. Unfortunately, after promising Heather there would be no other women, seeing Babette would be out of the question.

He lay back down, trying to resign himself to being celibate for the next month, no matter how painful that was going to be. It was a very small price to pay in return for all Heather had done for him. In fact, it just might be a blessing in disguise.

Yeah. That was it. A blessing in disguise.

A month of celibacy meant his blood would stay in his head rather than moving south to take care of other needs, which meant he could stay focused, moving forward with his new business in a clearheaded, decisive manner. Nobody at the bar would even know he was married. If anybody pointed out that he wasn’t being his usual self, he would just say he had to concentrate on his new business for a few weeks, and once everything was running smoothly, the old Tony would be back. Everybody would buy that, wouldn’t they? It wouldn’t be a problem. The month would be over before he knew it.

And if he said that about a hundred more times, maybe he would believe it.

At ten till eight the next morning, Heather jumped off the light-rail and dashed to the door of the building where she worked, her head consumed by a bad-sleep headache she’d known was coming the moment Tony opened that sofa bed last night. She juggled her briefcase and her Starbucks cup and the umbrella that was keeping the faint drizzle from frizzing her hair. After spending fifteen minutes every morning fighting to make it straight, she sure didn’t need rain to cancel out all her effort and turn her back into Bozo the Clown.

A few minutes later, she was making her way through the cubicle city at Greenfield & Associates, turning left and right like a rat in a maze. No cheese when she reached her desk, though. Nothing but a pile of files, a blinking voice mail light, and a note from her boss that she wanted to see her as soon as she got in. Because Heather already felt like crap, it was probably something about the Morehouse account. It never failed. If she was having a bad day, the account from hell reared its ugly head and stuck out its tongue.

Heather had just set her briefcase and her coffee down on her desk when her phone rang. She looked at the caller ID. Alison. Again.

No. Not right now. She couldn’t tell Alison what had happened while she was sitting in cubicle city where anyone could hear.

A minute later, she heard her text-message ring tone. She pulled her phone from her briefcase. Not surprisingly, it was Alison.
Been trying to call you. What happened in Vegas?

If she texted her back and told the whole story, she’d wear her fingers down to the knuckle. She texted back:
Downtown Deli. Noon. I’ll tell you all about it.

A minute later, Alison responded:
Did you do something really crazy?

Heather’s heart jumped. Then she told herself to calm down. There was no way Alison could possibly know anything. She texted back,
Why do you ask?

Almost immediately, Alison responded:
I talked to your mother.

Oh, my God.

Heather strode to the conference room, hitting speed-dial two on the way there. Alison answered and launched right in.

“Heather, tell me right now, and don’t lie. Did you or did you not get m-m-marr . . .” She let out a breath. “God, I can’t even say it.”

Heather closed the conference room door, figuring there was no way to dance around this. “Yes. I got married.”

“In
Vegas?
”

“Yes.”

“Oh, my God.” Big pause. Then, very carefully, “Who did you marry?”

If Alison had talked to her mother, she already knew the answer to that question. She was just looking for confirmation. Heather took a deep, calming breath. “Tony McCaffrey.”

“No way!” Alison shouted. “There is no way in hell that you married—”

“No! Don’t say it.
Please.
And for God’s sake, don’t
tell
anyone!”

The door to the conference room swung open. The senior accounting manager came in with several people trailing behind him. “Uh . . . I believe we have the conference room at eight?”

“I’m sorry,” Heather said. “I’m leaving now.”

Brushing past them, she went into the hall and whispered, “Alison. I can’t talk now. Meet me for lunch, and I’ll tell you everything. Don’t say a word to anyone. Do you hear me?”

“I hear you. But, Heather—”

“The Downtown Deli at noon,” Heather said, and hung up.

Chapter 8

A
s Heather walked into Downtown Deli, the heavenly smells of all the decadent food made her mouth water. She thought about the prospect of stuffing herself into that too-small bridesmaid’s dress, cursed Regina, and passed by the dessert case without stopping to look. She slid into a booth across from Alison.

“I swore your mother was delusional,” Alison said. “But you’re saying what she told me is
true?
”

“Why did you talk to my mother?”

“I got worried when you wouldn’t answer my calls. Swear to me you’re not making this up. Swear to me—”

Heather held up her pinky.

Alison clasped her throat. “You tell me how this happened. You tell me how last week you could be bitching that you hadn’t had a date in six months, and now you got a man like Tony to marry you in
one night.
” She closed her eyes. “God, this is too weird for words.”

“It’s not what you think.”

“What I think is that you’re the luckiest woman on the freakin’ planet!”

“No. It’s not a real marriage.”

“Not real? Do you have a piece of paper?”

“Yes.”

“Then it’s a real marriage.” Alison groaned. “My God, Heather! Do you know how painful this is for me? It’s like you got that date to the Christmas dance with the hottest guy in school, and even though I was stuck at home dateless, you
went
. We had a
pact!
”

“For God’s sake, Alison. That was junior high. You’re going off the deep end.”

The waiter came by, and Alison ordered a hot brisket sandwich with potato salad. Heather gritted her teeth and ordered a salad with dressing on the side. While they were waiting for the food to arrive, she told Alison the whole story, from winning the twenty thousand to the limo ride to the chapel to her and Tony passing out in the same bed. And then she told her the part that was going to send her to hell for lying to her mother.

Alison sat back, stunned. “You gotta be kidding me. So it really isn’t a real marriage? As in love, honor, and cherish?”

“No. It’s more like drink, deceive, and divorce.” She shook her head. “I should have said something the moment he kissed me. I was telling myself to. The words were right there in my head. But then I looked at my mother, and Regina, and I just . . .” She shook her head helplessly. “I just couldn’t do it.”

“Hey, if Tony had kissed me, I’d have lost my mind, too.” Alison smiled. “I wish I’d seen the look on Regina’s face when he did it. I bet her eyeballs popped right out of her head.” She giggled. “This is
so
cool.”

Heather couldn’t help the tiny smile that crossed her lips. “It was kinda fun to watch.” Then her smile evaporated. “But it’s all a lie.”

“Yeah, but it’s an
inspired
lie. So Tony was the one who came up with this plan?”

“Yeah. But this isn’t the first time he’s done something crazy. Do you know he once woke up naked on a beach in Cancun and doesn’t remember flying to Mexico?”

“Hold on. I have to get a visual on that.” Alison closed her eyes, sighed, then opened them again. “And you have him to yourself for an entire month.”

“To myself? No, not really.”

“You’re living with him, right? Just because you didn’t have sex on your wedding night—an opportunity I can’t believe you passed up, by the way—”

“I was unconscious!”

“—it doesn’t mean you can’t take that opportunity now.”

“No way. It’s not like that. It’s not as if he’s going to start treating me like his wife just because his name accidentally ended up on a marriage license with mine.”

“Wife? Forget wife. How about friends with benefits?
Seduce him.
”

“I don’t
want
him. The man is a mess. I don’t think he’s cleaned his apartment since the turn of the century.”

Alison looked positively crazed. “Are you telling me you’d find him
more
attractive if he was holding a sponge and a can of Ajax?”

Actually, Heather had always fantasized about marrying a man who actually helped out around the house. Did that make her weird?

Okay. Maybe it did. Hadn’t she already come to that conclusion last night?

“You can’t tell anyone about this,” Heather said. “Only my family knows.”

“You’re keeping this to
yourself?
”

“It was a dumb thing to do. I want as few people as possible to know about it.”

“Are you kidding me? You should be shouting it from the rooftops!”

Heather grabbed Alison’s sleeve and yanked her forward. “Not a word, Alison.
Not one word.
”

Alison clenched her teeth, scrunching up her eyes, glaring at Heather. “Okay,” she said finally. “I won’t say anything.” Then she got a thoughtful look on her face. “Did Tony ever strike you as the kind of guy who’d do something like this?”

“You mean, something like marry a woman he doesn’t even know? Actually, yes.”

“No, like concoct this whole plan just so you won’t be humiliated in front of your family. I never would have thought it of a guy like him.”

For the first time, Heather really stopped to think about that. Yeah, he’d made a real mess of things, but his heart had actually been in the right place. Was it possible that there was more to Tony McCaffrey than met the eye?

But even if there was, she’d told Alison the truth. He wasn’t the kind of man she wanted. Sure, if she could get a guy who looked like Tony, who smiled like Tony, who laughed like Tony, who
kissed
like Tony, but was actually down-to-earth and steady and responsible, she wouldn’t turn him down. But those things rarely went hand in hand, and they certainly hadn’t wound up together inside Tony McCaffrey.

At two o’clock that afternoon, Tony signed the papers, transferred the funds, and became the new owner of McMillan’s Bar and Grill. After leaving the title company, he went directly to the bar, where he pulled into a parking space, killed the car engine, and just sat and stared at the building. It looked friendly and welcoming, the kind of place where you could come in, sit down, and relax. Maybe someday he’d build a deck on the north side where people could sit to enjoy a meal or a drink outdoors. Frank occasionally hired local bands to play, and Tony intended to do even more of that. Maybe he could shake things up with a little karaoke. Have an open-mic comedy night. Anything to bring people in to eat and drink and enjoy themselves.

It felt good. No, it felt
great.
He was doing something with his life. Something big. A lot of people dreamed of being their own boss, but he’d actually done something to make that dream come true.

When he went inside, Tracy, Jamie, and Kayla were at the end of the bar, chatting with Lisa. Kayla was cute, smart, and efficient, the kind of waitress who could do three things at once and look for more. Lisa was a good bartender who hustled drinks like a real pro. Jamie, waitress and assistant manager, was normally just as competent, but at eight months pregnant, she had understandably slowed down a little. And Tracy . . .

Actually, Tony had never really stopped to assess her competence. He was too busy admiring her long, gorgeous legs and spectacular breasts.

Hands off. One month. You can do it.

Everyone looked at him expectantly as he approached. He pulled out a barstool and sat down.

“It’s a done deal,” he said. “You’re looking at the new owner of McMillan’s Bar and Grill.”

The women cheered. Hugs all around. And Tony felt as if he were flying.

Chuck poked his head out of the kitchen. “Do we have a new boss?”

“Tony just closed the deal,” Kayla said. “He’s officially the new owner.”

“Hey! Great news!” Chuck said, hurrying out of the kitchen to shake Tony’s hand. Chuck was a middle-aged guy who’d spent his entire adult life in one restaurant kitchen or another, and he could turn just about anything into a meal to die for. Emilio followed behind him, a younger guy who was learning from Chuck, and from what Frank said, he was doing a good job. Tony intended to make sure both of them stayed with him from now on.

“We gotta get back to the kitchen,” Chuck said. “Lunch hour’s coming up.”

“Dedicated employees,” Tony said with a grin. “I like that.”

“I hope you’re thinking about raises,” Kayla said. “Frank was a tightwad. You’ll be much more generous, won’t you?”

“Sure, sweetheart,” he said, his head still floating in the clouds. “It’ll be the first thing on my list.”

As well it should be. What was more important to a business than its personnel?

As the waitresses scattered to get ready for the lunch shift, Tony sat at the bar a few minutes longer, basking in the pleasure of owning his own business and being his own boss. And in a month, after he got that annulment, he’d no longer have a roommate, which meant he could invite Tracy straight to his king-sized bed and resume his life of happy bachelorhood.

Heather was dead tired by the time she caught the train for home at the St. Paul station. It had been a hellish Monday at work, with dissatisfied clients right and left. The Morehead account had been only the beginning. She still hadn’t recovered from her Saturday-night debauchery in Vegas. Maybe she never would. Maybe she’d stay permanently hungover as a punishment from God for doing something so incredibly stupid.

Heather collapsed on a seat on the train, intending to pull out her mystery novel and escape into somebody else’s problems. But when the train stopped at the Pearl Street station, Heather looked up to see an enormous woman wearing black stretch pants and a leopard-print tank top. She trundled down the aisle and plopped down next to Heather, filling her own seat and half of Heather’s, then proceeded to sing along with the gospel music oozing from her iPod. Heather sighed. Sometimes the train truly sucked. But her only alternative was to brave Central Expressway traffic from Plano to downtown and pay a hundred and fifty bucks a month to park her car.

On days like today, that didn’t seem like such a bad option.

Heather stuffed her book inside her tote bag and closed her eyes, hoping to zone out the rest of the way home, but as they were about to enter the Cityplace tunnel, her phone rang. She grabbed it from her purse and looked at the caller ID. Her mother.

With a heavy sigh, she hit the
TALK
button to answer the call, only to lose it as soon as they entered the tunnel. When they emerged a few minutes later at the Mockingbird station, Heather saw that her mother had left a voice mail.

“Hi, sweetie,” her mother said. “I tried to get a hold of you at work, but you must already be heading home. I thought maybe you’d like to join Aunt Bev and me for a friendly drink.”

Heather’s mind went on red alert. Aunt Bev? Since when did her mother and Aunt Bev stop off somewhere for a friendly drink? And where her mother was concerned, a drink of what? Hot tea? And since when did
friendly
describe anything the two of them did together?

Then came the punch line: “If you get this message, meet us at McMillan’s. Can’t wait to see the place!”

Apprehension slammed into Heather like a hurricane-force wind. Her mother? Aunt Bev?
McMillan’s?

In the next second, Heather understood. It wasn’t her mother’s kind of place. But now that she finally had a handsome, entrepreneurial son-in-law to show off, she couldn’t wait to do it—in front of one person in particular. Her snooty sister.

And the minute she walked into McMillan’s, Tony was going to flip out.

Heather speed-dialed her mother’s house. No answer. Aunt Bev’s. No answer, either. Good Lord, they’d already left.

Tony. You have to warn him.

She didn’t have a clue what his cell phone number was, so she called directory assistance to get the number for McMillan’s. It seemed as if an eternity passed before the recorded voice told her the number. She hit the button to have it dialed for her automatically.

The phone rang. And rang. And
rang.
Finally someone answered.

“McMillan’s. May I help you?”

Thank God.
“I need to talk to Tony.”

“Who’s calling?”

“Tell him it’s Heather. I have to talk to him right now.”

“I’m sorry. He’s not here.”

“No. I know he’s there. You have to put him on the phone.”

“I said he’s not here.”

“Where did he go?”

“I don’t have a clue.”

No. After closing on the place that morning, Heather couldn’t imagine that he wasn’t there now. “Do you have his cell phone number?”

“Sorry. No. Why don’t you check back tomorrow? Maybe you’ll get lucky and catch him then.”

“But—”

Click.

This was a disaster. Even if Tony wasn’t there, what was her mother going to tell the people who worked for him?

Heather smacked her cell phone closed and stuffed it into her purse, cussing under her breath.

“Sweetie? Can I give you a little advice?”

Heather turned to the enormous leopard-spotted woman sitting next to her. “What?”