“Show me.” I gesture for it, but she ignores me. Still staring in horror—or maybe delight. It’s difficult to tell with Effie. “Hey, what were you going to get? Let me see.”
“Doesn’t matter, does it?” Count Tattular answers for her, hitching his belt up under his big belly. “You came charging in here before I could start. Practically tackled me to the ground.”
He’s glaring at me again, expression sour.
“I’m sorry,” I grit out, slapping a handful of bills down on his desk. “Like you said. We were trashed.”
Count Tattular sniffs, but the money has helped. Way more than Effie, who is still gazing spellbound at her own drunken tattoo design.
“So I smacked you one and sent you both out. No tattoo. And you left all your shit behind.” At this, he turns away, leather vest creaking as he fishes in a large black bin. Three objects land on the desk.
A crumpled veil.
My lost tie.
And a white baseball cap with a photo of us printed on it. The words ‘Just Married’ are embroidered along the brim in pink, and the Effie in the photo is in a wedding dress. Held aloft in my arms and grinning.
“Do you know where this is from?” My heartbeat thuds in my ears, gathering pace. I snatch up the baseball cap and show him, face hot and stomach tight. “Do you know the chapel?”
“Oh, yeah.” Count Tattular scratches the stubble on his jaw. “That’s from Lucky Bet. It’s ten minutes up the block.”
Effie
Lucky Bet. Last night, I married my gorgeous, unattainable,grouchyboss in a Vegas chapel called Lucky Bet.
Wow. My sandals scrape against the sidewalk as I trail alongside him now, my legs slowing the closer we get. The wedding baseball cap is jammed on my hair, my sunglasses tucked away in Guy’s pocket, and my blue cotton dress clings to my thighs as we walk.
Crap. I don’t know if I can go in there.
“Show me.” Guy traces a maddening finger up and down my arm. His voice is soft and coaxing, so delicious as it cuts through the hum of traffic, like the asshole knowsexactlywhat kind of effect he has on me.
Goosebumps rise up on my bare arms, never mind the desert heat. Can he see them? Can he see my nipples poking through my dress?
“Effie. Come on, show me.”
Ugh. Fine.
I hand over my tattoo design with a smirk. Guy blinks down at the paper, drawing to a halt.
“Employee of the month,” he reads in disbelief. I grin at the flowing letters, wrapped in drunken, wobbly vines, and thank god. I need this distraction.
“Do you like it?”
Guy splutters. “I can’t believe you nearly got this inked on your body. It’s permanent, Effie!”
I pluck the scrap of paper from his grip. “Hey, you never know. I still might.”
My boss gapes at me, but I’m only half joking. I fan myself with the design as we start walking again, slower than before, and at this rate, the sun will set before we reach the chapel.
The first stars are coming out now, winking in the dusky pink sky, and all I can think is: the sooner we get there, the sooner this is over. One way or another, that chapel is the end of our quest. And after that, we’re back to boss and assistant. Back to ‘Mr Coltrane’ and official warnings for being late and to pretending none of this ever happened.
My lips still tingle from his kiss. He didn’t like it, though, did he?
“Fuck.” Guy rubs the back of his neck. His dark blond hair is ruffled, sticking up from the heat. His white shirt stretches over his broad shoulders, almost too bright to look at, and he’s not so ashen anymore. There’s a healthy glow on his cheeks.
My famously impatient boss doesn’t seem to mind our glacial pace, two tortoises ambling along to discover their fate. “What a mess. That would have been harder to undo than the wedding.”
Gee, I sure wish he’d stop talking about annulments and divorcing me. I know it’s inevitable, but he doesn’t need to rub it in.