Chapter 9
JEFF
Molly is shaking like a leaf as I stare between her and the marriage license and then back to her.
We’re married. For real.
And she needs a lawyer.
“You don’t want to be married,” I say.
She looks confused. Rightly so. What a dumb fucking thing to say. Of course she doesn’t want to be married to me. She doesn’t even fucking know me.
“I’ll pay for whatever lawyer you need.” I nod curtly, then stand up.
“You’re not mad?”
I stare down at her. I’m furious, but not for the reasons she fears. And I can’t give her an honest explanation for my reaction, either.
But she needs some reassurance. She’s had this terrifying knowledge that she got tricked into being my wife, for days now, and she couldn’t share it with anyone.
“It’s going to be all right, Molly. I’m sorry that you’ve been worried about this all alone. I’ll make sure it’s taken care of. And if you need anything …”
She shakes her head. “I don’t.”
Disappointment grips me by the throat. No, of course she doesn’t. All she needs is for this accident to be corrected for.
Nodding, I move to the office door and open it. Then I pause again and glance back at her. “Can I ask you something, in confidence?”
She blinks in surprise. Her eyes are the most remarkable shade of blue. It’s a real shame I don’t have the right to gaze into them endlessly. “Of course.”
“Did Helen have something to do with the filing of the marriage licenses?”
Molly’s eyes go wide. “No. No. She got our signatures, but after that, it was supposed to be copied by someone else in Fan Services. I was …” She trails off.
“I was on the field, so I’m not sure how it happened that this license was included with the others.
Or how my name ended up on it. It should have read Captain Citrus. ”
I frown. “So do a hundred people have a copy of our wedding license as a souvenir?”
She shakes her head, her face falling. “I tracked that down. They covered my name and signature with a cartoon signature and name.”
“So nobody knows this happened.”
She takes a deep breath. “Just you, me, and a poor woman in the county clerk’s office who had to deal with me yesterday.”
The tight band of tension around my chest eases a little. “All right. No more tears, okay? I’ll take it from here.”
She gives me a brave smile. “Thank you for understanding.”
Molly’s gratitude for my understanding lasts thirty-six hours.
She’s waiting for me in my office when I get to the ballpark two days later, a thick envelope clutched in her hands.
I take one look at her tight-lipped expression and shut the door, not caring if anyone wonders why the coach has closed himself into his office with the PR girl.
With his damn wife, not that they’ll ever know that.
“What is this?” she asks as soon as the door latches shut, waving in the air what I presume are the divorce papers I had my lawyer draw up yesterday.
I grin. I missed her fiery energy. This is definitely better than her being sad. “A decently generous settlement offer. If you would stop waving it around so dramatically, I could take a closer look.”
She throws the thick envelope at me.
I catch it and pull the papers out. “Was this not generous enough? You are supposed to get your own lawyer to look it over. I’ll cover that cost, don’t worry.”
“We can’t get divorced.”
I wish I could agree with her, because I like the sound of those four words far too much. “Actually, as someone who’s already been divorced once, it’s much easier than you think.”
Her eyes go wide and she makes a high-pitched, frustrated sound that draws attention from the equipment guys in the hallway, who look our way through the window.
I close the blinds. “What part of the settlement don’t you agree with?”
“The very existence of it.” She crosses her arms over her chest and leans her ass back against my desk. Exactly as she did six weeks ago when she talked me into the wedding shenanigans in the first place. “I thought you’d arrange for an annulment. We haven’t … this isn’t real.”
“The county clerk and my lawyer both say otherwise.”
“But … we don’t need a divorce! A divorce says two people got married and failed. We didn’t fail at anything except paperwork.”
“An annulment would take longer, and we’d have a high burden of proof. And this way I can provide something for your … inconvenience.”
“I don’t want your money.” She looks offended. “If I gave you the impression—”
“You didn’t.” I glower at her. “But if I gave you the impression that I would just abandon my wife—”
She pushes off the desk, almost vibrating now, metaphorical sparks shooting off her in all directions. “You didn’t give me any impression at all, Coach, because we don’t even know each other!”
“Then let’s change that.” I rake my gaze over her. She’s wearing white shorts and a silky black tank-top style blouse. She looks gorgeous, and it’s the kind of outfit that could go straight from work to a restaurant. “Have dinner with me tonight.”
“What?”
“Help me understand where I’ve gone wrong here.”
She frowns. “That doesn’t matter.”
But it does.
A knock at the door interrupts us. “Five minutes, Coach!”
“You have to go.”
“I will. But tonight, after the game, I want to continue this conversation. Tell me why you don’t want to sign these papers.” I push the envelope toward her. “And we’ll figure out what the right solution is.”