Never the Bride (Always Say Never #2)

Chapter 1

Camila

No sane woman gets married at the age of twenty-one.

But a desperate one…well, that’s a different story.

“I’m sure he’ll be here any minute,” Sam from my political science class says.

I push my lips into a flatline smile, politely acknowledging him, though I’m losing faith that this guy will actually show up with each passing minute.

It’s obvious. I’m getting stood up.

Sam sits across the booth from me, impatiently checking over his shoulder every thirty seconds. “He’s normally really responsible—at least that’s the impression I got from him in our biology class. I didn’t pick a loser.”

Is that supposed to make me feel better?

That’s cute, Sam. Nothing could ease the tightness in my stomach at the moment.

Now, I’m starting to doubt putting so much trust in Sam.

I barely know the guy, but I overheard him talking in class about all the shady things he could get for people.

And while my situation isn’t on the same level as prescription drugs, I thought having someone like Sam, who deals with hush-hush situations all the time, would be helpful for me.

The bell on the Waffle House door rings, and both our eyes shoot to the man who just walked in.

I shouldn’t be surprised by his good looks.

I told Sam that if he’s going to set this up, he had to find somebody attractive—otherwise it won’t be believable.

This guy definitely fits the bill. He’s tall-ish with shoulders that easily fill out the dark suit he’s wearing.

His face is smooth, as if he shaved ten minutes before he came.

His hand swipes over his buzzed head as he glances around the cafe.

The only way he could be better is if he were a cowboy.

I have a thing for cowboys.

Always have.

Always will.

No judgment, please.

His blue eyes lock on Sam then drift with curiosity to me. I sit up taller, hoping he finds me somewhat attractive. Not that it matters, but still, I want his approval.

Sam jumps to his feet, meeting him halfway. “I was getting worried you weren’t coming.”

“I couldn’t find my suit.” He shrugs as they make their way to me.

“Camila, this is Harrison.” Sam gestures between us. “Harrison, Camila.”

Neither of us says anything. We just shake hands over the maple syrup jar and half-eaten waffles. Maybe I was supposed to stand. I don’t know the etiquette on something like this.

Sam looks between us, senses the awkwardness, and decides it’s time to leave. “Well, I’m going to run a few errands before we make this official. I’ll meet you guys at the church.” He slaps Harrison on the back in a good luck, buddy kind of way and turns to go, the bell ringing as he exits.

“So…” Harrison glances around. “Should I sit, or are we doing this thing now?”

“There are a few items we need to talk about first.”

He drops into the booth. “Oh, like getting-to-know-you questions? Background checks?”

“No, not like that.” Although, the background check is a good idea. I wish I had thought about that before.

I grab a stapled packet from inside my purse.

“Is the Waffle House your favorite restaurant or something?” He picks up Sam’s fork and stabs the corner of his half-eaten waffle, taking a bite of the soggy carb.

My brows lower as I watch, grossed out by him easily eating another man’s food. “It was a place I was certain nobody I knew would see us together.”

“Itsh pretty good.” He’s already stabbing his fork for another round. “It would be better with buttermilk syrup and powdered sugar.”

“We have a few things we need to go over.”

He motions for me to get on with it.

I push Sam’s plate of waffles away and place the papers on the table between us, spinning them around so they face him.

“What’s this?”

“It’s a financial contract.”

“Smart.” He nods as he wipes his mouth with a napkin. “Sam said you wanted to be a lawyer.”

“Yes, that’s the plan.” I point to the paper, keeping us on track.

“This first page is the terms Sam probably told you about. It’s a six-year agreement.

Two hundred thousand dollars is the amount I’ll pay you for your role in this.

You’ll get a large portion up front, and every year you uphold the agreement, you’ll get another payment until the sixth year, when we will dissolve this business arrangement, and you’ll get the rest of your money. ”

“Business arrangement?” The corner of his mouth lifts. “Not marriage?”

“Other than the name, nothing about this is an actual marriage.”

“And everyone is just okay with that?”

“Not exactly.” The nerves inside my chest rattle to life.

As an aspiring lawyer, I’ve read the conditions of the irrevocable trust. In order to get the first payout, I have to get married and stay married for six years to get the rest of the money, but nothing is ever that simple.

“If the marriage is deemed fraudulent, then it could be challenged in court, and there’d be no payout. ”

He nods a few times then looks over the paper, scanning it quickly. His eyes flip to me expectantly.

“Is that going to be a problem for you?” My heart pounds, the stress of it all banging in each beat.

“I need a pen.”

Oh. A pen. Thank goodness he’s still on board with this crazy plan.

Finding someone willing to marry me was the hardest part of it all.

I rummage through my purse until I find one and hand it over. “Be sure to fill in the address where I can send your payments, or if you know your bank account, we can just do it electronically.”

“I think electronically will be best.” He signs his name: Harrison…something that’s not legible. I should probably know his last name, but then again, I don’t really care. He’s just a means to an end. He finishes filling everything out then flips to the next page.

“It’s a confidentiality clause,” I explain.

“By signing this, you’ll be legally bound to keep this arrangement, and the details surrounding it, confidential or else you’ll face the legal penalties listed here.

” I study his blank face, worried he doesn’t fully grasp the meaning.

“Like I said, if the marriage is deemed fraudulent, then you don’t get your money, and we have to pay back everything we got.

How we keep that from happening is by not telling anyone about the arrangement.

And when I say you can’t tell anyone, I mean not your best friend, not your coworker, not your mom, not your girlfriend, no one. ”

“Are you going to tell people in your life? Your mom? Your friends?”

“No.”

Confidentiality is key for this plan to work. Obviously, my biological dad and his lawyers will know about the marriage. They just won’t know that it’s fake.

“Won’t people close to you wonder where all the money is coming from and ask questions?”

“I’ll just tell people I got a scholarship or picked up extra shifts. It shouldn’t be too hard to explain. Are you capable of doing that too?”

“Yeah, I’m not stupid.” He shrugs. “Besides, why would I want to tell anyone? It doesn’t exactly make me look good that I married a stranger for money.”

True. It’s not something either of us wants to lead with.

“In addition to confidentiality, you can’t have a social media presence with your name and face. You have to stay incognito for the next six years.”

“Easy.” He swipes the pen over the bottom of the paper, signing without hesitation. He flips to the last page and reads the bold letters across the top. His brows lift as he looks at me. “A prenup?”

“I’d be stupid not to include one. There’s a section about filing taxes separately as well as individual finances. I stand to inherit a lot of money because of this marriage.”

“Business arrangement,” he corrects with a smirk.

I lift my chin. “Is the prenup a problem?”

His smirk stays as he holds my stare. And without looking down, he signs the bottom of the paper without even reading the prenup details, his name angling on a slant.

Bold of him, but I kind of like it.

He drops the pen on the table dramatically. “Is that all?”

“It should be all, unless somewhere down the line Glen Lucas has questions about our marriage, at which point we’ll have to meet up to provide proof that we’re still married. A couple of pictures of us together or something like that. But I don’t foresee that happening.”

His brows deepen into a V. “Who’s Glen Lucas?”

“The man who set up the trust and is paying out the inheritance. Any other questions?” I quickly say, hoping to move on from that.

“Wait. He’s not dead?”

“No, it’s a living trust.”

“If he’s alive he’s going to find out that we just did this for the money.”

“I’ve never spoken to him in my life. He won’t find out.” I brush my hair back. “Any other questions?”

“Yes, I have a few.” Casually, he leans back against the booth, folding his arms over his chest.

I shift in my seat, nervous about what he might want to know.

“What’s your blood type?”

“My blood type?” I huff. “That’s not relevant.”

“It might be.”

“It’s not.”

“I think a guy should know whether or not his future wife is a mosquito magnet.”

Irritation flashes across my expression.

“I’m joking.” He smiles. “I really just want to know why you’re doing this.”

“Isn’t it obvious?”

“Yeah, Sam told me you don’t get your inheritance from your dad, who I’m assuming is Glen Lucas, the grantor…

” He pauses long enough for me to nod then continues his thought.

“Unless you get married and stay married, but why now? Why not wait to get married until you find someone you really love? You’re young and pretty.

I’m sure there are plenty of guys interested. ”

I lean back, matching his pose. I don’t need to justify all my reasons, but I can give him a little. “I need the money to pay for law school.”

“How much are you getting out of this arrangement? I bet it’s way more than what law school costs.”

“Not that it’s any of your business but—”