Chapter 6
6
Shane
“Because we are,” she says, moving closer to my car. I keep my foot on the brake, but I’m ready to hit the gas, just in case.
In this business, I had to be a quick study on reading people or they’d take advantage of me. I’ve gotten pretty good at it, and her eyes don’t seem to be telling lies.
“Good night, Cate,” a woman calls from a few cars down.
She turns to look and smiles when she sees a coworker. Her smile is so genuine, so pure, like the one I remember from when she was eighteen and standing on that beach. How’d this girl manage to stay herself through life in the twelve years since then?
So much has changed in my life, including me.
Cynical? Maybe.
Burned? Many times.
Guarded? Definitely.
Now that I know she isn’t stalking me, I wasn’t wrong in my initial assessment. Cat Farin is fucking stunning.
Gold threads through her hair, making her eyes shine brighter, if that’s possible. I have to force my eyes off the curve of her neck and the fantasies forming in my head of licking her from the base to the shell of her ear. But it’s when she shifts and her coat exposes the shape of her waist to those hips, the brown fabric not doing the killer body underneath justice.
When we were eighteen, she stole my breath and never gave it back. Even now I struggle to capture air into my lungs just looking at her. Like her beauty, it can’t be caught.
I’m struck by a glare when I reach her eyes again. “You finished there?” she asks as if she’s assuming I was undressing her. I was checking her out and far from done. But I’m definitely finished for good now because when she’s angry, she’s fucking spectacular. I bet she’s great in bed. It’s a fucking mystery why she isn’t having sex whenever she wants. Looking that good, I’d fuck her at least once, even if she was stalking me. I mean, come on. How could I resist?
“Not really,” I reply, “but we have business to tend to, so I’m all ears.”
“First point of business, you thought I was trying to sleep with you?” she asks as if the words are insulting on top of the accusation.
“I didn’t say anything about sleeping, sweetheart.”
She gasps. “Are you kidding me?”
“Why lie?”
“You are . . .” She turns away as if the very sight of me leaves her speechless. Wouldn’t be the first time that’s happened to a woman. It’s a regular occurrence, so I’m used to it. “You’re a real piece of work, you know that?”
“I do know that.”
Her head jerks back so fast she might need to see a chiropractor to fix it. “It’s not a compliment, Shane.”
With her buttons easily accessible, I continue to push a few more. “It would be a first, then.”
“I can’t.” And then she apparently can because she anchors her fisted hands on the swell of her hips and stares at me like she’s about to snap back. I don’t think she has it in her. She’s a sweet little nurse, after all. But it’s fun to watch her try. “You really thought I reached out, that I left all those messages because I was desperate for sex? God, that’s so LA of you. And then you thought I was stalking you because I didn’t want to have sex with you? Is that right?”
“Stalkers say all kinds of crazy shit to get to me. Lie to my security. Pose as food delivery. Pretend to be gardeners, stalk my house, beg my band manager to meet me, claim to be family through 23 and Me, and show up at my parents’ place back in La Jolla proclaiming undying love for their son. So it’s not out of the realm of possibility that a chick from high school would try to reconnect now that I’m famous. It sure as fuck wouldn’t be the first time?—”
“It would be for me.” She punctuates her response with an arched brow as her arms unwind with fists still restraining her fingers.
“What would be a first for you? Stalking a celebrity or hitting up someone for sex?” A myriad of emotions stumble through her expression along with a few verbal starts and stops, but she can’t seem to lie to save herself. So I corner her. “You’ve never texted someone late at?—”
“No!” She waves her arms erratically in front of her. “Not ever.”
“Maybe that’s why you’re not having orgasms.” I shrug. “Or sex.” It was that moment I realized I had royally fucked up. With her mouth gaping open, she blinks rapidly at me. Shit. “Look, Cat?—”
“Cate!” she corrects, then sends me to hell with a glare that would incinerate a weaker man.
“Cate,” I say evenly, and then take a breath to find my inner calm since I’m trapped in the middle of her chaos. “This has gotten out of hand. Let’s forget about the fucking for now?—”
“Do you have that word on speed dial? Can you please stop saying it so much?”
“Can I stop saying what?”
She looks around like the swear police are going to nab her, and then whispers, “Fucking,” with a roll of her eyes.
“Such a dirty mouth for a geriatrics nurse.”
By the way she angles her head away from me, she tries to act like I’m nothing more than a gnat annoying her, but I see the smile tugging on her lips. She can’t resist me or, at minimum, my sense of humor. Laughter is the way to her heart. Noted.
Breaking the uptight character she’s been portraying, her shoulders rattle with amusement as her smile flies free, giving me a hard-earned victory. “Where do you think I learned those words?” With a huff of grievance, her shoulders lower, and she comes a little closer. “You really have women you don’t know contacting you for sex?”
“I know you, Cate.” Tightening my grip on the steering wheel, I confess, “That’s why I’m here.”
I’m not sure how I managed to turn this around with her, but I won’t take her better mood for granted. She’s still trying so hard to be mad about something by how much she’s containing herself. I should go easy on her since we’re on the right track. “As fun as it is teasing you about sex, which was your first point, I can’t wait to find out about point two.”
It’s as if she’s been given permission to relax, her body alleviated from the defenses burdening it before, her fingers flexing from the fist. She says, “It started earlier this week when I went to buy a house.” I have no idea where she’s going with this, but I’m riveted. “All the paperwork was in perfect order.” Stripping off the white coat, she says, “It’s hot.”
“Sure is.”
She tosses it in the back seat of her Toyota. Not a flashy ride, but dependable. “Anyway, so I show up, and Ross, my mortgage broker, starts asking me for my husband’s financials. Needless to say, I had no idea what he was talking about since I’m not married.”
“Have you ever been married?”
“No. Just like you.”
“Engaged?”
A huff escapes her, and she replies, “No, Shane.”
“Why not?” Selfishly, I just want to know.
“Because I’ve been busy.” Shooting her right eyebrow up, she says, “I was focusing on my career like you, but for a lot less pay.” She’s right.
The millions I’ve made would support me for the rest of my life, even if I never stepped on another stage. It’s ridiculous money at levels that even a kid like me, who grew up with wealthy parents, can’t wrap my head around. Does she deserve more? Fuck yeah. She’s helping people, giving them comfort, and saving lives. “Wait a minute. How do you know I’ve never been married?”
“Because you’re legally married to me. That’s how.”
“How are we legally married?” Although I feel my heart starting to thunder in my chest as panic rises in my throat, I try to remain calm. Freaking out won’t get me to the answers any quicker. If there’s one thing I’ve learned about who Cat is now, it’s that her stories take the scenic route.
“That’s what I’m getting to.” Closing the gap between her and the car, she undoes another button near her neck. The tease. “I know this sounds wild, but I have two days to do one of the following:
Prove you’re not my husband. Or . . .
Get a divorce if you are.”
If I’m going to believe her, which I’m leaning toward on instinct, I still need proof. Should I be indulging her before I get said proof? Probably not. But I never was one to miss out on an adventure. “If any of this is true?—”
“It’s all true,” she says, conviction taking control of her tone.
“What kind of proof does one need to show they’re not married? That’s not usually the lie people would tell, right?”
“I agree, but that’s not the situation we’re in, so all I can think to do is bring you back to Roberta and get a correction made.” There’s a thrill to her voice that makes me think she’s confident of this plan when I’m still trying to catch up. “It’s too late today. They’re already closed, but we can go tomorrow.” Getting me one step closer to agreeing, she smiles like she taught the sun how to shine.
“Why would she fix it if I’m there?”
“I only have two plans, Shane. I’m starting with A. If that doesn’t work, then we move on to plan B.” She stares at me like I’m expected to agree when I’m not sure what I can do if she didn’t get it done already.
“So I show up, and what? Try to convince Roberta to believe us?”
“Yes.”
I finally cut my engine off. “Why would she believe me over you?”
“She might,” she replies, waving her hand in my direction, “because you’re you.”
“Because I’m in a band?—”
“And famous and attractive.”
She knows how to get her way. I’ll loop back to the attractive part. “What if it doesn’t work?”
“I don’t need the negativity. I’m hot. I’m tired. It’s been a horrible week, and you sit there comfortably in your fancy Ferrari with air-conditioning while I’m frying in the sun.” She turns her back to me as if the Toyota tempts her to get inside.
I worry about giving her false hope that will only lead to disappointment. “I don’t see how I can contribute in a way to help solve the house issue. We need to worry about this marriage situation first.”
Dipping into her car, she sits there as if her thoughts have run away from her. “I don’t know what to say to make you understand other than to lay it all out there. No holding cards close to my chest, just the God’s honest truth.” She angles to face me, and says, “I won’t just lose the house. I’ll lose the earnest money, which was all my savings outside of the down payment.” She glances over at me one last time while reaching for her door. “I know this isn’t your problem, and you don’t owe me anything. But we are married and . . .” She sucks in a staggering breath. “Forget I ever contacted you. I can handle this on my own.” She closes her door and starts the vehicle.
I’m left staring at her through the window, wondering what the fuck just happened.
We sit in our cars. Me, wondering why she’s given up so fast when she’s been nothing but a live wire of emotion this entire time.
Nah, it doesn’t end like this. I release my door and move beside her car.
Cat ignoring me, despite being three inches from her window, makes it hard to get those soulful eyes to return to mine. While she’s busy digging through her purse on the passenger’s seat, I knock, willing to pick up the baton where it lays.
Deciding this is the perfect time to reapply her lipstick, she flips down the visor and applies it, leaving me standing right here next to her. And then I clue in . . .
“I’m sorry, Cate.” The name still doesn’t taste right on my tongue, but for her, I say it.
As soon as she puts the cap back on, she glances up at me, then cracks the window open. “Sorry for what?”
“I’m sorry for being an asshole, but can you give me the benefit of the doubt for questioning this story? For not jumping just because someone tells me to?”
With her pretty eyes staring into mine, I smirk but then give her what she wants—a genuine apology. Not something I do much these days. “I’m sorry for being an asshole. I didn’t realize the gravity of the situation for you.”
“I didn’t need an apology, but I appreciate it.” The window rolls down the rest of the way, and she holds her phone screen for me to read. “I should have done this in the first place.” She taps the screen with the tip of her nail. “Look at this.”
“It’s a dot gov website.”
Pulling it back down, she scrolls, then raises the phone toward me again. “See the names at the top of the page?”
My head drops forward after seeing our two names entangled throughout the document. I pinch the bridge of my nose before looking up again and scrolling to the top to see the category our names are listed under. Marriage Licenses. “Fuck,” I mutter, my eyes pivoting back to her. “That’s public record?”
I press my palms to the top of her car, staring up at the sky as if I’ll find a solution there. She sets the phone on her lap and reaches up to hold my wrist. “It’s a lot to take in. Do you need to sit down?”
She could have been an asshole right back to me, knocked me off the throne I’d been sitting on this whole time, but she wasn’t. “No . . . maybe.”
“You can sit in my car with me if you’d like. No pressure.”
I have a two-hundred-and seventy-nine-thousand-dollar custom car, but there is no debate in my head. I take the invite, moving around to the other side. She’s dropping her purse in the back when I open the door. I climb in, lean back, and rummage through everything she’s said.
I come to one conclusion: helping her is helping myself. I have no choice but to decide between two plans. There are not a lot of options other than helping to change the outcome.
I’m married. I’m fucking married.
It’s shocking this information hasn’t gotten out. It’s my job to make sure it doesn’t before it’s fixed.
I roll my head to the side to face her, feeling trapped, though it’s not her fault. This is heavy stuff and not what I imagined I’d be dealing with when I decided to see her today. The situation is what it is, though. All we can do is deal with it head-on using any means necessary. “Tell me about this Roberta.”