Chapter Six
JAYCE
Jayce deplaned the private jet and scanned the tarmac for his usual driver, Carl. Instead, he spotted his lifelong friend, Mia Larsen, sporting a chauffeur hat and wielding a sign that read Dead Man Walking.
Rolling his carry-on behind him, he strode toward her. “Where’s Carl?”
“I told him to take the day off.”
“And he took orders from you?”
“You know he can’t resist my homemade kettle corn.” She flashed an impish grin.
While Mia had grown up in her mother’s candy store, Sweet Blessings, and knew her way around confections, Jayce had a feeling Carl had been more persuaded by Mia’s mile-long legs and million-dollar smile.
If it weren’t for her oddball style choices—today’s ensemble consisted of a pink sequined shirt under scruffy overalls she’d sheared into cutoff shorts—she could be mistaken for a Vogue cover model.
“Why does the sign say Dead Man Walking?” He tossed his suitcase into the back seat of Mia’s 1967 VW Beetle convertible.
In the warm Los Angeles weather, she religiously rode with the top down.
Although the butter-yellow exterior with hand- painted daisies on both sides drew more unwanted attention than his auspicious black Jeep, he couldn’t deny the fun factor.
“Because by the time we get to Blessings Bay, CeCe’s going to murder you. Or maim you, at the very least.” She hopped into the driver’s seat, ditched the hat, and secured her shoulder-length blond hair with a tie-dyed scarf. “You were planning to drive straight home to clean up your mess, right?”
“What mess?” He climbed into the passenger seat beside her.
No way Mia knew about the fake fiancée fiasco.
He’d explicitly asked Gretchen to keep quiet until he could tell CeCe he’d “spilled the beans” in person.
In reality, he’d planned to beg for her cooperation—and forgiveness—while hoping she’d agree to ride out the bogus engagement for a few days, maybe a week, then they’d publicly announce they’d amicably parted ways.
Of course, they’d have to figure out how to explain the situation to their friends and family, but first things first.
Mia tossed a celebrity gossip magazine on his lap. The cover photo showed CeCe in a stained bathrobe, her hair in a tangled topknot, and some kind of sticky goop on her face. Above the photo, the headline read, “Hollywood Heartthrob Jayce Hunt to Wed Homeless Woman.” Oof. That’s rough.
He cringed. “Maybe we should stop at a store for some body armor?”
“Unless they sell Kevlar at Dummies-R-Us, you’re out of luck,” she teased, heading off the tarmac. “How did this happen?”
Raising his voice to be heard over the wind, Jayce gave Mia the rundown.
Mia shook her head as she listened, but he struggled to read her expression behind her oversize sunglasses. “Why didn’t I know Stacey was seeing someone? I thought we told each other everything.”
Not everything , Jayce thought, with more than one secret in mind.
Ever since they were kids, Mia had followed Jayce around, along with their close friend, Evan Blake.
They treated her like their kid sister, and when Jayce moved to LA to pursue his lifelong dream of becoming Hollywood’s next critically acclaimed screenwriter, Evan and Mia followed.
Of course, life didn’t go exactly according to plan, with Jayce stumbling upon a successful acting career and Evan eventually moving back to Blessings Bay to open his own business.
Mia, on the other hand, had accomplished her goal and had made quite a name for herself as a highly coveted foley artist. She re-created ambient sounds for multimillion-dollar blockbusters, including all his own films, and was known for her creative, outside-the-box techniques that produced impressively realistic results.
His most recent favorite: when she squished mashed potatoes and strawberry Jell-O between her fingers for one of his faux kissing scenes—grossly effective.
“Only a handful of people know about it,” he assured her.
“So, you decided to avoid a fake engagement by faking another engagement?” she asked ruefully. “Please tell me you see the irony.”
“Okay, so it wasn’t my best idea. But in the moment, I couldn’t think of a better one.”
“Why didn’t you ask me to play along? I’d be a fantastic fake fiancée.” She pushed her sunglasses on top of her head, batting her eyelashes. “Why, Jayce, sugar pie, love of my life, of course I’ll marry you! I thought you’d never ask.”
“Is there a reason your impersonation calls for an exaggerated Southern accent?” he asked with a laugh.
“It felt right for the character. Don’t question my methods.”
“Fair enough.”
She shot him a sideways glance. “In all seriousness, not that I mind being passed over as your partner in crime, but is there any particular reason you chose CeCe as your wifey-to-be?”
“ Pretend wife-to-be,” he corrected. His neck suddenly burned hot. He tugged on his collar, avoiding her question.
“It wouldn’t have anything to do with the fact that you’ve been madly in love with her since kindergarten?”
“Good grief,” he groaned, “not again. How many times have we been over this?”
“Clearly not enough for you to finally admit the truth,” she countered wryly. “Just confess already. Why fight it?”
Because I’d never do anything to hurt her . Rather than go down that road, he said, “You have a screw loose. CeCe and I are friends. Best friends. I’d do anything for her, and—”
“She’d do anything for you?” Mia finished for him.
Jayce sat in silence, staring straight ahead as cars zipped past them at breakneck speeds. A particularly reckless red Corvette wove in and out of traffic, putting everyone around him at risk.
Was he doing the same thing? Would his attempt to help Stacey ultimately do more harm than good? Or would the whole thing blow over in a few days, affording Stacey and Rob their chance to ride off into the sunset unscathed?
He instinctively tightened his seat belt. Guess there’s only one way to find out .