“I can’t take your money as a loan either.”
“Why not? I’ve got some I’m not using.”
“Because…” Frustration sent the response tumbling out of her mouth, unfiltered. “You wouldn’t understand, because you’ve never had to worry about money. The stakes in life go down considerably when you have that kind of security. Everything’s easier. I don’t have the same safety net. I’ve had to earn every damn thing I’ve gotten. It’s who I am, and what I expect of myself. Right now I have no income, no collateral, and a bunch of debt. I can’t qualify for a loan. Taking one from you is just a different brand of bailout.”
Without direction, she pulled to the shoulder beside the privacy hedge demarking the perimeter of his parents’ property. She’d never been here before, but she knew the Booker family home the same way locals in Hyannis Port knew the Kennedy compound—from a distance, on the other side of gates and walls.
He stared out the passenger window while red rose under his cheekbones and a muscle in his jaw ticked. “Believe it or not, money doesn’t buy everything. I’ve actually had to work for a few things, too.”
Great. She’d offended him. He resented implications his family’s wealth or connections afforded him advantages, and, in all fairness, he never played the wealth and connections cards to get ahead. Still, they were there, putting him ahead of the game even if he preferred not to leverage them. A sighted person walking around with his eyes closed could tell himself he understood what it was like to be blind, but he didn’t. Regardless, the man had stood shoulder-to-shoulder with fire fighters, his deputies, and the rest of the emergency responders, and tried to rescue her business. He deserved respect and she hadn’t meant to imply otherwise. “I’m sorry. I just meant—”
“I know what you meant.”
His terse reply whipped the air between them, like a battle flag snapping in the wind. After a tense moment of silence, he blew out a tired breath. “Lauralie…” His voice trailed off and he ran his palm over the back of his neck. Booker, tongue-tied? It was adorable and disconcerting at once.
“How about a temporary job?” he finally asked.
The question took her by surprise. She straightened. “My livelihood went down in flames today. If you know of a job, I’m all ears.”
“My sister’s getting married on Valentine’s Day.”
“Congratulations. Don’t tell me she’s waited until now to think about a wedding cake—”
“No.” He cleared his throat. “As far as I know, she’s got all that handled. The job doesn’t involve baking, it involves acting.”
Huh? “I don’t understand.”
“This wedding puts me in an awkward position. I could use your help getting clear of it. I’m willing to pay you for your time.”
“Sorry. I’m confused. How does your sister’s wedding land you in an awkward position? Do you dislike her fiancé, or something? Hey.” A nasty thought formed in her mind and left a queasy suspicion in the pit of her stomach. “Does this acting job involve me hitting on your sister’s fiancé so you can expose him as a faithless, gold-digging manwhore?”
“Jesus, no. Nothing like that. Aaron’s a great guy. Solid. And if I doubted his motives, I’d have no problem confronting him directly, not resorting to a sting operation.”
The queasy feeling faded, but a little envy swept in, flowing toward Booker’s sister. What would it be like to have a protective family looking out for her? She’d probably never know. “So, you’re…happy for them?”
“Yes, but on a personal level, I’m fucked, because as soon as Kate and Aaron announced their engagement, I became collateral damage.”
“How so?”
“My mother convinced herself she engineered their match. She introduced them, and claims credit for finding them their soul mates.”
“Aw. That’s sweet.”
“It’s delusional. And terrifying. The woman already believes she knows better than the rest of us how we should live our lives. Now she also thinks she knows who we should live them with.”
She couldn’t help herself. She laughed. “Okay, so your mom is a busybody with a newfound knack for matchmaking. I don’t see how this impacts you. You’re not the one walking down the aisle on account of her.”
“If she gets her way, I will be. The next match she intends to make is mine.”
Laughter threatened again, but she managed to hold it in. “What’s wrong, Booker, not ready to settle down? You know, I think you should reconsider. I mean, you’re well into your mid-thirties now—”
“I’m thirty-two,” he shot back, “which is early thirties, no matter how you do the math, but certainly old enough to know I don’t want or need my mother interfering in my life.”
“You poor, poor man. Hey, I have a suggestion. Why don’t you grow a pair and tell mommy to mind her own business?” Big words coming from a woman who handled her own mother by paying the woman to get lost. But Booker didn’t need to know that. Nobody needed to know that.
He shook his head. “Trying to change her mind once she’s locked onto an objective is a waste of breath. She’s got me in her sights, like a sniper. Her ego’s involved, she’s motivated, and for the next six weeks she’s got unprecedented opportunity, in the form of a wedding and half a dozen related events I have no option but to attend. Unless I take countermeasures, she’ll use each and every one of those occasions to shoot single women at me in rapid-fire succession. My only hope is to take away her reason for pulling the trigger.”
“Okay, Sheriff, I’ll bite. How do you plan to convince her you’re bulletproof?”