Page 9

With my shoes clutched tightly in my hands, I walk out to the impressive living room. The velvet couch is soft under my legs when I sit down and begin working the buckles on my heels.

“Well, the good news is, these rings are bullshit,” Miles says, stepping out of his room while pulling a shirt over his head. A small smirk hits his lips and I realize I’ve been caught drooling over his abs and the thick cut of the V lining his hip bones. I brush my hair back out of my face as he pulls the gold band off his finger. He holds the ring out to me between his thumb and forefinger. And then he crushes it.

“How—”

“It’s plastic.” He nods to me. “Check yours, I’d be willing to bet they were bought from the same gumball machine. Or keep it on.” He shrugs his shoulders when I don’t take it off. “Just washingyour hands two or three times, it’s liable to turn your finger green though.”

I look down at the little gold band and rip it off as if it’s just burned me. Not for fear of it turning my finger green but because I can’t believe I hadn't taken it off already.

“I’ll have someone look at the photos and figure out where they were taken. Check out the chapel and see how legitimate this whole thing is.”

I want to be concerned with how calm he is, but I’ve not said more than ten words in the last thirty minutes. It’s like my brain can’t choose between fight or flight and I’m stuck in freeze mode.

“What if it is?” I finally bring my eyes to his. “Legitimate, I mean. What if it is?”

“Then I’ll have it taken care of.” Again, just a casual shrug. The picture of unfazed.

I don’t blink. I just stare at his back as he moves around the loveseat and heads into the kitchen.

“The coffee here is trash, but do you want some anyway?”

My cold fingers wrap around my phone on the marble coffee table. I stand, fighting the urge to limp in my shoes, and I head to the door, passing Miles in the kitchen on my way. Twisting the handle and giving it a pull, I turn around to face him. “I have to go,” my breathy voice comes out no louder than a whisper.

Miles walks over, and pulls the door back, leaning his shoulder against it. “I’ll be in touch.”

I don’t blink. I don’t even look at him. I muster up the ability to nod once and then I head down the hallway.

If beingin the car on a Sunday, driving home from Vegas hungover was bad, doing it after having accidentally gotten married is fucked.

“Just so you know when I said ‘still plenty of time to make bad decisions,’ I meant like spending $15 on one slice of pizza bad, not getting married to a stranger bad,” Taylor says.

If I had the energy, I would reach over and hit her. But I just stay staring out the window.

It turns out Miles is in fact not a doctor, but a lawyer. Which would explain how he managed to be so unbelievably calm about the entire thing. I, on the other hand, came to Vegas to forget about the fact that I quit my job and to ignore my problems for two days and I’m leaving with a problem bigger than I could have ever imagined.

A sigh escapes me as I continue to look out the window, unable to even respond.

Taylor reaches across to me, grabbing my hand from my lap. “Mila, babe, it's going to be okay. Miles will figure it out, according to Jonas, ‘Miles Cameron is the best lawyer in San Francisco,’” she says, in a goofy baritone voice. “He’s going to take care of it. And honestly, he was hot as fuck.”

That brings my attention from the vast nothingness of outside to finally look at her. “And what does that matter?”

“There could be worse things.” She shrugs her shoulders with a devilish smile and I spend the next few hours making a list of things I can think of that are worse than waking up married to a hot stranger. Number one: trench foot.

Miles

Talan should already be waitingfor me in my office. I texted him after the plane ride from Hell last night letting him know it was urgent. Jonas knew something was up, but thankfully he was still too hungover to annoy me about it and instead, he just slept the whole way back.

Walking through the offices of Smith & Mitchell this morning, my head is high. I should be walking with sweaty palms, and uncombed hair, given the terrible sleep I got last night, but today I’m going to do what I do best and get shit done. Talan to his credit is waiting outside my office door by the time I reach him. I motion to him, “Inside, now.”

“Good morning, Mr. Cameron. Today is the big day.” I like Talan enough, he’s helpful in the sense that he always gets what I need, and even more, I like that he keeps my business private. Which is exactly what I need right now. Discretion.

When I finally figured out which chapel was responsible for allowing two completely intoxicated strangers to legally bind themself together, I went down there and secured all the paperwork. I couldn’t be sure if the woman at the front desk was there the night before, but unfortunately for her, she was there yesterday morning and caught the brunt of my wrath.

I called a car to drive me back to my hotel, and for the first time, my facade about this whole debacle slipped when I saw the signatures—if you could even call them that. It’s obvious we were very intoxicated. My knuckles turned white as I gripped that paper before slamming the file into the seat next to me.

All I could think about was the sheer panic in Camila’s eyes. My body physically reacted to how scared she was and that alone was almost enough to unnerve me. I’ve worked with people in a million and one different situations. People cry, scream, laugh, panic, and find immense relief around me every day. I might not be a people person, but it comes with the job and I know how to fake it. I didn’t become the best at what I do by getting caught up in other people's emotions. But yesterday morning, when I looked into Camila’s eyes, I felt something tight in my chest that I couldn’t recognize. I knew I needed to be the one to keep calm for the both of us.

So on the flight home last night, I reminded myself who I am, and what I’m capable of. And I have to deal with this on the day that they’re supposed to announce my promotion. Fuck. Me. “Not a great morning, but you’re going to help me fix it, Talan,” I say, sitting down at my desk and opening my laptop to start the day as if it’s any other.