Page 15 of Accidentally Hitched (Unintentionally Yours #1)

Amanda

I knew when I got this job I would be working with bigger artists.

Playing in the real game and not just from the sidelines.

I hoped that I would have a decent amount of say when it came to what music we would be writing and pitching.

That I could let my creative freedom run rampant in the studio the way it does in my head.

And I dreamed of using top of the line equipment to execute it all.

But I never imagined that it would all come true and for more money than I’ve ever thought I could make.

I also never thought that I’d wind up in the Hardin family and that I would be going to elite dinners at posh restaurants in NoCa with three month waiting lists and private performances by rising artists.

Yet here we are.

I’ve pinched myself enough times to leave marks on the inside of my thigh and I haven’t woken up. Which means I’m not dreaming.

I will say, though, that I wish I’d had more time to prepare for this.

I have literally nothing to wear.

I own a lot of dresses but most of them look better suited for concert going than cocktail drinking.

Between being a rule following, mother figure to my younger sister by day and a music writing alt girl at night I supposed I’m a bit of a walking contradiction, and my closet currently doesn’t make the cut.

Other than maybe the dress I wore in Vegas.

When Kate chose it for me, shoving me with the dress into a dressing room and holding me hostage until I stripped down and walked out in it, I swore that if I did wear the dress it would only be in Vegas and after that, it would just happen to end up in a Goodwill.

Not that it’s not gorgeous, it is. But blood red, shapely Marilyn Monroe style dresses aren’t my go-to so I planned on tossing it, along with the memories.

But I couldn’t…

And now, here I am again, pulling that dress on because it’s the only thing in my closet that comes close to looking chic enough for cocktails on the rooftop of Seared Steakhouse and Cocktails.

I am ready to walk out the door when I get a text. My heart does a somersault when I see that it’s from Callum.

Callum: I just pulled up to your apartment complex.

Amanda: Oh. I didn’t know we were riding together?

Callum: We’re married…

I really, really wish he’d stop reminding me.

And even if it’s necessary, it would be nice if he didn't say it so casually.

I start to type out a text telling him I can’t go through with this. But I think of the studio. Of the paychecks. Of the way I feel when I get up in the morning knowing I am about to go write music at Hardin Records and I backspace until the text screen is clean.

Amanda: I’m on my way down.

I shake my head at my own inability to back down and tell myself that this, all of this, is for the greater good.

I just have to play along.

And with how many games I’ve played to survive living in my sister’s shadow over the years, I think I can manage one little fake relationship and a hidden accidental marriage.

“Remember,” Callum says as we ride the elevator up to the roof of Seared. “Just smile. Look like you’re supposed to be here.”

“Am I though? Supposed to be here I mean.” I shift my weight tugging at my dress. It feels weird wearing it anywhere other than the strip of Vegas under the lights of the city.

“You are my wife, legally and for our agreement. So yes. As far as everyone in that room is concerned, I chose you. I want you. And everyone in there is going to believe it.”

“I’m glad one of us is confident. I’m not great at working rooms,” I mumble, pulling at the hem again. God, was it this tight in Vegas? My boobs are shoved up and out so far I can hardly see my feet. I could have toilet paper stuck to the heel of my stiletto and I wouldn’t even know.

“We aren’t just going to work the room, Amanda. We are going to rule it. Also,” Callum reaches out and takes my hand in his. “Stop fussing with the dress. You look incredible.”

My breath catches in the back of my throat and my heart slams into my ribcage.

Is this…acting?

The door opens and we are still standing there, staring at each other, his mouth close enough to mine that if I simply tilted my chin up, our lips would touch.

But he looks away, his jawline sharp and an intense gaze in his eyes.

The elevator literally opens to the rooftop lounge and heads turn our direction.

Callum puts his hand on my lower back, his skin warm on mine, and he guides me out.

“Just keep smiling,” he says almost without moving his lips.

We make our way through the small lounge, past the tiny candle-lit tables occupied by formally dressed couples.

A bar stretches across the wall lined with hundreds of bottles all lit with a warm orange light.

We head out the back to the patio overlooking the city.

There, a handful of people sit at the only table.

The Hardin’s.

I recognize Noah, the agent from yesterday who led me upstairs. With him is a thin woman in a sleek black dress. She has warm brown skin and an easy smile and a tattoo of a black rose on her collarbone.

Next to Noah is Avery. I know him because he looks similar to Callum but a little rougher.

His features are sharper, and he’s got a glint in his eyes and a mischief on his lips that tells me he is the more reckless of the Hardin twins.

A tall, also thin, woman with long straight blonde hair and a pink ball gown is sitting across from Avery next to the girl with the tattoo.

There are two vacant chairs next to Avery and the blonde, saved for us I assume.

And after that, sitting at the head of the table is Hiram Hardin. I know it’s him because I’ve looked him up more than once. He’s also all over the internet and there are several framed photos of him throughout Hardin Records.

He stands up, along with Noah and Avery.

“Son. You made it.” Hiram shakes Callum’s hand before his eyes trail over to me. “And who is your guest?” His eyes fall on me hard and it takes everything in me not to curl up into a ball or even leap off the edge of the building.

I very much do not fit in here.

But Callum doesn’t waver. He doesn’t miss a beat. And his hand is still sitting warm on my back. “This is Amanda. She is our new writer.”

“I see. I didn’t realize we were choosing random plus ones. Maybe I would have asked the secretary to join us.”

I can feel the heat in my face, as much as I try to keep it hidden. I am nothing short of mortified. But then Hiram lets out a haughty laugh. I look at the table and see Avery smiling as well. Noah’s face hasn’t changed (it never does), and the girls look bored.

Callum doesn’t so much as blink.

Instead, he pulls my chair out for me next to the blonde, and I sit. I very, very much could use a drink. Though the idea of eating anything right now makes me want to puke.

I also feel disoriented not sitting next to Callum, but I guess it’s customary to sit across from your partner.

The waitress is beautifully prompt in offering me a drink menu and I immediately order a gin and tonic without even looking.

“Would you like the Aspen?” she asks and I just stare, reaching for the menu again. “I’m sorry, I don’t know what–”

“It has muddled blueberries and juniper berries in it,” the girl with Noah says with a smile.

“Oh, that sounds lovely. I’ll take one of those.”

I giggle nervously and it’s an instant regret. Avery is arching an eyebrow, Barbie is disgusted with me, and Hiram’s eyes are heavy on me.

The waitress doesn’t even ask Callum what he wants. She probably knows what he wants. She probably knows what everyone wants because they all belong here, and I don’t.

Minutes later, she sets our drinks down and another server brings out some appetizers for the table to share. Oysters, caviar, and the fanciest charcuterie board I’ve ever seen.

I reach for my drink, give it a quick stir, earning me my fourteenth dirty look from Barbie and take a sip.

It’s lovely. Florally and sweet and heavy on the juniper. In other words, it tastes expensive, and I don’t hate it.

“So, Callum, you still haven’t introduced us.” Hiram says, his gaze melting a hole in my face. He’s smiling but I know better than to believe it’s real. Or that he likes me. I mean I technically work for the man, and he has no idea who I am.

“Of course,” Callum sets his drink down and smiles at me. I can’t tell if it’s real or not. On one hand, I’ve seen this man smile. Laugh even. It took getting him half naked and a little drunk, but he did it. “This is Amanda, our new ghostwriter.”

“This is Amanda?” Hiram asks, sitting up straight and sweeping his eyes over me like he hasn’t just spent the last eight minutes staring at me. “Isn’t that interesting.”

I look at Callum, hoping for a clue as to what that means. Good? Bad? I really need a bone here.

I decide to drink more instead.

“I hope it’s okay that I joined you,” I say, looking around the table. “I just started and–”

“It is kind of odd. New hires aren’t usually a part of these dinners,” Avery says flatly, and I can feel the heat rising to my face, starting in my chest.

Callum sits up straighter, takes a sip of his drink and clears his throat. “I invited her because she is my partner.”

“In…songwriting?” Avery asks.

“In life,” he states.

Shit.

Barbie looks up. “You mean like…you’re a couple? How cute. I’m Zoe.”

Of course you are.

“Nice to meet you.” I extend my hand with an equally plastic smile.

This is one of those ‘we will be friends by social association but if I ran into you at the grocery store, we would pretend not to see each other’ sort of things.

Also, I’d never run into her at a grocery store.

She probably has Ken do her shopping for her.

And speaking of Ken.

“You’re dating?” Avery asks, looking at Callum with only his eyes. It’s almost weird looking at them from this angle. They’re twins but very much not the same person. The only thing similar between them is the fight for dominance.