Page 105 of Merry Fake Bride

Kairo tuts softly. “Silver Canopy just doesn’t know how to tackle problems, I guess.”

I have no idea what he did or how he pulled this off, but I’m grateful. “Thank you.”

“Martin will take you home,” Kairo says. “Do you still want to join me on Saturday?”

“A fancy party where I can relax for the first time in weeks? Hell yes.”

“Alright, I’ll see you then. Take care, Devon. And let me know when you get home safe.”

“I will do.”

The call ends, and I approach the car while Martin holds the door open. “Home?” he asks.

I hesitate and glance up the street, then catch Martin’s curious gaze. “Actually… this party on Saturday.”

“Mmhmm?”

“How fancy is it?”

Martin winces. “I’ve worked with Kairo for over ten years and I still feel underdressed.”

Pressing my lips together, I nod slowly.

“But,” Martin adds quickly, “I think I know just the place that can help you, if a dress is what you’re looking for?”

“Could you?” My brow lifts. “I don’t want to embarrass Kairo.”

“You could never,” Martin assures me with a smile. “But yes, I know the perfect place.”

27

KAIRO

There’s nothing more draining than a charity Christmas gala in upstate New York where everyone who’s anyone makes an appearance to persuade the press and their friends that they really have spent all year doing something good to help those less fortunate.

I watch them all from the upper floor, leaning against the gold railing and gazing down at the sea of wealth before me.

Hundreds of checks will be written tonight to ease consciences and make sure those with enormous social media followings are seen doing good, so every ordinary person who hangs wistfully onto their every word feels like those with more are just like everyone else.

Last year, I was exactly like them. Hell, six months ago, I was the same.

Now, I dodge phone calls from Ryan, my CFO, who’s so furious at losing the land deal that the last voicemail he left me was just enraged nonsense that I’m not even sure was English.

Mom would be the same, but she’s far too concerned with her current public image to risk any conversation that would keep me from turning up here.

Mrs. Sycamore hosting this without her son would be such a scandal that I was almost tempted to blow off the party.

But Devon is coming.

And last we spoke, she sounded insanely excited to come.

So I put on my best blue suit, combed my hair, and sent Martin to escort her while I was wrapped up in promotional press pictures playing the happy son of the Sycamore family.

Luckily, no reporters were dumb enough to ask about the blow to Silver Canopy.

For once, business takes a backseat to charity.

Sinking my teeth lightly into my inner cheek, I stare at the entrance to the hall and will the next person to walk through to be Devon.