Page 42 of Merry Fake Bride

“Gimme a minute.” Martin unbuckles himself and hurries from the car, disappearing out into the storm with an umbrella in hand.

I glimpse him at the hood of the car before he pops it and vanishes behind the metal.

“What’s wrong?” Devon’s anger is replaced with concern and her eyes meet mine for a moment.

“Whatever it is, Martin’s the one who can fix it,” I say confidently. But the seconds tick by and Martin doesn’t reappear.

Concerned, I grab the umbrella from before. “Stay here.”

Climbing out of the car, I shut the door behind me and against the powerful storm, I rush to the hood of the car.

Martin’s bent over looking at the engine and making worrying sounds while touching things I could only dream the name of.

“What’s happened?” I ask, leaning with him.

“If I told you, would you understand?” He smirks at me while turning a knob.

“No, but I can listen.”

“In short, we’re fucked. Something blew. It might be because of the water but I can’t tell with all this…” He gestures around with a groan. “Water.”

“Right. Shit.” Straightening up, I glance around at the street and am pleasantly surprised to find we’re not far from my penthouse. “Do you think you can fix it?”

“Nah, you’ll need George for this. This is beyond me. Sorry, Boss.”

“It’s not your fault, Martin. Thank you.”

I turn to hurry back to the car only to find Devon standing a few feet away, once again getting soaked.

Moving my umbrella over her immediately, I forgo scolding her and flash her a soft smile.

“The car’s done for, I’m afraid. I’m so sorry. But my penthouse isn’t far. Come home with me, Devon. Get some rest while my personal mechanic works on it and in the morning, I’ll take you home.”

She looks at me like I’ve grown a second head.

“Comehomewith you? Are you?—”

Several claps of thunder make her jump and somehow, the downpour gets heavier.

Whatever argument resting on her tongue is swallowed and she presses her lips together. “Fine.”

It’s not how I dreamed of bringing Devon back to my penthouse, but it works.

After ensuring Martin will be safe until George can reach him, I take Devon with me through the flooded New York streets.

She walks close to me, huddled in on herself under my umbrella while I carefully keep my stride in pace with hers so she doesn’t have to rush.

She doesn’t speak, but there’s a touch of visible relief on her wet features when we finally make it the two blocks to the lobby of my building.

Her eyes widen as she gazes around at the shiny floors, the exquisite art hanging at the entrance, and the deep mahogany desk behind which sits an armed guard who nods at me in greeting.

They glance Devon over but don’t speak as we hurry to the elevator.

“You really live here? In a place like this?”

Her words tremble almost as violently as her body as she stands a few feet away from me in the elevator.

“Yes,” I reply, fighting the urge to apologize. “My family owns this building.”