Everything made perfect sense, but something about his delivery was off.
He narrowed his eyes, and she could practically feel the judgment rolling off him. “Have they really never seen him before?”
“No,” she said sharply, putting her hands on her hips. “Not that it’s any of your business.”
“Not even photos?” His brow lifted as though a new idea had occurred to him. “Wait. Does he even exist?”
Her mouth dropped in shock. “Of course he exists!”
“Then why no photos?”
Her back stiffened. “I have some photos of him. Just not very many. And I guess they’re a little blurry.”
“You have to admit that’s pretty weird, since you were supposedly together for two years.”
She gasped. “Who are you to judge me? You’ve been conscious and coherent all day, yet you were just sitting in a strange woman’s kitchen pretending to be her fiancé!”
“Now, Megan. I wouldn’t call you strange. A little eccentric maybe.”
She balled her fists and groaned in frustration. “Are you some creepy stalker? How did you know I’d been with Jay two years?”
“Your mother. She’s very chatty when she’s in a good mood.”
She covered her face with her hands. “I still don’t understand how this happened.” Dropping her arms to her sides, she glared at him. “What are you doing here?”
“I told you. Your parents thought I was your fiancé.”
“I mean, why didn’t you correct them?”
He quirked his brow and smirked at her. “Says the woman who’s getting married in three days to a made-up groom.”
She stomped her foot. “I did not make him up!”
He began to pace at the foot of her bed, his pure masculinity a sharp contrast to the white and lavender ruffled comforter. “Look, in hindsight, it probably wasn’t the smartest decision to call you my fiancée when I left the terminal—especially after you told me that your mother was picking you up—but I didn’t know what else to do. I tried to explain the misunderstanding, but before I knew it, I was riding in your mother’s Navigator to Blue Springs, Missouri.” He spun around to stare at her. “Your mother is frightening.”
“I told you!”
He grabbed her hand and sat down on the bed, guiding her to sit next to him. “Look. You need someone to stand in for your fake boyfriend—”
“He’s not fake!”
“—and your parents think I’m him. We can make this work for you.”
“What are you talking about?” she asked, ignoring the fact that his touch sent flutters through her stomach. She jerked her hand free.
If he was offended, he didn’t let on. “We’ll let them continue to think I’m here to marry you. Then I’ll act like a jerk and break up with you in front of them. That way I’ll take all the blame, which gets you off the hook. You have to admit that it’s the perfect plan. Your mother won’t kill you, and you might not even have to return all those toasters.”
“I didn’t register for toasters. I registered for a bagel oven.”
He looked taken aback. “You seriously registered for your fake wedding? How far were you going to take this anyway?”
She gritted her teeth, seething. “I had a fiancé. His name is Jay Connors. He’s an investment banker, and he lives in downtown Seattle in a condo that overlooks Puget Sound.”
His head jerked back in disgust. “An investment banker. You can’t be serious.”
“What’s wrong with dating an investment banker?”
“Nothing. If you were really engaged to one. But if you made the guy up, you could have at least given him a more exciting career. Like a firefighter. Or a trapeze artist.”
“And what is it that you do, Mr. McMillan?”
“I’m an entrepreneur.”
She rolled her eyes. “Like that’s any better. Isn’t that a fancy way of saying you don’t know what to do with your life?”
He ignored her insult and pressed on. “What do your parents know about me?”
“They don’t know anything! I just met you.”
“Not me. Him. Your fake fiancé. The one you made up.”
“I didn’t make him up!” she shouted.
“Then show me a photo.”
“I don’t have to prove a damn thing to you.”
He smirked in triumph.
Damn him. Why did she care what he thought? Yet she found herself digging her phone out of her purse anyway. She scrolled through her photos, then stopped. “Here’s a picture of us at a Seahawks game.”
Josh took the phone and stared at it for several seconds. “This? That looks like you’ve photoshopped your head into a bad photo of James Van Der Beek.”
“The guy from Dawson’s Creek? I’m more than a little frightened you know who he is.”
He shrugged. “Hey, my college girlfriend Trisha was obsessed with that show. I watched it with her. You could have used a photo of Brad Pitt or someone more current, you know.”
“Wouldn’t that be kind of obvious?”
He lifted his brow with a smirk. “So you admit it’s a fake.”
“I didn’t fake this photo!” She took a deep breath to regain control. Pressing her lips together, she gave a slight nod before continuing in an ultra-calm voice. “So his face isn’t very clear. The camera on my phone sucks.”
He tossed the phone back to her. “I’m not convinced, but that’s not the point,” he added when she opened her mouth to protest. “We have a mission.” He made sure he had her full attention. “I’ll make myself look like an ass and break up with you, saving you from your mother’s wrath.”
She narrowed her eyes, her suspicion building. “Why would you do this?”
“Because I’m a nice guy.” He grinned, his whole face lighting up, and in that moment she could see why the bitchy flight attendant had been so determined to snag him. If she hadn’t been so suspicious of his motives, it would be easy to fall for that grin.
“Try again.”
He shrugged with a good-natured smile. “I have my reasons.” When she started to talk, he cut her off. “Look, I’m here in Kansas City for family reasons. I’d prefer not to be here at all—no offense—but this gives me a chance to procrastinate and not deal with the drama.”
She of all people could understand avoiding family issues, but wasn’t impersonating someone’s fiancé a bit extreme? Then again, she’d flown home to her own wedding with no groom, so who was she to judge?
“How do I know you’re not a thief? Or a murderer. Maybe you’re waiting until the middle of the night and you plan to kill us all in our sleep.”
“You have a very active imagination. It makes me wonder even more about the existence of your boyfriend. Why would I go to so much trouble?”
“I don’t know,” she said, annoyed. “How would I know how a serial killer thinks?”
“First I’m a terrorist, and now I’m a serial killer? I think you need to make up your mind.”