Yeah, fiancée. Told you it wasn’t intelligent, but it’s the best I’ve got.

“Yes, Palmetto is just north of it,” Ellie says with such joy, while Dave moves his hand around her waist in a protective embrace.

“Fiancée?” he asks after clearing his throat. “You’re engaged, Cane?” There’s genuine interest in his eyes and the tension that was collecting in his shoulders is slowly easing.

“Yup.”

“Huh, I’m surprised.”

I can’t read him. Does he believe me? Is he testing me? Am I making this exponentially worse? I hope to fuck not. I don’t want to lose this deal.

I refuse to let it slip through my fingers, not when I’m so close. To have those properties would be exponentially beneficial to our portfolio, especially with what we have planned for them. And to snag a deal with the illusive Dave Toney would make me that much more victorious. My business mind takes over, leaving my common sense to the wind.

So, before I can change my mind on what’s about to come out of my mouth, I swallow hard and say, “Yup, engaged and . . . expecting.”

The minute the lie leaves my lips, a gross feeling takes over, because fuck, I know how hard some women try to get pregnant, and to lie about something like that . . . hell, it doesn’t feel right. But like I said, common sense is nowhere to be found at this moment, it’s pure idiotic instinct.

“Really?” Ellie cheers. “Oh my gosh.” She rubs her belly. “So are we. Dave, isn’t that exciting?”

“That really is.” Dave’s face morphs from unsure, protective boyfriend to . . . to a look I haven’t seen on him before. Compassion.

Understanding.

Dare I say—camaraderie?

I stick my hands in my suit pants pockets to keep them from fidgeting as I tell the biggest goddamn lie of my life.

“Yeah, my grandma introduced me to her back in Peachtree. It was one of those love-at-first-sight meet-cutes.”

Ellie clasps her hands together. “Oh, I love meet-cutes.”

I shrug. “Yeah, and we hit it off quickly.” I attempt to gaze off toward the sky as I think about my imaginary pregnant fiancée and how much I *gulp* love her. “We did things a little backwards, with getting pregnant first, but I guess we’ve never done anything right, according to society’s timelines.”

“Same,” Dave says, and I see it, right there in his eyes. A new appreciation for me. This is what the boys were talking about. This was what Dave needed, to see me as a “human.”

This is me, meeting Dave on a new level. Connecting on a new level. In this moment, he doesn’t see me as the flashy, take-no-prisoners businessman, but rather, someone he can ask out for a beer and talk through his worries about becoming a father.

This might very well be exactly the kind of in I needed. A little chitchat, an acute white lie that isn’t going to hurt anyone. He doesn’t have to actually meet this imaginary girl. He doesn’t even need to know much about her. Just the idea of her makes me that much more appealing.

Huh, maybe this wasn’t such a bad idea after all.

Maybe this was actually pure brilliancy at its finest.

Mark my words—by this time tomorrow, he’ll be calling me up, no longer willing to sit on my offer, but more likely willing to take it.

Huxley Cane, you’re an absolute genius.

“Dave, wouldn’t it be absolutely divine to have Huxley and his fiancée over for dinner?”

Ehhh, what now?

Dinner?

Ellie clasps her hands together and continues, “It would be so lovely to talk with people in our same situation.” Leaning forward, Ellie says, “Family has been less than thrilled about us waiting to get married until after the baby is born. My parents are quite traditional.”

Sweat breaks out on my upper lip as I try to keep my face neutral.

A dinner date.

With my “fiancée.”

Oh . . . fuck.

Abort, Cane. ABORT!

“That would be wonderful,” Dave says with a jovial smile.

FUCK!

“How does Saturday night work?” he continues.

Saturday night?

Double fuck!

That’s four days from now.

Four fucking days to not only find a fiancée, but a pregnant fiancée.

Huxley Cane, you’re no genius, you’re an absolute moron.

“Oh, give him a second to talk about it with his girl,” Ellie says. I’d say thank God for Ellie, but the anxiety-ridden dinner date was her idea. “Why don’t you get back to Dave and then let me know if it’s a go. I love cooking. I could make us a real southern meal if you’d like.”

My mind is already formulating excuses as to why my fiancée and I won’t be able to make Saturday work.

“And maybe we can talk about the deal some more,” Dave says with a genuine smile.

Fuck.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

Can’t say no, now. Not at the risk of securing the deal.

Christ.

Despite the desert that is my mouth, I swallow hard and nod. “Yup.” My voice cracks. “Saturday sounds great.”

“Wonderful.” Ellie claps her hands. “Oh, I can’t wait. I’m going to make my best peach cobbler and collard greens. Dave will exchange information with you.”

“Perfect,” I say with a shaky smile. What the hell am I getting myself into?

“Oh, babe, we’re going to be late. Let’s stop by the deli after our class—that okay?” Dave asks.

“As long as I can get double the pickles,” Ellie says while pressing a kiss to Dave’s lips.

The PDA makes my stomach roll. It’s not that I find them repulsive, but it’s a stark reminder of the hole I just dug for myself.

“Okay, we’re off to Lamaze class. Talk soon,” Dave says with a wave.

I give them a wave in return, hoping my hand doesn’t look shaky, and without going into the deli, I turn around and head back to the office, my mind swirling with how to get out of this fuck-up.

Huxley Cane, you’re a complete and utter moron.

OceanofPDF.com

Chapter Two

LOTTIE

Hands on the steering wheel, I stare out at my childhood home and also current place of residence, a small bungalow that has been in the family for years. I mean . . . years. Grandma Pru bought it back in the fifties and passed it on to my mom, who raised me and my sister, Kelsey, all by herself.

The white stucco has faded over the years and looks more cream than anything, and the red clay tile roof needs more repairs than what Mom can afford despite her live-in boyfriend of thirteen years, Jeff, wanting to replace it for her.

Speaking of Jeff, he’s out in the front yard in his oversized jean shorts and classic white undershirt, pushing his mower. Jeff always has an unlit cigarette dangling from his mouth, because even though he doesn’t smoke it, ever, he finds comfort in knowing that he could if he wanted. Don’t ask me about the psychology behind it; he’s great to my mom and he’s been a wonderful sounding board over the past ten years for me and my sister as well. So, if a cigarette dangles from his mouth, so be it. Could be worse.

But Jeff being in the front yard creates a flaw in my ability to bring my box of office things into my room without questions. And I don’t want any questions from Jeff or my mom. They can’t find out about Angela firing me. That would be a debilitating disaster.

No, they can NEVER find out.

Why?

Well, because they were the ones who begged and pleaded for me to find another job that wouldn’t include me working for someone with whom I’ve shared a toxic relationship for years.

But you know how it goes. Parents know nothing, we know everything, and then we have to eat our freaking words later on when we realize . . . should’ve listened to said parents.

Ughhh.

Not wanting Jeff to become suspicious, I get out of my dilapidated VW Bug, leaving the box in the back, strap my purse over my shoulder, and plaster on a beautiful smile that I know will bring joy to Jeff’s day.