Free From Fake to Forever by Kat Cantrell Page B

Meredith, unlike her mother, had always wanted to be more than a wife to someone important. The Grown-Up Pact was supposed to help Meredith figure out what she might be good at besides smiling and traipsing down a runway.
    Instead, she’d left Vegas hung up on a man who didn’t long to recreate their connection the way she did. He’d rather lie about whether it had existed in the first place.
    Perhaps part of her problem with not embracing her inner adult lay in being so stuck in the past. She sighed. She should really let Fantasy Jason go, get Real-Life Jason’s signature on the divorce papers and move on.
    Her cell phone beeped, and when she tapped open the new text message, her brow arched. It was from Jason, with the simple question: Thai for dinner?
    Like last night hadn’t even happened?
    Of course. Because in his mind, it was business as usual.
    Two could play that game. In fact, she’d do herself a favor if she played the game his way and left her emotions out of it.
    She texted him back: With plenty of red pepper sauce.
    Jason replied: Be there in fifteen minutes.
    She couldn’t stop a tiny tendril of hope that dinner might be some kind of apology. A way to say, “Hey, I was just kidding. You rocked me in Vegas and I couldn’t forget it even with brain damage.”
    He made it in ten, and when he swept into her hotel room looking devastating in his grey custom-made Lyn Couture suit, with spiky hair in delicious disarray, her heart fell out of rhythm and she couldn’t breathe for a moment.
    So much for leaving her emotions at the door.
    “How was your day, dear?” she asked a touch more sarcastically than she probably should have, but her not-quite-a-husband had thrown her off balance.
    He shot her a grimace. “We have a problem. Come eat and I’ll tell you about it.”
    Oh. Of course that was the reason for his appearance so soon after the disaster of last night. She tossed the laptop onto the bed.
    Meredith took the take-out box from Jason’s hand and opened it. Pad Thai shrimp. It was her favorite, but far be it from her to read into the selection. There was no way Jason remembered that. Lots of people loved pad Thai. Jason had used his finely honed observation skills to make a good guess, that was all.
    Listlessly, she picked at the food, washing down what little she could stomach with a beer Jason had retrieved from the minibar.
    “What’s the problem?” she asked.
    “Avery put the first part of what must be her plan in motion today.” Jason forked up a mouthful of his red curry beef and took his sweet time chewing. “Several reporters were tipped off to investigate potential labor violations against Lyn’s factory workers. The press ambushed Bettina as she was leaving the office today, shouting for comments about how she was running a sweatshop right here in Manhattan.”
    Meredith scowled. “That’s ridiculous. I hope Bettina put them in their place.”
    It wasn’t like she really knew it wasn’t true, but Jason was the chief operating officer and there was no way he’d abuse his factory workers. Nor would he let someone else force workers to endure difficult conditions.
    Jason flashed a brief, grateful smile and sobered almost immediately. “I wish she had. But she’s not a spokesperson. Put her in a room with reams of fabric and she’s good for hours. Talking to the press, not so much. The whole thing upset her.”
    “And you think Avery was behind this?”
    “I’d put money on it.”
    He dropped his fork and took a long pull from his beer, massaging the back of his neck as he swallowed. Tension put fine lines around his mouth and eyes, sullying his classically handsome face, and she could do without that.
    Dropping her own fork, she stood and scooted around behind him to replace his hand with hers, kneading his taut neck muscles for him. He groaned appreciatively and his head tipped back.
    “You don’t have to do that,” he murmured. “Don’t you dare stop.”
    She laughed.