âOr so Iâve heard.â
âThen I branched into gravel, and now I supply sand for corporate and military contracting jobs in the Middle East. The end.â
âYou send sand to the Middle East. Like, the desert?â
Jake nodded. âThe sand over there is too fine for sandblasting concrete. We use a proprietary processing method and ship it over.â
âYou built thisââshe gestured to the cashmere and the polished walnut panels and the leather upholsteryââout of sand and gravel. Thatâs kind of . . .â
âRedneck. I know.â
Where had that come from? ââRedneckâ is not the word I would use to describe you.â
He watched her expression. âDisappointed Iâm not part of a seedy underworld syndicate?â
âNo,â she said, a bit too quickly.
âWhat about you?â he countered. âHow do I know
you
donât have a criminal past?â
âSeriously?â She glanced down at her outfit. âLook at me.â
âIâm looking. The suit and the pearls could be a façade.â
âTheyâre not.â
âFor all I know, you could be an undercover cop or a Russian spy.â
âNo.â She sighed. âI am exactly as buttoned-up and responsible as I look.â
âYou just flew off to Vegas to marry a stranger.â
âA stranger who
doesnât
have a criminal past or a loan shark after him.â She snuggled back into her cashmere cocoon. âOoh, so rebellious.â
He laughed and closed the window shade. âBaby steps.â
Just as she was drifting back to sleep, Brighton sat up straight, gasping. âKira.â
âWho?â Jake asked.
âMy friend Kira. I was at the bar with her last night. She has no idea what happened to me.â Brighton scrambled to straighten her skirt and grab her purse. âI need to call her right now. Can I use my cell in flight?â
âSure.â
Brighton entered her password to unlock her phone, then gasped as she looked at the image on the screen. âOh no. Oh no no no.â
âWhat?â Jake moved to sit next to her. He still smelled freshly laundered, with just a hint of woodsy cologne. It was like the laws of physics and hangovers didnât apply to him.
âI texted Colin last night.â She felt light-headed. âAfter the drive-through. I donât remember any of this, but the time stamp says one a.m. Why didnât someone take away my phone?â
âBecause youâre a professional woman whoâs clearly capable of making her own decisions.â
âWhat have I done?
What have I done?
â Brighton scrolled through the texts she had sent to her ex.
All twenty-eight of them.
Photos of the limo.
Photos of the private jet.
Photos of Brighton and Jake holding up the freshly signed marriage certificate and a bottle of champagne.
âOh my God,â Brighton whispered. âI sent these to my fiancé. I mean, my
ex
-fiancé.â
Jake started laughing. âWhen did we get another bottle of champagne?â
And then, as if the pictures werenât bad enough, Brighton noticed the typo â and autocorrect-riddled captions sheâd included with each photo:
Floying commercial is so pleb
Look at the smolder on this guy
Not to mention the hair
Itâs like heâs the lost Hemsworth brother
Marrying a Stranger: I WIN!!!!!!
âIâm dying.â She pulled the blanket over her head. âIâm dead. How will I ever go back to New Jersey?â
âYou know what the great thing is about marrying me?â Jake said. âYou donât have to.â
Brighton yanked the blanket down. âOf course I do. What about my job?â
âQuit,â he suggested. âItâs your screw-up summer, remember?â
âScrewing up my summer is one thing, but I donât want to screw up my whole life.â
He gave her an