Page 16 of It Happened in Vegas

“Good.” I bit my lip. His eyes zeroed in right there.

Richard cleared his throat and gathered his things, chortling once more. “I’m all for it. Whatever gets the job done. Although I expect you both can be professionals about it. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll leave you two to plan your strategy. I have fresh straw arriving any minute for my new cows. Don’t judge me.” With a wink, he exited the room, a little too excited about that.

I waited until he was gone to lash out at Keaton. “Are you nuts? Us, together, pretending to be dates?”

“What could go wrong?” He shrugged, his lips twitching.

“Everything. First of all, we’d be spending a whole lot of time together.”

“So? You’re already invading my space at the brewery as it is,” he pointed out.

“Invading? Is that your issue lately? You want to see less of me? Because I could easily work from here or the guest house and not step foot in your place.” I crossed my arms and arched a brow, waiting for his response.

“I didn’t say that. Don’t mind having you around at all.”

“Then why the grumpy face all week?”

He stepped away on a huff, scratching the back of his head. “It’s this whole business with Starla and the show, that’s all.”

I felt for him. He was too nice of a guy to have gotten paired up with the likes of her at the start of the show. “I never understood what appealed to you about her back then, anyway? Is that the type of woman you go for? Fake breasts and frosted hair?” Oof, I needed to dial back my jealousy.

He arched a brow at me at first, then shook his head, taking a moment to answer like he was self-analyzing. “I don’t know. Shewas super nice to me when I arrived, and then… one thing led to another. By the time I realized she possessed a rather devious personality, it was too late. We were paired up.”

I bristled atone-thing-led-to-another.With the editing on the show, the producers made it appear as though he and Starla slept together almost the first night, a fast-paced affair. I bit my tongue not to ask for the truth—and I had no right to be jealous.

Except if I were his fake date, I’d want to know what I was walking into here. “Starla’s going to hate me if she sees me by your side, won’t she? I don’t relish being the focus of her drama.”

“Starla doesn’t matter. Besides, there are plenty of other couples she could mess with, and I won’t let anything bad happen to you. You’re safe with me.”

“Safe unless…one thing leads to another,” I implied. His lips twitched at that. “We’ll need rules to survive that weekend together.”

“I couldn’t agree more.” He nodded, but before we could hash anything out, his phone buzzed again. He sighed and glanced at it, reading a message. “It’s Jessa. She needs me to get back. Can we hash out our rules of engagement another time?”

“I suppose we have some time before August hits. You might not even like me by then and want to call the whole thing off,” I snickered.

“Highly unlikely.” A crooked smile planted on his face.

“Before you go, can I have Melanie’s phone number? I’d like to see if the producers would be open to some brand placement on the show.”

“Great idea.” He brings up her contact on his phone for me. “Hey, thanks for everything you’ve been working on so far. I am truly impressed.”

“Oh? You’re saying my snooty marketing expertise is making a difference in your business?”

“Fine. I admit you know your stuff, Soph.” He grinned, his eyes twinkling once again as he walked out compared to how he was when this meeting started. What a relief to see.

I could get addicted to those smiling eyes. What was I saying? I already was.

7

FOOTLOOSE

SOPHIE

Fourth of Julyweekend in Holly Creek proved to be a small town ode to patriotism. The entire population of a few thousand had taken the time to attend the events in force, mingling with countless numbers of visitors. I’d heard Jessa say a few buses had even brought tourists down from Canada.

The throngs of people on the street wore their red, white, and blue proudly. Patriotic bunting was attached to every roofline and fence. Kids ran around and waved hand-held flags everywhere. And Keaton’s bar was buzzing so loud with country music, packed with people, he worried it might be a fire hazard.

I had planned on observing—taking notes, absorbing the vibe, making mental marketing checklists like a nerdy anthropologist in denim cutoffs and cowboy boots. But when two of Keaton’s servers called in sick, chaos hit like a child running amok through the brewery with a lit sparkler.

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