Page 7 of Wicked God
Understatement of the year. My father practically glowed when he announced the arrangement with Dean Carter. The merger of political power and old money, he called it. A union to secure our family’s dominance for generations.
I’ve never even met Tiffany Carter. Not once. That should tell you everything about how invested I am in this so-called perfect match.
“She seems fine, I guess,” I say. “Young, beautiful, well-educated. Everything a political wife should be.”
“But?”
“But she’s twenty-two, Cam. Fresh out of college. She should be living her life, not shackled to some stranger. The last thing either of us needs is a marriage built on resentment.”
Cameron stops tossing the ball. “You know, for someone who’s supposedly heartless in business, you sure have a conscience about this.”
“I’m not heartless. I’m practical. There’s a difference.”
“Is there?” He leans forward, eyes glinting. “So what’s your plan?”
I hesitate. “I haven’t figured it out yet.”
I need more time.
“What if you got a fake fiancée? Someone to play along for a few months, then call things off. No harm, no foul.”
I stare at him. “Where am I supposed to find someone willing to go along with that? You have experience with fake relationships now?”
“I can make some calls.”
I snort. “Let me guess, you’ll pick the shallowest blonde you can find?”
“No way. I know you prefer curvy brunettes. I’ll find one for you.”
“Keep dreaming.”
He smirks. “Suit yourself. But in the meantime, I need you to come with me to this event tonight.”
I glance at the invitation he tossed onto my desk. A thank-you dinner for donors at a local college. Suspicion creeps in. “What’s this about?”
“Just an event. Thought you could use a break from your dramatic life.”
“I’m not in the mood for socializing.” I push the invite away.
“Come on, Alex. You need a break. Besides, it’s a good chance to network with people who matter.”
“I have a late meeting tonight.”
“I took the liberty of clearing your schedule.”
My head snaps up. “You did what?”
“It’s an intervention.”
“Cam, I—”
“No excuses.” His tone leaves no room for argument. “It’s time you took control of your own life.”
“And what does this ‘intervention’ entail?”
Cameron perches on the edge of my desk, radiating confidence. He flicks invisible lint from his sleeve. “Networking. Not the boring kind you’re used to.”
“Networking,” I repeat, deadpan.
