KING: Las Vegas Bad Boys(28)

Looking down, I see Landon’s hand holding mine.

“You know you don’t have to hold my hand until we get to your parents house,” I tell him, as our fingers lace together effortlessly.

“Do you mind? I want to be in the habit of it, so it seems natural.”

“I don’t mind. We’re in England—this is your turf, your rules. Your wish is my command.”

“Okay, then.” He stops in the middle of the airport terminal.

Hundreds of people swarm around us. Huge windows are on either side of us, and planes are landing and taking off. It’s the place people go to leave. The airport is where stories end, the place stories begin.

The place where Landon is kneeling down on one knee.

Ohmigosh. I silently will him to stand. He could just slip a ring on my finger without a show ... yet here he is, pulling out a black box, holding my hand, looking into my eyes.

“Claire, the moment we waltzed, arm in arm, I knew you and I were destined for greatness. You literally glided into my life, and you are the only person I want to have this crazy adventure with.”

“You don’t have to do this,” I whisper out of the corner of my mouth. People have stopped walking; they’re watching, cameras poised at their faces as literal strangers begin documenting this proposal. My face is hot, my chest pounds. This is so not happening.

“Claire, I have to do this. Right now. Before another moment passes us by. Will you make me the happiest bloke in the world and be my bride?”

My eyes are basically falling off my face—and not because that diamond ring is beyond enormous, but because Landon looks so ridiculously handsome, so absolutely out of my league. He’s in a tie and collared shirt, a suit coat and nice slacks; he has on cufflinks for God’s sake. No one would believe we were together.

But then I look down at myself, with my high heels and manicured hands. My gorgeous clothing, and my three-thousand-dollar purse.

We fit. We match.

“Say yes,” he says, holding the solitaire flanked with two emeralds.

“Yes,” I say breathlessly.

“She said yes!” someone in the crowd calls, and everyone is clapping, calling out congratulations, and hollering.

I blink back tears, tears that make zero sense. This isn’t a real proposal. Landon and I aren’t actually in love.

Still, Landon slides the ring on my finger and stands, pulling me into a hug, and then a kiss as natural as our hands lacing together.

He picks me up off the ground and twirls me in a circle, grinning like a lovesick fool.

Then he sets me back down, and the crowd keeps moving—because everyone in this airport has a place to be. He cups my face in his hands and says, “For the record, you are a beautiful fake fiancée.”

“You aren’t so bad yourself.” I kiss him again, because I want to. Because this fake proposal took my breath away. I knew he’d give me a ring at some point, but I didn’t expect it to make me weak in the knees.

I can’t let my guard down, though. Landon sees this as a job, and so do I. I’m not in the business of making myself look like a fool.

Right now, I’m in the business of making two hundred and fifty thousand bucks in one week’s time.

He wants this to look as real as possible? I can give him that. I can give him exactly what he wants.

There are worse things than pretending to be in love.





Landon


I haven’t been to the family estate in nine months. I came last Christmas for two days, before flying to Bali for a week. Mum kept wiping her eyes the whole time, giving me a royal guilt trip for not being there longer, doing more. I shouldn’t have come at all, because being there only proved to them what I’m not.

No one wants to think about what I actually am.

Least of all me.

“So your mother is Helen and your father is Arthur. Tell me something else I should know,” Claire says, tucking her hair behind her ear. She holds her phone in her lap, and is texting as we travel the one-hour drive to Hertfordshire. I have no bloody clue who she’s speaking with ... and I have this strange curiosity to know.

She’s quizzing me, but I want to know everything about her.

“Right,” I say, stretching my legs in the back of the sleek town car. “Fiona, of course, is a bitch. And her sister hates me, so avoid asking about the family.”

“Why does she hate you?” she asks.

“Because I slept with her. But it was a long time ago. And the thing is, Fiona doesn’t even know the half of it.”

“What’s the other half?”

I snort, feeling my cheeks heat up. “I slept with her mother too.”

“Landon!” Claire punches me in the arm. “That’s terrible.”