“I contacted the concierge at Litraeon and they made fake documents for us. By the time those were done and ‘signed,’ you were both beyond reason. Accepted the papers.”
“Both?” Amanda peeps. “Both? MOM! You’ve known the entire time that those were fakes?”
“Didn’t Marie tell you?” Pam seems genuinely horrified.
“And I told the staff to stock the corporate jet with our finest Champagne for the trip home,” I grumble.
“It wasn’t entheogenic by any chance, was it?”
“Not even homeopathic.”
“Whew!” Geordi says, smiling at everyone. “It’s settled, then. We know what happened. No one actually legally married anyone. We’ve unraveled all the mysteries.”
Not quite.
Brona. I wonder if she was in charge of generating the fake documents.
“Pam, did you tell my father all about the fake marriage licenses, by any chance?”
She grins. “It was his idea.”
Chapter Eight
“What?” Dad shouts into the phone as I call him from the corporate jet the next morning. Amanda and I are alone, and I intend to keep it that way. “It made perfect sense!”
We escaped the fracas of the Vegas clan, leaving them to finish packing, sorting out their goodbyes and work schedules. Dad, Pam, Josh, Terry and Spritzy will follow on a different jet. We are on the lesser of Anterdec’s jets. Dec and Shannon stole the one with the bedroom, damn it, leaving us with one that requires a certain level of discretion to fit in sex.
My middle name is discretion.
But at Amanda’s urging, I’ve made a huge mistake.
I called my father to find out what the hell he was thinking when he had all these fake marriage licenses created.
“Dad, you told the staff at my resort—”
“My resort—”
I ignore that. “To create fake marriage licenses.”
“It was brilliant! Shannon and Declan’s wedding escapades only dominated the media airwaves for five days. We needed something new! Fresh!”
“And getting a marriage license for my girlfriend to marry a cat was part of that strategy?”
“You have to admit it was clever.”
“It was stupid. And you made me look like I might have married a guy.” Or two.
“I thought you were enlightened.” His voice has a mock-chiding tone.
“I’m fine with guys marrying guys. Just not marrying me.”
“Gay CEOs test well, Andrew.” His pregnant pause makes me groan.
“I’m not changing my sexual orientation to get free PR, Dad.”
I am very, very done with this day. My three hundred text messages are starting to look like the most relaxing part of my life.
“There’s something to this technique, Andrew. Using the 24/7 media to boost our corporate image. All those free logos plastered all over the news. The helicopter lifting away from Farmington Country Club was even on BuzzBuzz and The Garlic!”
“Buzzfeed. The Onion.” My head starts to hurt again.
Amanda motions for me to put the phone on speaker. I do. Might as well share the pain.
“I’m pretty sure Johnny Carson came very close to covering it.” What’s next? Did Dad use his slide rule to calculate the value of all this free press?
She frantically waves her hands at the phone in a gesture that I assume means, Turn off the speakerphone.
I snicker.
“All right, Dad. Got it. Point made.” It’s not worth correcting him.
“Any chance Shannon’s pregnant right now? Because that would—”
Amanda’s eyes bug out of her head.
“DAD! Stop!”
“When you’re back, let’s have a conference about ways we can leverage our personal lives for this kind of coverage.”
“You sound like Marie.”
A grunt comes across the phone. “That was low. Your brother said that, too.”
“You know you’re on the wrong track when Declan and I agree on something.”
Another grunt.
I look at the ring on my hand. Amanda’s still wearing hers, too.
“You’ve spent most of my life teaching me how to remain private. How not to let the media use me.”
“I was wrong.”
I burst out laughing. “Good one, Dad.” Never heard those words out of his mouth.
“Andrew, I—”
I cut him off. “We’re about to take off. I just found out I’m not married to three different potential candidates. My girlfriend almost married a cat because of you. I have three hundred text messages waiting for my attention, and my new admin is about as polished as a piece of coal. Worse: it turns out Declan’s new coffee chain does have better coffee than Litraeon. Goodbye, Dad.”
Click.
Amanda laughs softly through her nose. “He’s a piece of work.”
I do not want to talk about my dad.
“Want to join the Mile High Club?” I inhale slowly as I reach for her delicate wrist, my ringed hand gliding up, her skin so soft and smooth.
“Holy topic change, Batman!”
I shrug.
“Really? Here? Now? After everything we’ve been through?”
If I just sit here in silence, the idea will grow on her, right? Something on me is growing.
“That’s not going to work.”
“What’s not going to work?”
“Thinking you can wait me out and I’ll magically throw myself at you and we’ll join the Mile High Club.”
We? I start to correct her, then shut my mouth. Fast. The past is the past, and bringing it up now is about as safe as stealing in North Korea.