The Wedding Pact Box Set Read online

  He went on to spend the weekend researching everything he could about PMV Engineering, the firm that had filed the patent two weeks before the McMillan brothers. PMV consisted of three partners. One had retired and moved to Belize, which—in and of itself—made Josh suspicious. The other two were still active. Andrew Peterman was the second principal, and his son Drew had joined the firm three years prior—suspicious timing, indeed. From the photos Josh had found on the Internet, he made the highly unscientific judgment that the man was cold-blooded enough to set Noah up.

  After hours of researching and brainstorming and only six days before the investor pulled out, Josh decided to go to Kansas City to confront the bastards in person. By a stroke of luck, the daughter of the third principal, Bart Vandemeer, was about to get married. Josh figured he could use the distraction to catch them off guard.

  Noah thought he was crazy; but then, he would. Despite being four years older, he’d never been as invested in the company. Still, in spite of his skepticism about the last-minute trip, Noah had driven him to the airport. Since the ticket had been purchased at the last minute, Josh had needed to spring for first class. It had cost a fortune, but at least he could have a beer or two and relax on the flight to Kansas City, taking the opportunity to figure out a real plan.

  Or at least that’s what he’d thought.

  He hadn’t counted on being seated next to the anxious brunette. She was pretty, with long, dark hair that hung past her shoulders and long, slender legs—definitely his type—but within a minute of sitting down, she’d accused him of being a terrorist and made her crash-and-burn comment.

  It was going to be a long flight.

  Maybe he could get the eager flight attendant to move him to coach.

  After they reached cruising altitude, the airline attendant stood, and Josh grabbed her attention, not a hard thing to do since she’d kept her eye on him since before takeoff.

  She walked straight toward him with a determined look. “Can I help you, Mr. McMillan?”

  “I need a Jack and Coke,” he said, forgoing his planned beer. The woman next to him was already driving him crazy. He was going to need something stronger than a beer to endure her tics.

  “Of course. Anything else?” The attendant flashed him a blinding smile. The name tag pinned to her uniform read “Tiffani.” Of course it did.

  “I want another mimosa,” the woman next to him said.

  The attendant barely acknowledged her order before spinning around to head to the galley.

  When she returned, she leaned in closer than necessary to place the woman’s drink on the tray next to him. Then she set a cup of ice along with a can of Coke and a minibar bottle on his tray. “Would you like me to make it for you?”

  She was certainly attractive, but she looked too high-maintenance and more his brother’s type. Josh might have been interested in her anyway at a different time, but today he didn’t need the distraction. “Thanks, but I’ve got it.”

  Her smile faltered as she walked away, but while he felt a little bad, there was no sense in leading her on. He was a man on a mission, and his mission currently lacked an accompanying plan.

  Josh was fixing his drink when, apropos of nothing, the woman next to him asked, “Do you get along with your mother?”

  He turned to her. “My mother?”

  “Yeah, you know—” she waved her hand dismissively, “—the woman who raised you.”

  He gave her his full attention, still confused. She looked more relaxed now, and he was sure it had something to do with the drink she’d downed before takeoff. “Maybe I was raised by two fathers,” he said, keeping a straight face.

  Her eyes widened as though she’d had an epiphany. “Oh. Were you?”

  “No.” He couldn’t hide a smirk.

  She watched him for a second, and he studied her while he waited. Her big brown eyes weren’t entirely focused. Could she have been drinking before she boarded the plane? She didn’t seem the type, but who knew?

  “So do you?” Her thin eyebrows lifted in an exaggerated arch.

  “Do I what?” He’d forgotten her question as he watched her shift in her seat. Her light blue skirt hiked up to mid-thigh and stayed there, but she didn’t seem to notice.

  “Get along with your mother.”

  He grinned, surprising himself. “Yes. I love my mother.”

  She lifted her glass and the liquid sloshed around, nearly spilling over the side. “Now that’s different. Loving your mother and getting along with her are two very. Different. Things.” She waved her glass to emphasize her point.

  “I guess you’re right,” he said, his mouth pursed. “My mother and I get along pretty well. Better than my brother and me.”

  “You’re really, really lucky.” She took a sip of her drink and turned to the window to stare out into the clouds. When she was silent for several minutes, he decided she was done and turned to face the seat in front of him.

  Josh took a sip of his drink and closed his eyes. He hadn’t slept well the night before, and now that he was on this flight, he realized Noah was right. This caper was insane. He hadn’t even reserved a car or hotel for his time in Kansas City.

  What the hell was he doing? It wasn’t like he could actually crash the Vandemeer wedding.

  “Can I get you something else, Mr. McMillan?” Tiffani asked. Josh opened his eyes, a little irritated now. Wasn’t it a cardinal rule for flight attendants to leave sleeping—or possibly sleeping—passengers alone?

  “No, thank you.”

  “Can I have some water, please?” the woman next to him asked.

  The flight attendant gave her a dirty look, then moved on to the next row. When she returned, she gave the woman her water and looked down at Josh, fluttering her lashes. “Mr. McMillan, if you change your mind, you let me know.”

  “Thank you,” he said, and she walked away with a small sigh.

  “Mr. McMillan,” the woman next to him singsonged in an undertone. “Will you have my babies?”

  He laughed and turned to her. “She’s that obvious?”

  She snorted, then asked after a pause, “Are you married, Mr. McMillan?”

  He waggled his bare left fingers at her. “Nope. You?”

  She looked down at the simple diamond solitaire on her left ring finger. “Nope. Very single.” Then she laughed and looked up at him with a wistful smile. “Guess why I’m going to Kansas City.”

  “I have no idea.”

  “Guess.”

  “You’re joining the circus.”

  “Nope. Guess again.” She leaned her head against the window, her eyes partially closed.

  He found himself wondering again if she’d spent the morning at the airport bar. It seemed impossible that she could be so drunk off two drinks. “You’re going to join a convent.”

  She laughed again and lifted her hand, showing him her ring. “I’m going home to my wedding.”

  “But you just said you’re single.”

  “I am. Now.” She sat up and grabbed the cup of water. “I broke up with the lying, cheating bastard six weeks ago.”

  He shook his head. “I’m confused.”

  She set her glass down with a thud, and water sloshed out. “I didn’t tell my mother.”

  “So . . . you’re going to tell her you’re marrying an invisible man?”

  Her eyes widened. “Do you think that would work?”

  He chuckled. “No.”

  She flopped back in her seat with a harrumph. “You’re probably right.”

  “So let me get this straight: You’re going home to your wedding, which is this . . . ?”

  “Saturday.” She sat up again and leaned over, then picked up his half-full glass of Coke and Jack Daniel’s and gulped it down in a couple of swigs.

  He grabbed her arm and pried the now-empty glass out of her hands. “Whoa, slow down there, slugger.”

  “She’ll bring you more, you know,” she mumbled, leaning over the armrest toward
him, trying to take the glass back.

  He moved it out of reach. “Who?”

  “The flight attendant. The future Mrs. McMillan.” She burst into giggles and pointed to the glass in his hand, whispering loudly, “Those are free in first class.”

  “So I’ve been told.”

  “But even if they weren’t, the future Mrs. McMillan would probably give them to you for free.”

  “You think so?” he teased, looking down the aisle at the woman in question. “What do you think? Should I propose before I get off the plane?”

  The brunette scrunched her nose. “She reminds me of some of the sorority girls I knew in college.”

  “And is that a good thing or a bad one?”

  She tried to look serious, but she needed to squint to see him. “Definitely bad. Those girls were bitches.”

  He laughed despite himself. “I think you just saved me from a nasty divorce.”

  She pointed her finger at him. “And don’t forget the alimony.”

  “True enough. If you weren’t as drunk as a sailor on shore leave, I’d buy you a free drink. Is your mother really that scary?”

  Her eyes widened in horror. “Worse.” She grabbed her water and drained it.

  “So what are you going to do?”

  She shrugged. “Tell her, I guess.”

  “You guess?”

  “It might be a really, really short trip.” She gave him a conspiratorial smile. “She’s picking me up from the airport. I can tell her as soon as she picks me up. Shoot, I didn’t even need to pack my suitcase.”

  “It might not be so bad,” he volunteered. “She’ll understand. I can’t imagine a mother would want her daughter to marry a lying, cheating bastard.”

  She pursed her lips and shook her head. “Nope. She can’t get her deposits back. She warned me last fall before making the bookings.” She looked up at him. “She was pissed about my engagement. She said Jay should have asked Dad for my hand in marriage, as if it were some kind of business transaction. And the fact that I’d dated him for two years without ever bringing him home. Well . . . that pissed her off, too.”

  “So why not catch a flight to KC to introduce them?” He could only imagine how upset his mother would be if he got engaged to a woman she’d never met.

  She sighed. “Jay could never get away. And honestly, I’ve only been home once in four years. I didn’t want him to meet them.”

  “So they were basically going to meet him on the way to the chapel? I can understand why she’d be pissed.”

  The woman gave him a frustrated glare. “Really, Mr. McMillan? I saved you from the single greatest mistake of your life—future Mrs. McMillan up there—and you’re turning on me just like that?” She tried to snap her fingers, but she fumbled with them several times before giving up.

  He grinned. “When you put it that way . . . I’m still not surprised your mother was pissed.”

  “Well, it wasn’t going to be like that. That’s why we were coming today, so my family could spend an extra couple of days getting to know him.”

  “Wow.” He lifted his hands off his lap. “A whole couple of extra days to meet their new son-in-law.”

  “You don’t know my family. And the whole thing’s moot. He’s history and my mother has to cancel a twenty-five-thousand-dollar wedding without getting a single penny back.” She took several shallow breaths, and Josh realized she was about to cry.

  “Hey! Maybe she can get a refund on some of it.”

  She sniffled, reaching to the floor for her purse, but the seatbelt across her lap kept it out of reach while also protecting her from falling out of the seat and onto her head—a real danger.

  “Here, let me get that for you,” Josh said, already unlatching his belt. He leaned forward, grabbed the bag, and set it in her lap.

  She pulled out a package of tissues, struggling to tug one loose from the plastic.

  He reached over and did it for her.

  She blew her nose, a noisy sound, then looked up at him. “Do you want to know the worst part?”

  Ordinarily he wouldn’t. He’d be looking for the first opportunity out of this crazy conversation. But God help him, he was genuinely curious when he asked, “What?”

  “She’s going to say, ‘I told you so.’” Tears filled her eyes. “They’re her favorite words.”

  “Maybe she won’t. Families surprise you sometimes.”

  She shook her head. “You don’t know my mother.”

  There was no doubt about it; she was in a difficult position, and he wasn’t sure how to respond. But there was no need. Her alcohol-induced ADD kicked in, and she started digging through her bag again. “Where is it?”

  “What are you looking for? Maybe I can help.”

  “Tina lied. She swore that Dramamine would keep me from feeling sick, but I feel like I’m about to puke.”

  “Dramamine?”

  “Maybe I should take more.”

  He grabbed her bag and pulled it from her. “You took Dramamine? When?”

  “When I was boarding the plane. The last time I flew, the turbulence made me sick. I didn’t want that to happen again.”

  “How many drinks have you had?”

  “Only two,” she said, looking indignant, then a little sheepish. “Plus the rest of yours.”

  “That’s two and a half too many. You can’t drink with Dramamine.” He reached over his head and pushed the call light.

  The flight attendant appeared within seconds, and he found himself mentally calling her the almost-future Mrs. McMillan.

  “Can I get more water for . . .” He looked at the nearly incapacitated woman, realizing he didn’t even know her name.

  “Megan,” she offered.

  “. . . for Megan. She’s not feeling well.”

  The flight attendant looked disgusted. “Is she drunk?”

  “No. She just needs water.”

  The woman released an exasperated sigh and spun on her heels.

  “She’s pissed at you, you know,” Megan mumbled, leaning back in the seat. “She’s jealous.”

  “Let her be,” he grumbled. “Didn’t you know you shouldn’t drink with Dramamine?”

  “No.” She closed her eyes and rested her head against the window.

  The flight attendant brought the water and handed it to Josh, who took it without giving her a glance.

  “Megan, why don’t you drink more water before you take a nap?” He looked back at the attendant, who stood in the aisle watching. “Can you bring her a blanket?”

  She stomped away, returning with the blanket a few moments later. By then he’d coaxed Megan to drink more water. He leaned her seat back and spread the blanket over her as she passed out. He watched the rise and fall of her chest for a moment, feeling a bit better when it appeared normal. As long as she was breathing okay, she’d be fine. He considered telling Tiffani what was going on, but he didn’t expect much sympathy. Megan was right. The flight attendant was jealous.

  He was about to engage in a last stand for the company that had been his life’s work—and his father’s and brother’s—so how had taking care of this woman become his top priority? The only thing he knew was that it felt right.

  Chapter Three

  Josh spent the rest of the flight worried about the woman next to him, so much so he had trouble focusing on his own issues. How was he going to prove that Andrew Peterman and Bart Vandemeer’s firm had stolen the plans? It wasn’t like they were just going to hand over the information willingly. He hoped fate would intervene and do him a solid. Ten employees were counting on him, including Ted Murray, an engineer close to retirement age who’d been hired by Josh’s father before Josh was even born, and Missy Dunston, their seven-months-pregnant receptionist. Neither one would have jobs lined up and waiting. They were counting on him to protect them, whether they knew it or not.

  Megan was still snoring softly beside him as the plane made its descent and then landed with a hard thud on the tarmac.
He pulled out his phone and turned it on, finding two missed calls and a text from his brother. His brother was the last person he wanted to deal with right now. After all, this whole mess was indisputably Noah’s fault, and his answer seemed to be to just throw in the towel. Josh shoved the phone back into his pocket. Well, he wasn’t going down without a fight.

  He turned to the sleeping woman in the next seat. “Megan.”

  She didn’t stir.

  “Megan,” he said louder, giving her arm a little shake.

  She roused, but her eyes were still squeezed shut. “Leave me alone.”

  “Megan.” He jostled her harder this time. “We landed. You need to wake up.”

  “I’m tired,” she murmured, burrowing under the blanket.

  “You can sleep after you get off the plane.” But he knew she couldn’t. Her mother was picking her up, which meant she wouldn’t get to sleep for quite some time. She’d be busy explaining why her fiancé was a no-show.

  How was she going to face her mother in this condition?

  She still hadn’t roused by the time the plane pulled up to the gate. The first class passengers began to bolt from their seats, fumbling with the overhead bins with all the excitement of toddlers on Christmas morning. Josh waved Tiffani over, and she shoved passengers out of the way in her hurry to reach him.

  He motioned to Megan. “She’s going to need help getting off the plane.”

  The flight attendant shot Megan a snotty look, then rolled her eyes. “Sure. We’ll call security to take care of the problem.”

  “Security? Can’t someone just help her off the plane? Her mother’s out there waiting for her.”

  The attendant gave him a stern look, but he saw a flash of vindictiveness in her eyes. “We take public intoxication very seriously, Mr. McMillan.”

  “She’s not drunk. She had a drug interaction with the alcohol she drank.”

  The attendant’s eyebrows arched. “So she takes drugs, too? Then she’s a sloppy drunk.”

  “I told you she’s not—”

  “Not to worry.” She patted Josh’s arm. “You are so sweet to feel responsible, but you can go about your business. We’ll take care of her.”