The Wedding Pact Box Set Read online

  Josh worried how she’d take care of her. He hardly knew the woman next to him, but for some reason he did feel responsible for her. “That’s not necessary. I’ll help her off.”

  The attendant shook her head, her mouth twisting into a mock sympathetic pout. “Sorry. You’re not traveling together, and we can’t let an unconscious woman leave with a stranger. Imagine the liability the airline would face.”

  “If she wakes up and tells you she wants to leave with me, will you let me help her?”

  She studied Megan, who was audibly snoring again, for a moment before giving Josh a smug grin. “Of course.” Then she returned to the front of the plane.

  The cabin door opened, and the passengers started to rush off. The sensible part of Josh told him to get up and walk away, but he just couldn’t do it.

  “Megan.” He shook her arm more vigorously. The passengers exiting from the back watched the scene with morbid curiosity.

  “What?” she finally groaned, turning toward him.

  “The Almost-Future Mrs. McMillan is going to call security unless you get up and walk off this plane.”

  Her eyelids fluttered open. “Sorority Bitch?”

  He grinned. “That’s the one.”

  She tried to sit up and teetered in her seat. “Why’s the plane swaying?”

  “It’s not. You’re still out of it.”

  She leaned back in the seat. “I’m just gonna take a little nap . . .” Her voice trailed off.

  “Megan.”

  She jolted upright, her eyes wide. “What?”

  “Sorority Bitch will let me help you off the plane, but you have to tell her that you want to leave with me.”

  She grinned and waggled her finger in his face, singsonging, “She’s not gonna like it . . .”

  “I can deal with it. Will you tell her?”

  Her grin widened, but her gaze was still unfocused. “Oh . . . yeah . . .”

  Josh started to get out of his seat. “Do you have anything in the overhead bin?”

  “What? . . . No.”

  She was fading again, so he quickly grabbed his overnight bag and darted into the aisle, blocking the path of an irritated passenger from the back of the plane. He set his rolling case on the seat in front of him and grabbed Megan’s purse off the floor, slinging it over his shoulder. “Let’s stand you up and get going.”

  She didn’t answer, already asleep again.

  He leaned over and pulled the blanket off her. “Megan.”

  She startled and jumped up, the top of her head hitting the bottom of his chin.

  “Oww!” He jerked upright and whacked the top of his head on the ceiling over the seat. Frustrated, he stopped and took a deep breath. How the hell had he gotten himself into this situation? He briefly considered running for the exit. Without her. But he couldn’t. He couldn’t leave her with Tiffani.

  “Hey, buddy,” the irritated man behind him grumbled. “Some of us want off this plane.”

  “Just a second,” Josh barked as he glanced down at Megan and found her staring up at him. Or as much as she could through squinted eyes.

  He reached for her arm and pulled her into a standing position. “First we walk off the plane. Then we’ll figure out the rest.”

  “Okay,” she murmured, but her limbs were limp. He’d be lucky to get her down the short aisle. Somehow she found some inner reservoir of energy and managed to stand and maneuver her way around the seat and into the aisle.

  He knew things were going too well, especially when the Almost-Future Mrs. McMillan stopped her. “Miss, are you leaving of your own accord?”

  Megan shook her head, and Josh’s heart slammed into his chest. If she told them no, could he be arrested for kidnapping? “I don’t have an Accord,” Megan slurred as she began to wobble. “I have a Civic.”

  The flight attendant scowled. “Do you know the man you’re leaving with? Do you want to leave with him?”

  Megan’s eyes widened as she tried to focus on the woman in front of her. She said in a mock serious tone, “Yes, I know this man.” She winked up at him, then turned back to Tiffani. “He’s Mr. McMillan, and we’re leaving here together.” She stuck out her tongue at the flight attendant, who had a horrified look on her face. “So no little McMillan babies for you.” Then she tried to tap the other woman on the nose, missing and jabbing her cheek instead.

  “Okay . . .” Josh grunted, pulling Megan toward the door while he tried to maneuver his rolling carry-on bag with one hand. “Let’s save the birds and the bees speech for later.”

  He hadn’t waited for permission to take her, so he half-expected to be stopped as he coaxed Megan out of the plane and down the tunnel to the terminal. They were ten feet from the door when her knees buckled. He pulled her up against his chest, his arm wrapped around her back to support her. He glanced down at a wheelchair at the entrance to the plane. One of the baggage handlers was watching him with wide eyes.

  “I don’t suppose I can use that wheelchair?” Josh asked.

  The man shook his head, grabbing the handle. “No can do, mister.”

  “Thanks for nothing.”

  The airline employee chuckled—actually chuckled—in response. If Josh had been the type of guy to write nasty letters . . .

  “Megan?” Josh gently shook her. “Can you keep walking?”

  Her eyes were tiny slits as she flopped her head back to look at him. “No, thank you. I don’t want any peanut brittle . . .”

  He supposed that was as good an answer to his question as any. Now he needed to figure out how to get her, her purse, and his bag down to arrivals.

  Squatting, he pressed his shoulder into her abdomen, then stood, carrying her in a fireman’s hold. Her upper body dangled down his back, her drooping arms swinging and brushing his ass. This was going to look suspicious as hell, but it was the only way he could get her out without leaving their stuff behind.

  He grabbed the handle of his suitcase and set her purse on top of the bag, hurrying for the door once he had her steady. He’d never flown to Kansas City, so he wasn’t expecting the cramped waiting area and the dense crowd preparing to board the next flight. Thankfully, the exit was only twenty feet away.

  Megan’s upper body still dangled down his back. He knew they were a spectacle, and the outright stares confirmed it. “She’s my fiancée,” he muttered, breaking one of his cardinal rules—never explain yourself, especially not to strangers. But he knew that some of those stares were from people who were worried that he was kidnapping her. “She’s not feeling well.” He tugged on her legs. “Tell the people you’re not feeling well, Megan.”

  One of her dangling hands waved around as she spoke. “I’m the one helping you. I saved you from that awful woman.” Then she patted his backside. “You have a really nice ass. No wonder she wanted to have your babies.”

  To his horror, Josh’s face began to burn. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d blushed. “Megan, there are children around us.”

  Her hand dropped, but he wasn’t sure if his admonishment had stopped her or if she’d simply passed out again.

  She wasn’t a large woman, but he hadn’t been very faithful at the gym lately, so he was feeling the physical exertion of carrying her dead weight. He made it out of the secure area, despite a suspicious once-over from the security guard at the door. As soon as he stepped out into the hallway, he wondered what on earth to do with her next. A group of three people stood clustered in a group, and they all turned their horrified gazes to the woman draped over his shoulder.

  “It’s okay,” he assured them. “I’m her fiancé.”

  Only then did he realize one of the women was an older version of Megan.

  Oh. Shit.

  The woman in question looked at the woman hanging down his back. She squatted and tilted her head upside down. “Megan?”

  Megan gave an exaggerated wave. “Hi, Mom. Why are you upside down?”

  Her mother released a horrified gasp. “Are yo
u drunk?”

  Josh took a step toward her, his heart hammering in his chest. How the hell was he going to get himself out of this one? “She took some Dramamine, and apparently it has a pretty strong effect on her. She’s okay.”

  “How much did she take?”

  He thought back to their conversation. “She said she took two as she was boarding.”

  “And you didn’t see her take them?” she asked, her tone full of admonishment. The woman’s eyes lifted to Josh’s face, and he knew he was being scrutinized. He could see why Megan was scared of her mother. She was intimidating in the way that only stately women of a certain age could be.

  An older man stepped forward and put a hand on her shoulder. “Oh, for God’s sake, Nicole, let the man be. Is this really how you want to meet your future son-in-law?”

  Josh shook his head. “See, there’s been a misunderstanding.”

  But he had to wonder why they didn’t know what Megan’s ex-fiancé looked like. Sure, they’d never met the guy, but hadn’t they at least seen photos?

  Megan’s father shot his wife a weighted grimace. “The only misunderstanding is that Nicole is trying to micromanage everything. Like always.” He stepped forward and held out his hand. “I’m Megan’s father, Bart Vandemeer. Nice to finally meet the man who’s marrying my little girl. It’s Jay, isn’t it?”

  Josh gaped at the man, at a loss for words. For once in his life he hadn’t bothered to come up with an intricate plan before jumping into a situation. He’d asked for fate to intervene, and the very man he needed to talk to had been dropped right in front of him.

  For once in his life, he was going to just go for it.

  He shifted Megan on his shoulder and awkwardly held out his hand for a shake, still speechless. These people obviously had no idea he wasn’t Megan’s real fiancé. How wrong would it be if he used that to his advantage? After all, he’d be helping Megan, too. She was in no condition to deal with her family at the moment. “Josh, actually.”

  Bart Vandemeer looked confused. “Megan told us your name was Jay.”

  “Oh . . . Jay is my nickname. You can call me Jay or Josh, but I usually go by Josh.”

  “What?” Nicole Vandemeer shrieked, her voice raising a full octave. “All the materials for the wedding list your name as Jay.”

  Josh struggled to keep from grimacing. “Jay is fine. It really doesn’t matter.”

  “I don’t know why Megan doesn’t tell me these things,” the woman grumbled. An elderly woman grinned like a Cheshire cat behind her, as if finding the whole exchange amusing.

  Megan’s father ignored his wife. “Well, Josh. Welcome to Kansas City.” The older man beamed. “We look forward to getting to know you better.”

  Bart Vandemeer had no idea how much Josh was looking forward to getting to know him, too.

  Chapter Four

  When Megan woke, she was pretty sure the pounding in her head was about to split it wide open. This was worse than the New Year’s Eve party, when she’d gotten so drunk on tequila shooters she stood up on the coffee table and serenaded her then-boyfriend with “My Heart Will Go On” . . . only to break up with him an hour later when she found him kissing Lisa Menendez at midnight with enough tongue to contradict his protests that it was a friendly peck.

  Now that she thought about it, cheating boyfriends had been a constant in her dating life. She knew the topic deserved closer inspection, but there was no way she could psychoanalyze herself until she’d taken an ibuprofen.

  It took her a second to orient herself. She was lying on her stomach, her cheek pressed against something soft and wet. When she finally pried her eyes open, she was surprised to find herself in her old bedroom. Her vision was blurry until it focused on a familiar bulletin board attached to a lavender wall. She’d hung the board up the summer before her freshman year of high school, ready to capture her high school memories with her two best friends, Blair and Libby. The three of them were together in plenty of the photos—at football games, class trips, and sleepovers. But there were also individual shots of Libby in her cheerleader uniform and Blair in her business suit, ready for a debate match. The familiar pang of regret and inferiority flooded her.

  Megan had never found her place in high school. Part of the problem was her mom’s unrelenting quest to make her into some kind of mini-me. Her mother never seemed to tire of coercing her to go on day-long shopping trips. When Megan reached high school, she finally announced that enough was enough. She would rather stand naked in history class reciting the United States Constitution than go on another torture session with her mother. Her mother had done exactly what she’d always done in response to Megan’s protests: she ignored them. But one Saturday morning, mother and daughter were locked in a standoff over Nicole’s meticulously planned day at the Country Club Plaza when Megan’s father exercised one of his rare interventions. He told her mother that she’d had fourteen years to try to sway Megan to the dark side and failed. Then he advised Megan she had five minutes to get everything she needed for an overnight camping trip with him and her brother Kevin.

  Camping hadn’t figured into her plans for the weekend. What she really wanted was to go spend the afternoon with Libby. But an inmate on death row didn’t protest when his reprieve meant moving to maximum security instead of freedom, so Megan had done as he’d suggested.

  And to her surprise, she loved it.

  She wasn’t sure why. She’d never considered herself an outdoorsy person, but she began to cherish her monthly camping trips with her dad and brother.

  This had irritated her mother to no end, and in fact, it drove an even deeper wedge between the two. And that wedge became a gulf when Megan graduated from Missouri University and flew off to Seattle to work for a nonprofit that worked to prevent over-deforestation. At the time, her well-planned escape had been an act of rebellion. While she loved her job and had quickly moved up the hierarchy to the position of grant coordinator and fundraiser, she now realized the move had cost her something precious—her close relationship with her father and brother.

  But here she was, hip-deep in self-analysis again, when she still had no answer to the pressing issue of how she’d gotten from the plane into her old room.

  It all came rushing back to her. Boarding the plane. Drinking two mimosas. Stealing Mr. McMillan’s drink. Blabbering to him about the flight attendant and her defunct fiancé.

  She squeezed her eyes shut in horror. She’d made an utter fool of herself.

  She sat up and swiped at her wet cheek, realizing the wet sensation was the result of all the drool on her pillow. Great. As if she needed to feel any worse. At least she could take comfort in the fact that she’d never see the man again. What did it matter if he thought she was crazy? Besides, there were bigger things to worry about.

  She shook her head, trying to clear it, but spiking a fresh round of pain instead. She needed to focus so she could figure out how she’d ended up on her bed. The last thing she remembered was snuggling under the blanket in her seat on the plane. But if she was in her room, her mother must have found her somehow.

  Her mother was going to kill her. It was a wonder she hadn’t taken advantage of Megan’s supine state to do so already.

  Megan glanced around the room and found her old digital alarm clock on the worn white nightstand. 6:12. The sun was streaming through the blinds, but it was summer so that didn’t necessarily give her a clue as to whether it was six a.m. or six p.m. She supposed it didn’t matter. One way or another, there would be hell to pay.

  Sliding off the bed, Megan moved to her door and cautiously cracked it open. Voices floated up from downstairs, one of them clearly her mother’s. Since her mother never got up before seven thirty if she could help it, it had to be evening.

  She made her way down the stairs with an anxious ball in the pit of her stomach. She was going to have some explaining to do, though she had no idea how much, because in her drugged state she could have said anything to her mother bet
ween meeting her in the airport and falling onto her bed. But the sound of other voices in the kitchen gave her a small measure of reassurance. Her mother’s voice was light and airy—her company voice. This was good news for Megan. No matter how upset she was, Nicole Vandemeer would never under any circumstances murder someone in front of guests. No matter how justified.

  “. . . Megan hardly told us anything,” her mother was saying as Megan approached the kitchen.

  “I wouldn’t want to bore you with the details,” a man’s voice said. Why did he sound familiar?

  “There she is!” Nicole Vandemeer exclaimed, clasping her hands together in glee. She was in full-on hostess mode, but she seemed even more enthusiastic than was warranted by a mere guest. “Megan! We were just talking about you!”

  Had the Dramamine transported her to some sort of bizarre world?

  Three people sat at the kitchen island, their backs to her, while her mother stood in front of the commercial gas cooktop, a martini glass in her hand. In tandem, the people on the barstools turned to face her. Her grandmother gave her a big smile and her father nodded, a twinkle in his eye. But it was the third person that made the floor turn to molasses.

  Mr. McMillan, the man who had sat next to her on the airplane, was sitting at her parents’ kitchen counter.

  Of course it couldn’t be true.

  She squinted her eyes tight, trying to reboot her brain, but when she opened them, he was still there, giving her a hesitant smile. Which left only one solution.

  She turned around and headed back to her room without another word. Maybe if she went back to bed, she could lie down and hit the restart button, waking up in reality.

  “Megan!” her mother shouted after her. “Where are you going? Come officially introduce us to your fiancé!”

  Oh, God. She really was hallucinating. Maybe this was some kind of psychotic break induced by extreme stress and pharmaceuticals.

  “Megan, come back right now!” Her mother’s tone bordered on slipping out of character. If Megan pushed her over the edge, the consequences would be worse than she felt capable of handling at the moment. “You’re being incredibly rude. Is that how they do things in the Pacific West?”