Accidentally Married on Purpose: A Love and Games Novel Page 5

“Well, for now I’m only semi-abandoning you,” Angie clarified with a grin. “Your brother and I have only been engaged for a month. I’m not ready to jump and move in full time. It’s just that with Colby married and the house empty again, this felt like the right step.” She grimaced. “Just don’t tell my mama. She’d flip.”

  “My lips are sealed.” Sherry made a locking motion over her mouth, and then pretended to throw a key behind her back. It was better that way, anyway, because all this talk of weddings and soon-to-be husbands had her seriously reconsidering unburdening her secret—and that would so not end well.

  Knowing Angelle, once she got over the shock of Sherry getting married to a virtual stranger and the subsequent non-shock, since she was the family screw-up after all, she’d want to know all about the actual wedding. Only Sherry couldn’t remember squat. What kind of bride can’t even recall if she said, “I do,” or “I will,” or abandoned both options and sang an Elvis song instead?

  Honey, you’re my hunka hunka burning love. Kiss me.

  Okay, so the hangover, weary flight, and the news that her best friend was moving out had her a little loopy. Even more of a reason to keep her mouth shut.

  New New Year’s resolution: no more alcohol. Or drunken marriages.

  Zipping up her duffel, Angelle blew her bangs off her forehead and surveyed the room. “You sure you’re okay with me leaving most of my stuff for now? I’m still paying half the rent, and don’t even think you can stop me. Until I’m officially married, I’d still like a place to come back to if I think your brother or I need some space, you know?”

  Beneath her friend’s anxiety, Sherry saw the unmistakable glow of bliss. “Of course it’s okay.”

  The truth was, she was stoked that her big brother had finally found a good woman, and even more excited that Angelle would soon become her sister. Letting her own depression over being the Robicheaux family fifth wheel interfere was just selfish.

  “So, what’s left to pack?” Her voice was pitched exceptionally loud, and she smiled wide—probably too wide—to compensate. Evidently, she failed, because Angie looked at her as if she had two heads. “Have you checked the bathroom yet?”

  She waved her hand in the direction of the hall and caught a flash of silver. Damn. The ring. Why hadn’t she taken the stupid thing off yet? Oh, right, because she’d liked the look of it on her finger. How pathetic was that? Convulsively, she shoved her hand deep in her pocket and attempted to wiggle it off.

  “Sher, you’re positive you’re okay? I don’t want you to take this the wrong way, but you’ve been acting strangely since you got in last night.” Angelle frowned. “Stranger than normal.”

  Sherry snorted. “Gee, thanks.” With a sigh, she gave up on the wiggling—the ring was too damn tight to budge—and grabbed one of Angelle’s bags with her right hand. “And yes, I’m fine. It was just…a very event-filled trip. I guess I’m still recovering.”

  That was probably the truest thing she’d said since she returned.

  Nodding her head, indicating Angelle should lead the way, Sherry began the trek to the front door. With every footfall, the word stupid rang out in her mind. As much as she hated to admit it, if this kind of thing actually did happen to anyone outside of romance novels or soap operas, it made sense that it had happened to her. Trouble followed where she tread. She’d gone in with a plan, a way to straighten out her life, and her drunken self had decided to say screw that and propose to a roadie instead.

  But the roadie said yes.

  That one puzzle piece didn’t quite fit. Obviously, she must’ve been the one to suggest they do it. This had her written all over it. But had Tyler really been that drunk that he’d agree? Had he thought it was a game? They hadn’t spoken since she’d left his hotel room almost twenty-four hours prior, and the silence was making her antsy. What if Blue didn’t come through? Refused to lend Tyler his lawyers? What would be their next step?

  No. She shook her head and adjusted the strap of Angelle’s duffel on her shoulder. Everything would be fine. Her plan was still intact—just delayed a little—and in the end, she’d have a seriously crazy memory to cling to during her straight-laced future.

  Feeling oddly better, Sherry wrapped her hand around the doorknob, stopping just short of opening it. “I know you’re only going a few miles away,” she said, a wave of emotion suddenly hitting her. “And that I’ll still see you all the time. But chica, I’m gonna miss you.”

  Angelle’s bright eyes filled with tears. Without permission, another pair of green eyes flashed in Sherry’s mind, and she promptly whisked them away. “I’m gonna miss you, too.”

  They smiled at each other, relishing in the sappy sentimentality of it all, before Sherry exhaled a long breath. “Enough of that. We’re supposed to be happy. This is awesome, girl, and you should be all smiles.” She turned the knob and winked. “Let’s do this thing.”

  She tugged open the door and barely got a foot past the threshold when a young woman appeared out of nowhere. “Are you Sherry?”

  “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph!” Sherry clutched her chest, panting as she glanced around the front yard. “Were you, like, hiding in the bushes?”

  “Are you Sherry?” the woman asked again, her blond head bobbing as she consulted her phone. She nodded. “Yep, it’s her.”

  Before Sherry could respond, or ask whom she was speaking to, an older man materialized with a literal flash.

  Blinking in surprise, she stared in confusion at the camera in his hand. Angelle clasped Sherry’s shoulder and whispered, “Are you in some sort of trouble?”

  “Uh, not that I’m aware of,” she whispered back.

  Angelle’s eyes narrowed. “Excuse me, what exactly is this about?” Hand on jutted hip, her southern manners and newfound feisty personality made for an interesting combination.

  The blonde held up her palm. “We’re from Country Insider and just want the exclusive scoop about her recent trip.” Behind her, the cameraman flashed some type of official-looking badge.

  “Exclusive scoop?” Sherry asked with a laugh. “Do your readers really want to know the eating habits of roadies and crew members? Because I hate to tell you, sweetie, I never met Blue. If you’re looking for dirt, you’re barking up the wrong tree.” And flew a heck of a long way for nothing.

  Instead of looking disappointed, the woman rolled her eyes. “Sure you didn’t. It was another purple-haired waitress from Louisiana who married him.”

  Wait…

  “Married?” Sherry and Angelle asked at the same time. They looked at each other, and Sherry lifted her shoulders to say, I don’t know what she’s talking about. It wasn’t a total lie, either. But Angie’s gaze grew suspicious.

  The weight of the ring on Sherry’s finger grew heavy and she took a step back. This was seriously the oddest prank ever invented. With three pairs of eyes watching her with varying degrees of interest, she said, “Honey, for real, I don’t know who your source is, but you got some facts confused.”

  Though not nearly as much as Sherry wished.

  “So this isn’t you and Tyler Blue outside the Love Me Tender Wedding Chapel two days ago?” She held up her cell phone displaying, in embarrassing full color, a picture of her and Tyler. Sherry was wearing that horrid veil, and he was in a ridiculous top hat.

  Crap on a freaking, stupid, flaming stick!

  Angelle’s jaw dropped in Sherry’s peripheral. The time for denial was over. Sighing, she admitted, “Okay, that is me, but that’s not…” Her head snapped back and she snatched the woman’s phone. “Hold on, what did you say his name was?”

  “Tyler Blue,” she replied with a huge smile, glancing back at her cameraman. She gave him some sort of signal and he stepped forward—just as the ground under Sherry’s feet started to shift. “Lead singer of Blue, God’s gift to country music. And your new husband. Am I right?”

  Without thought, Sherry sunk to the ground, sticking out a hand for balance as she sat on her front stoop.
This wasn’t happening. He was Tyler, the roadie, not the lead singer.

  The New York bigwig with a staring problem flashed in her mind. Along with the fact that Blue had never come in for food. And that Tyler had made himself scarce when others were there.

  The nonstop phone calls.

  The weird looks he’d given her.

  The impossible, amazing, obviously celebrity/VIP-treatment-filled date.

  “Holy crap.” Slowly, she brought her hands up to her mouth and squeezed her lips, almost as if she could squish the words right back in. Saying anything aloud was like admitting the reporter’s claims were true. But they were true…weren’t they?

  What in the heck did I step into this time?

  A gasp broke above her head, and she glanced up in time to see shock wash over Angelle’s face. She grabbed Sherry’s left hand and thrust it out—at the exact moment that another flash went off.

  Win!

  …

  “She’s perfect. Seriously, I couldn’t have handpicked you anyone better.” The mile-wide smile on Arianne’s face was almost as disturbing as the words coming out of her mouth. “Tammy Paxton’s gonna eat her words.”

  Tyler grunted, and Charlie shot him a look. He’d joined their come-to-Jesus meeting at Belle Meade Records for moral support—and to try to keep the fallout from his lead singer’s drunken night to a minimum. Charlie was the one who’d convinced him to seek advice in the first place. It had been Tyler’s intention to handle everything on his own. Contact his lawyers and not tell Arianne; his agent, Nolan; or the label a thing until the divorce papers were filed and the damage was done. But his friend was right. This was his career on the line. The one thing that mattered more than Tyler’s freedom. It wasn’t a situation to play fast and loose with the truth.

  That’s what got him in this shit in the first place.

  The problem was that this marriage was a sham he wanted out of, and his team had all but thrown him a damn parade in the lobby. They’d completely glossed over the fact that it was a mistake. And now, huddled in a cushy meeting room with a full background check on one Sherry Elizabeth Robicheaux complete, their enthusiasm was off the charts.

  Tyler rapped his knuckles against the tabletop. “Why’s she so perfect?”

  Charlie raised an eyebrow. Hell if he knew where that had come from. His mission today was to sway popular opinion away from the unholy union—but he also couldn’t help a mild case of curiosity. In just forty-eight hours, the sassy woman had turned his entire world upside down. And Tyler hadn’t stopped thinking about her since she’d left his hotel room.

  “Other than a rumor of possible infidelity on her father’s part,” Arianne replied, opening the file in front of her, “her family is squeaky clean. They own a Cajun restaurant in a suburb of New Orleans, which appears to be the heart of the small town. She does charity work for every organization known to man. She pays her taxes, her credit rating is through the roof, and the people who live there love her. Her sister is even a bit of a celebrity in the culinary world.” She closed the folder and smiled. “Tyler, you found yourself a somewhat edgy southern belle. Other than the hair and sass, which may even work in her favor with the fans, she’s damn near perfect.”

  Well then. Would now be the time to mention he wanted out of the marriage ASAP?

  And that the wife in this scenario wanted out as much as he did?

  Charlie caught his gaze and shook his head. Apparently not.

  Instead, his bassist spoke up. “So, how would this work?” Arianne smirked, and Charlie rolled his eyes. “What I mean is, is the hint of marriage enough for the media? Could they, I don’t know, divorce quietly tomorrow? Hypothetically speaking,” he added when Nolan’s eyes narrowed. “They live in different states and we have a tour in the fall. What I’m asking is, is leaking the details enough, or do they have to be seen together, live together, what?”

  All excellent questions. Tyler’s gaze swung to the man at the head of the table.

  David Stone, CEO of Belle Meade Records, held Tyler’s career in the palm of his hand. Blue had come out of the bullpen swinging, and they’d knocked the last two albums out of the park. Their band scored the label a dozen number-one singles and more money than most of their other artists combined. But Stone was a shark with entitlement issues. Piss the man off, not deliver what he wanted? He wouldn’t think twice about dropping you.

  “Have you gentlemen glanced at Twitter lately?” David asked, leaning back and rolling a pen in his hand. “Stopped by your band’s Facebook page? Your fans have started polls about whom you should be dating. Entire websites dedicated to the subject have sprung up.”

  It sounded to Tyler like people needed to get a damn life. “Oh yeah?” he asked, amused as much as he was irritated. “Who’s in the lead?”

  Stone looked at Arianne, who said, “Several celebrities and artists are in the running, but Kristen Wilson is definitely the favorite.”

  Ah. So that explained the duet the label was pushing. Tyler had met Kristen one time, for five minutes, at an award show. Some photographer had snapped a photo of them talking backstage, and gossip had swirled for weeks. He shouldn’t be surprised.

  Sensing blood in the water, or perhaps noticing something off in Tyler’s eyes, David stood and grabbed his laptop. He walked the length of the table and set the computer down, hovering over him as he clicked the web browser. “Go ahead. Type in your name. See the fun you’ve been missing.”

  Tyler fisted his hands in his lap. Suit or not, the man needed to step the hell back. He shot David a pointed look and asked, “Think you could give me some room?”

  Stone smirked and casually walked back to his seat.

  On principle, Tyler never searched himself. When they first started out, he had Google alerts on his name and visited various sites, curious what the fans thought of his music. That didn’t last long. He quickly learned that you can’t please everyone, and some people lived to complain. But this was his dream. Not even just his dream—his dad’s, too. Letting out a breath, Tyler typed in his name and clicked enter. Pages of sites appeared.

  Charlie came around and read over his shoulder. Arianne was right about the article. It had definitely gone viral, and fans actually gave a shit about his personal life. It was ridiculous. But he couldn’t argue with the facts staring him in the face.

  After checking a few results, Charlie slid his gaze to Tyler. “Up to you, man.”

  But it wasn’t. Any decision Tyler made affected his entire band. Charlie, their crew, Tyler’s parents…this was so much bigger than just what he wanted.

  Tyler had grown up believing relationships were a hindrance. That they got in the way of accomplishing your goals. But the team around him made the big bucks for a reason. They knew this business inside and out, and if they said marriage was what he needed to do to secure his future, well, he could do a hell of a lot worse than Sherry Robicheaux.

  Unlike the countless women who threw themselves at him on a daily basis, she wasn’t out for his money. Unlike most of the celebrities listed in the polls, she was honest and genuine and real. She’d been stoked over dating a roadie, for Christ’s sake. Sherry had married him not even knowing who he was. True, she’d been blitzed out of her mind, but if she had known the truth, she wouldn’t have touched Tyler with a ten-foot pole.

  That was another thing about her—she was safe. For him to even consider this publicity stunt, he’d need a guaranteed out. With Sherry, Tyler had no fear of being roped into something permanent. She’d made it abundantly clear how she felt about his world; there was no way in hell she’d want this marriage to last forever.

  The only trick would be convincing her to prolong it a little. Say, a year. Maybe two. Three, tops.

  Tyler fiddled with the mouse, clicking on random sites as he questioned his sanity. Was he seriously thinking about doing this? Continuing this sham of a marriage for the sake of his career? And if he was, could he possibly convince Sherry to do the same? />
  He keyed in her name this time, unable to fight the smile when her face appeared on the screen. She’d organized an event a couple months back, a bachelor auction for charity. Her smile was wide and free. Her dress was killer. That same spirit was there, the one that drew him to her in the green room and demanded an entire weekend to explore. Staring at her picture now, Tyler realized a weekend hadn’t been enough.

  Tyler craved that easy feeling. The enthusiasm Sherry had for life. She was fun, and with her, this wouldn’t have to be about messy emotions or getting lost in each other. It could be a business arrangement, pure and simple.

  The more he thought about it, Arianne was right. Sherry was perfect. He just had to convince her of that. And find something she needed that he could offer in return.

  “My wife’s gone back to Louisiana,” he said, still shocked as hell at hearing those words come out of his mouth. He closed Stone’s laptop and glanced across the table. “Don’t we have something coming up there soon?”

  Arianne smiled and tapped the screen of her phone with a smile. “Several somethings. In two weeks, you’re being inducted into the Louisiana Music Hall of Fame, and following that, you’re the captain of the Erato parade.”

  “You still have an album to finish,” David broke in, as if Tyler had forgotten. “Kristen Wilson has agreed to the duet, and I want two additional songs as well. Maybe your new wife will inspire you. Luckily, New Orleans has many setups able to handle production. I’ll call and schedule studio time.”

  Tyler caught Stone’s triumphant smirk as he stepped outside, cell phone already in hand, but he ignored it. He had his own scheme in play.

  Head to New Orleans, write some songs, get a few shots taken with the wife, and call it a day. Hell, he’d even squeeze in a visit home while he was in town. Then, image saved, he’d go back on the road with the band to promote the new album, and he and Sherry would get a quiet divorce in a year or so. By then, David couldn’t say a thing. Marriages fell apart every day. Especially fake ones.

  “Guess we’re headed to New Orleans,” Charlie said, standing up. “I can do some damage on Bourbon.”