might somehow be infectious.
All of them except Daniel Garrett.
At her other school, labs had been assigned alphabetically. But for some reason, Mr. Taylor liked to mix things up—test the randomness of chemistry, he explained. Basically he put names in a hat and pulled two out together, and those two would be lab partners for the duration of the semester. That was how she ended up with Daniel Garrett as her lab partner in junior year.
Which she didn’t really mind, because he wasn’t a complete goof-off like some of the other kids. Although he focused on the work they had to do, he was always asking her questions, about what books she liked to read or the kind of movies she liked to watch.
Finally, on the Friday of the third week of class and after the latest round of questioning, she asked, “What’s with the interrogation?”
“I’m trying to get to know you.”
“Just because we’re lab partners doesn’t mean we have to be friends.”
“It doesn’t have to keep us from being friends, either,” Daniel pointed out.
“And even if we were friends, it wouldn’t get you into my pants.”
“Excuse me?”
“You think I didn’t see you and your friends in the cafeteria, looking at me and snickering, probably making bets on how easy I am because I’m from South Ridge and here on a scholarship?”
He held up his hands in mock surrender. “Okay, there was some talk,” he admitted. “Not because you’re a scholarship student from South Ridge but because you’re hot. And yeah, some of the guys bet that I couldn’t get you to go out with me, so I thought I’d give it a shot.”
She hadn’t expected him to admit it. And she hadn’t anticipated that a casual comment on her appearance would make her stomach feel all quivery inside. She’d often been told that she was beautiful—usually by male “friends” of her mother—and those remarks had always made her uncomfortable. As a result, she’d dressed to hide her feminine curves and downplay her appearance, but the uniform requirements at Hillfield didn’t allow her to cover up with baggy jeans or oversize sweaters.
But the matter-of-fact tone of Daniel’s statement didn’t make her uneasy, and the way he looked at her didn’t make her wary. So she summoned the courage to ask, “How much?”
“What?”
“How much was the wager?”
He shifted uncomfortably. “A hundred bucks.”
She didn’t react, wouldn’t let him see how much that kind of money would mean to her. Even half of it was a fortune to her, and these guys threw it around on a lame-ass bet without a second thought.
After a few minutes, she said, “We could split it.”
“What?”
She almost smiled at this proof she’d surprised him. “If you give me half and buy the pizza out of your fifty, I’ll let you win that bet.”
He seemed to consider her offer for a minute, then nodded and held out his hand. “Deal.”
She felt an unexpected jolt when her palm made contact with his, but she refused to acknowledge it. She wasn’t interested in any chemistry outside of this classroom.
Ten years later
Kenna Scott owed Daniel Garrett more than she could ever possibly repay him.
Not that he would agree. The first time he’d ever bailed her out of a difficult situation, he’d told her, “Friends don’t keep score.” And while she hadn’t really kept score over the years, it was an undeniable truth that he’d come to her rescue more times than she wanted to admit. Now she was in the unique position of being able to help him.
Twenty-four hours earlier, she wouldn’t have imagined there was anything he could ask of her that she would refuse.
Twenty-four hours earlier, she wouldn’t have imagined he’d ask her to marry him.
As their taxi zipped through the streets of Las Vegas, her feelings were as much a blur as the scenery outside the window.
Was she really going to go through with this? Was she going to marry Daniel to help him gain access to the trust fund that was tied up until his thirtieth birthday or he was “lawfully married”?
And was a marriage under such circumstances considered lawful?
“You’re having second thoughts,” he guessed.
She looked at him—the man who had been one of her best friends for the past decade—and felt a little flutter of something she couldn’t, or maybe didn’t want to, define.
Daniel was the type of man who drew attention wherever he went. Not just because he was six-four with broad shoulders but because of the way he carried himself, with purpose and confidence. He was also undeniably handsome. He had thick dark hair that always seemed to be in need of a trim, deep blue eyes that could be intensely focused or sparkle with humor, a sexy mouth that was quick to smile and a square jaw that, even when unshaven, was somehow appealing rather than scruffy.
Aside from all of that, he was a Garrett, and with the name came a certain amount of power and prestige. But instead of working at the furniture business owned by his family, Daniel had chosen to pursue a career in the field of computer science and was presently a network security specialist.
In high school, he’d been the boy that all the girls wanted to be with. Now that he was a man, he was even more coveted. But just a few hours earlier, he’d put a ring on her finger, and her gaze shifted now to the stunning princess-cut diamond solitaire. She knew it would take some time to get used to the weight of the ring on her finger; she wasn’t sure she would ever become accustomed to its weight on her conscience.
“I just wish there was another way,” she admitted.
“For me or for you?”
“Both.”
“I told you I’ve got stocks and bonds worth at least two hundred thousand. I could cash some of those in to pay for your sister’s surgery.”
And he would do it for her, too—no strings attached. Because that was the kind of guy he was. And as much as she hated taking anything from anyone—even a loan from her best friend—she would do it for Becca.
Her fourteen-year-old sister had been in her boyfriend’s car when Todd lost control of the vehicle, which slid thirty feet down an embankment before crashing into a utility pole. The passenger side had taken the brunt of the impact, so while Todd had walked away from the scene, paramedics had to use the Jaws of Life to get Becca out of the mangled vehicle. She was rushed to hospital with three cracked ribs, a punctured lung and a tibial shaft fracture.
Three months later, it was discovered that the surgeon hadn’t properly aligned the broken fragments of the fracture, and now Becca walked with a limp. After several more doctors’ appointments and specialist consultations, it was agreed that another operation would be needed if she wanted to correct the problem. But because this surgery was considered elective, neither it nor the subsequent physiotherapy sessions would be covered by medical insurance.
A conservative estimate of the cost: eighty thousand dollars.
Just thinking about the enormity of the sum made Kenna’s stomach cramp. While she’d finally paid off her secondhand car, she’d barely begun to make a dent in her student loans and the doctor wanted a fifty percent deposit before he would even book the surgery.
She hadn’t had the first clue how she might scrounge up that kind of money, but she’d promised her sister she’d figure out a way. A lengthy conversation with their mother had garnered nothing