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joking.”
    “Not joking.”
    “We both can’t remember any part of last night?”
    “When does your memory end?” I ask.
    Mascara is streaked along the corner of her eye, and any makeup she wore last night currently resides somewhere on my skin or on the bedsheets. I can only imagine what I look like.
    Amanda, though, is gorgeous. In my arms and looking at me with a perplexed expression, biting her lower lip while she flips through the filing cabinets of memory in her mind, and—
    “I don’t know.”
    I sit up. “You’re the fixer.”
    “I know! But I remember saying goodnight to Shannon, hugging Declan, and then— poof! Nothing.”
    Poof.
    “That’s when my memory ends, too,” I say, my skin beginning to crawl. “I know one thing: we did not have a foursome.”
    “And I soooooo did not sleep with Josh. He’s gay. The man can’t handle watching a birth video. A real-life vagina would send him into cardiac arrest.”
    “I know my heart pounds whenever I see yours,” I whisper. She gives me a reluctant smile, in spite of her hangover.
    “That was baaaaaad,” she groans.
    “All signs point to the sex question being put to rest. Worst case, all we did was sleep with each other,” I note.
    “ Worst case? Buddy, sleeping with me is best case. Best case. Always best .”
    That was an unfortunate choice of words on my part. Before I can do damage control, she speaks.
    “What if we are?” she hisses.
    “Are what?”
    Her eyes dart to mine.
    “Married.”

Chapter Three
    Tap tap tap.
    “Who the hell is that?”
    Bzzzzz.
    “And that?” Amanda jumps off me and walks slowly to the door. I find my phone. It’s Brona.
    “Yes?”
    “We’re moving you. Just change into whatever you need, Andrew, and the rest is done.”
    “Fine.”
    “Security reports that your current room will need some conditioning.”
    Conditioning is hotel code for a complete overhaul because of crazy partying.
    “It’s not that bad.”
    “Why is there a nest of baby gerbils in the bathtub?” Amanda screams from the bathroom.
    “Ahem,” Brona says.
    “Fine. Conditioning.”
    “Do I need to call the Humane Society?”
    I peer into the bedroom. “Do they take six-foot teddy bears?”
    “Excuse me?”
    “Yes. Call them.” I hang up. Who knows what else the staff will find?
    Amanda has let a group of staff inside the room, and with brief nods and blank faces, they pack our belongings.
    Ten minutes, fourteen gerbils, one bearded dragon, an unopened five-pound bag of sugar-free gummy penises and twelve half-eaten chocolate dongs later, they leave us with a change of clothes and promise to return shortly to finish.
    Tap tap tap.
    “That better not be my dad,” I mutter, opening the door.
    Worse.
    It’s Declan and Shannon.
    “Back for more abuse?”
    “To receive it or hand it out?”
    “Both.”
    “Where’s Amanda?” Shannon asks, peering around, her nose wrinkled.
    I point to the kitchen. Shannon makes a hasty retreat.
    “This is your biggest screw-up yet,” Declan says drolly.
    “How was the meeting with the Sultan?”
    “There was no meeting. He was kicked out of his suite here and is on his way back to Dubai. Said you ordered him out.”
    “WHAT?” Damn it. Brona sent out feelers and signals got crossed.
    “Dad says it’s a stroke of genius,” Declan says pleasantly.
    “What?”
    “Has your vocabulary devolved into the word what? ”
    “Huh?”
    “That’s an improvement. Variety is the spice of life.”
    “Says the man who just tied himself to one woman for the rest of his life.”
    Dec yanks my hand. I steel myself. He can’t move me an inch.
    “People who live in glass wedding rings shouldn’t throw stones, Andrew.”
    “That doesn’t even make sense.”
    He laughs. “But it’s funny.”
    “What do you mean, Dad thinks accidentally kicking the Sultan out of the Presidential Suite was a stroke of genius?”
    “The Sultan’s had too much power in all the negotiations. Being an asshole to