“Right.” I nod, though I can’t imagine it taking us even an hour.

Eddie hands us each a pen. “I just need you both to sign here.” He points to a paper that looks identical to the one we signed yesterday. “But this time sign saying you agree to the terms of the will and accept the offer.”

We take turns. For a moment, I feel like I’m signing my life away, but my nervousness is short-lived as I think about the overwhelming medical bills waiting for me at the county hospital and the fate of my living situation come the near future. I quickly scrawl out my name.

Kayla signs her name beside mine with the penmanship of an artist, making my signature look like a manic toddler got hold of a ball-point pen. I watch her curl the end of the r in her last name. Handwriting shouldn’t be that pretty.

“All right.” Eddie puts the pens away and looks at us. “Are you ready?”

I hold out my left wrist while Kayla holds out her right, and we watch in silence as Eddie slides the handcuffs over our hands and locks them closed with a few click-click-clicks. He’s careful to leave enough room for us to move our wrists, but the cuffs are still pretty tight.

“Wow. These things are heavy.” Kayla lifts our chained hands up and down a few times and I move my wrist to accommodate the movement.

They really are surprisingly heavy.

I turn the steel manacle around my wrist. “And uncomfortable.”

Kayla mutters, “I guess handcuffs aren’t supposed to be cozy.”

We drop our wrists and let them hang heavily at our sides. The back of my hand brushes the back of Kayla’s hand and her soft skin instantly warms against mine.

We glance at each other and jerk away like the touch is searing hot. I bite back a smile. If touching me for a split second has her this agitated, then I’d hate to think how she’s going to feel after being handcuffed to me for an hour—or longer. I might be hauling a blonde mess of irritation back to Eddie’s office later.

Taking a step back, Eddie looks us over with a raised brow. “You two look like downright criminals.”

I say, “Gee, thanks.”

“So now what?” Kayla asks.

“Now,” Eddie says, “I give you directions to the letter.”

He hands her a small white envelope. She reaches for it with her cuffed hand, aggressively yanking my wrist up.

“Easy,” I say as the handcuffs whack against my wrist.

She crinkles her nose in apology. “Sorry.” Then she carefully moves her bound wrist as she pulls a piece of paper from the white envelope. She reads aloud, “ ‘The blue suitcase in the hall closet,’ ” then looks at Eddie. “What does that mean?”

He shrugs. “I just hand out the papers.”

“The suitcase in the hall closet?” I frown. “That’s not directions. That’s like… a clue. Does he mean the hall closet in his house?”

“Oh! The one with all the umbrellas?” Kayla looks at Eddie expectantly.

He shrugs. “I wish I could help you folks but I honestly have no idea.”

“Okay. That’s okay,” Kayla says. “I’m sure he meant the hall closet at Milly Manor.”

“Yeah. And I know for a fact Turner used to have a blue suitcase,” I say. “There was one in his garage for like ten years.”

Kayla turns to stare at me. “Why were you snooping through my father’s garage?”

“I wasn’t snooping.” I jut my chin. “I was squeezing through all his old junk so I could put the lawn mower away every other Saturday, remember?”

“Oh yeah.” She turns back to Eddie. “So what are we supposed to do, then? Just go grab the letter, then the money, and then come back to your office so you can unlock these things?” She jiggles the cuffs.

“Yep.” Eddie holds up a set of small handcuff keys. “I’ll be here until five p.m.”

“Oh we’ll be back long before then,” I say.

“Definitely,” Kayla adds and we hurriedly exit the good lawyer’s office.

It’s not until we’re standing on the sidewalk, in the bright light of day, that the true oddness of our situation sets in.

Everyone walking past us, or seated across the street at the café, or peering out through store windows, turns to stare at the handcuffed couple standing outside the lawyer’s office.

We really do look like criminals. And with Kayla wearing that tight skirt and those high heels, we look like sexy criminals, which only draws more eyes.

Looking her over more closely, I notice she’s wearing the exact same clothes and shoes she had on yesterday. There’s a small stitch on her shirt where it’s been mended and her heels are dirty and scuffed.

Huh. Not the designer outfit I’d expect a spoiled princess to sport, especially not two days in a row. It doesn’t really fall in line with my idea of a trust fund baby.

“Everyone is staring at us,” Kayla murmurs as a faint blush spreads over her cheeks. She turns away from the onlookers and faces me, but steps so close to my chest she’s nearly buried in it.

I look down at her and cock my head. Hmm. Not the reaction of a diva beauty queen. Not at all. Her modest behavior is almost… endearing. And very confusing.

“Yeah…” I say slowly. “Well you are wearing high heels and handcuffs. You look downright sinful.”

She looks up and her mouth falls open. “Me? What about you?”

“Trust me.” I watch a group of construction workers stop what they’re doing as they eye Kayla’s ass. “No one is looking at me.” A trio of women seated at the café across the street see me and immediately start to whisper. Some scandals just don’t die. “Okay. Maybe a few people are looking at me.”

She sees the construction guys and makes an annoyed noise before stepping even closer to me. The scent of coconut fills my nostrils and a vision of rubbing coconut oil all over her body suddenly pops into my head. I try to push it away, but then she leans in, pressing her shoulder and hip against me, and the vision becomes much more explicit.

I start to grow hard against her soft body—until I see her nervously bite her lip and furrow her brow at the construction workers, and my thoughts return to reality.

She’s clearly uncomfortable with those guys checking her out, and the insecurity in her eyes tugs at something strong and unfamiliar inside me.

“Good heavens!” I hear.

An elderly couple walks past us, looking horrified when they see the glinting metal binding us together, and the old woman’s mouth drops open.

I smile at them reassuringly and explain. “We’re not felons,” I say, shaking my head. “We handcuffed ourselves together on purpose.” They look even more horrified. “Not for a kinky reason,” I quickly add. “For money.”

Kayla mutters, “Please stop talking.”

The couple hurries past us, tsking and shaking their heads as they move down the sidewalk, and I turn to Kayla. “Can you believe that? They didn’t even try to hide their judgment.”

“Gee, I wonder why.” She glowers at me. “Let’s just go so we’re no longer standing on display for the whole town.” She looks around. “Where’s that pretentious car of yours?”

“My car is not pretentious.”

She lifts a brow.

“Okay. My car is a little pretentious,” I concede. “But it’s a good car.” I think about poor Monique being towed away from me. “A sweet car. A beautiful, loyal, loving vehicle that deserves to be treated nicely.”

She grimaces. “You’re being kind of weird about your car.”

“I know.” I nod with a sigh. “I have attachment issues.”

“Clearly,” she says. “So where is it?”

“My car? Uh…” Good question. “My car is far away. Far, far away.” Poor thing. “It would take a very long time to walk to it.” Wherever it is. “Let’s use your car,” I suggest with a grin.

She hesitates and for a second I think she’s going to argue, but then she says, “Fine,” and digs around in her purse.

Pulling out her keys, she leads me by the wrist down the sidewalk and to the nearest parking lot, pulling me behind her like I’m a dog on a leash. She walks me to the back of the parking lot and over to a small green car covered in scratches, dents, and rust.