Marrying My Ex's Boss novel · Chapter 4 of 24

Chapter 4: The Bureau

Joyce Dunphy brought carnations from the Giant Eagle and a paperback in case it ran long.

She told Truman on the steps of the City-County Building, in the cold Thursday sun, "I've been at Ironbridge for thirty-one years."

"I've seen four CEOs, two lawsuits and one fire. This is the first one I'd pay to watch."

"Mrs. Dunphy," Truman said, and shook her hand.

"Miss. I never needed one."

She looked him up and down over her bifocals, from the broken nose to the navy suit with no tie.

"You're taller than your grandfather," she said. "He used to pinch the girls in accounts payable. Do you pinch?"

"No, ma'am."

"Good. I keep a log of every login in that building. If you hurt this one, I'll know where you were at 2 a.m."

"I believe you," said Truman.

"You should."

I loved her so much in that moment that I had to look at the street.

Term four said no lying to anybody I love.

So on Wednesday I'd told Joyce everything over a sleeve of crackers: the napkin, the trust, the year.

She had chewed through the whole story and said, "Well. That's the most honest fraud I've ever heard."

Then she had asked what shoes I'd wear.

The marriage license bureau was on the first floor, a big beige room that smelled of toner and coffee.

A clerk in reading glasses slid the form across to us without looking up.

"Names. Dates. Parents. Any prior marriages?"

"No," we said, together.

"Any relation?"

"No," I said. "Not yet."

She glanced up.

Truman was looking at the ceiling to keep from laughing.

The magistrate had a room on the second floor, with a flag, a table and a window onto a brick wall.

My mother had called at eight that morning, because she can smell a lie through a phone.

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