“Sure, Boss.” She paused on the sidewalk, then mock frowned and wagged a finger at him. “Wait a minute,” she said accusingly, as if he’d been trying to slip a fast one past her. “You’re not my boss. I fired you. You are, however, if Chastity’s to be believed, a prudish, windmill-chasing, champion of kittens earmarked for a watery grave. Weird, huh? Considering you’re supposed to be the wild bad boy of Hollywood.” She grinned at him like a sunny day as she tucked her arm through his. “Let’s move along, my country vicar,” she said, giving him a little tug. “We have places to go, documents to obtain.”

*   *   *

“Would you like a receipt?” the Clark County clerk asked.

Sarah stared at the copy of her marriage license in dismay. “Excuse me. This is the wrong one. It’s the marriage license that was signed at the chapel. What I need is a copy of the license that was issued at city hall.”

The balding clerk’s mouth tightened. “This is a copy of the marriage license issued by city hall.”

“But my signature is on it.”

“Yes.” The clerk was looking at her as if he suspected Sarah was missing a marble or two.

The man’s listening skills could use a little polishing. “This isn’t”—Sarah spoke slowly and clearly so there could be no mistaking her request—“what I needed. You gave me the one from the chapel. I need a copy of the license that was issued at city hall.”

“Again, ma’am. This is the license from city hall. You then took said license to the chapel, got married, and signed the license. This is your marriage license.”

“My understanding is in order to get legally married, we both had to be present at city hall to get the license. Had to fill out a form. Show ID. Yes?”

The clerk crossed his arms and huffed out a breath, glancing at the ceiling as if his fraying fragments of patience could be found up there. He must have found the reset button, because when he looked at her again, his face was placid once more. “That is correct. And your point is?”