Marrying My Billionaire Boss

by Lee, Nadia

  “You went to the drugstore like that?”

  “What?” His handsome face clouds with confusion. “No. It’s from the minibar.”

  The pills probably cost ten dollars each, but I’m too desperate to care right now. I shove four into my mouth and chug down the water. A few drops trickle down my neck. I’m so hung over that I can’t even drink without spilling. I run the back of my hand across my mouth and chin, like I’ve been sloppily swilling beer.

  Keeping it classy. Yeah, that’s me.

  “What happened?” I ask, hoping against hope he remembers something.

  “Not sure, but…” He scrutinizes my face, then a realization dawns on him. “You know.”

  “You mean this?” I lift my hand to show him the ring. “Yes. How could I miss it? It’s a foreign invader parasite wrapped around my finger. Who did I marry and where is he?” I grab a fistful of hair in despair. “I need to get an annulment. Hopefully it can be done without a lawyer. I’d like to keep all my organs.”

  “Well.” Nate clears his throat. “Uh…yeah. It’s a bit complicated.”

  “How?” And why is he looking at me like…like he’s torn between panic and mild gratification?

  He holds up his left hand. There’s a ring just like mine on his finger. Then he hands me his phone. I look at the screen. I’ve never, ever understood what people meant when they said they felt their heart drop to their feet. Now I do.

  Because if the pictures are correct, Nate and I are now married through some ceremony I don’t even remember! And if that’s not bad enough, it’s plastered all over the Internet. My face isn’t even blurred in the photos. Everyone’s going to recognize me when I walk down the streets.

  “This is slander!” I shriek, tossing the phone back to Nate. I can’t look at the lies anymore.

  “Actually, it’s libel. Because, you know, it’s printed…”

  “Argh! Do you think I care about that?”

  He wisely says nothing.

  “I don’t want to be married to you, and you don’t want to be married to me. We can just annul the whole thing. Nobody has to know, right? We’ll deny everything!” I say, coming up with various ways out, since my boss isn’t even trying. But that’s okay. I’m not going to be resentful, because this is what he pays me for.

  “Actually…it’s not that simple.”

  “Why not?”

  “My brother called me this morning…”

  “So?”

  “…about our marriage.”

  Oh no. Justin. Did he also call the rest of Nate’s family? “You denied everything, didn’t you?”

  Nate clears his throat. “Well, that’s the thing. I kinda didn’t.”

  “Why not?” I ask shrilly.

  “Uh. Hangover? Couldn’t think fast enough.”

  I inhale and exhale slowly. Okay. Okay. This isn’t a total disaster. I can fix it. There’s gotta be a way.

  But before I can come up with a solution, there’s a knock at the door.

  Nate sighs. “Finally. Damn room service. I need coffee, don’t you?”

  “Yes,” I say. Caffeine should help me think better and faster. Might help jog Nate’s brain too.

  I follow him, anticipating the coffee. Afterward, I’ll shower and get myself more back on track.

  But when Nate opens the door, it isn’t room service. It’s an elderly gentleman in an expensive-looking navy suit. Trim and stylish, he has wide shoulders set straight, his spine admirably vertical. Everything about him appears expensive except for the watch on his wrist. That looks…ordinary, something anybody could buy anywhere.

  Something about his face feels familiar, but my caffeine-deprived brain can’t seem to process what I’m seeing.

  “Good morning, Nate.” He walks inside, his steps measured and stately. “I don’t believe we’ve met,” he says to me, his tone surprisingly avuncular. “I’m Barron Sterling.”

  I feel like somebody just kicked me in the face, and my stomach shudders and churns like a broken washing machine in a spin cycle. My brain refuses to process for a moment, then finally starts working again. Oh, crap. Is this the Barron Sterling? He doesn’t seem like the “prostrate before me, unworthy shits” type.

  “Hi,” I squeak. “I’m Evie Parker.”

  He gives me a mildly chiding look. “Tsk, my dear. You are Evie Parker no longer.”

  I’m not?

  “Evie Sterling has such a lovely ring to it.”

  What? How does he know already? Nate didn’t call him, did he?

  “Congratulations on your nuptials.” Barron pulls me into a tight embrace. “And welcome to the family.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Evie

  For a man with his cutthroat reputation, Barron is a great hugger. If I could make myself forget that I’m being embraced by the head of the Sterling family and the fifth or sixth richest person in the world, I’d say it was even warm and sweet. And really welcoming.

  But right now, all I can really focus on is the fact that I’m hung over, I haven’t showered yet, and I’m without my underwear. My ass feels extra bare and exposed under the dress. It’s a thousand times worse than going commando at the auction. At least then I wasn’t trapped in Barron’s unmovable arms.

  Still, I have no choice but to return the hug and pray I don’t smell like a dead skunk. Now I wish I’d at least brushed my teeth in the bathroom. Some first impression I must be making.

  “You should’ve called,” Nate says, his voice extra friendly and casual.

  I realize Nate’s still in his towel. I should’ve put out something for him to wear before Barron showed up.

  Technically it isn’t your fault because you didn’t know Barron was coming.

  True, but it’s still my job, even if my head is so fuzzy and throbbing that two plus two is beyond me at the moment.

  Barron finally pulls away and arches an eyebrow. Nate pastes on a smile, but it’s so obviously fake that I feel bad for him. “I’m just saying we would’ve been more prepared. Or what if you missed us? We could’ve checked out.”

  “Ha!” Barron snorts. “Who gets up early and checks out the day after their wedding night?”

  Wedding night? Oh, shit. The pit in my belly is turning into a sinkhole. Now if I could just disappear into it…

  “I’ll go ahead and order some Earl Grey tea and sugar cookies,” Nate says.

  Yes, great idea! Let’s prolong the visit! On the other hand, there’s no graceful way to kick Barron out. The glint in his eyes says he’s staying. I smile the smallest smile I can get away with. It still hurts my cheeks. “Why don’t you have a seat and enjoy your tea, while I go freshen up?”

  “Of course,” Barron says like it’s the most natural thing in the world for him to just barge in on our “wedding” night/morning, and starts moving toward the seating area.

  Nate turns on a lamp by the couch, and that’s when I see my white thong on the seat of one of the armchairs.

  Oh, shit!

  It sort of blends in with the ivory upholstery, but I really don’t want Barron noticing it. And how did it end up there last night? I don’t remember that either. I doubt Nate and I had sex. We couldn’t possibly, not when we were so out of it that we have no recollection of anything. Aligning the right body parts would’ve been beyond us.

  You could’ve blown him, my unhelpful subconscious offers, sending electric shivers along my spine.

  My throat would feel different, I argue with myself, half relieved and half sad nothing happened.

  Doesn’t your throat feel a little sore? The perverse shit is positively gleeful.

  From drinking alcohol!

  Regardless, I don’t need the old man speculating about my and Nate’s nonexistent sex life. And I need to stop internally debating the never-happened blowjob. And he’s getting closer to that chair!

  “Barron, would you like to freshen up?” I say, trying to sound as normal as possible. “The flight must’ve been long, and you know how p
lanes are.”

  Barron gives me an odd look. “I don’t know how Nate keeps his, but mine are clean.”

  Nate, too, gives me an odd look from behind his great-uncle, probably wondering what the hell I’m doing.

  Desperate, I tilt my chin, then waggle my left eyebrow, hoping he gets the hint about the armchair. But he merely frowns in puzzlement, wriggles both his eyebrows wildly, then runs his index fingers over both and shrugs.

  Telepathy fail. Shit.

  Barron adds, “In any case, it wasn’t that long of a trip. And I showered en route.”

  Of course his plane has a shower. Naturally. But he really shouldn’t be moving toward the thong, like the Titanic gliding toward the uncrackable iceberg.

  Yeah, except it isn’t Barron who’ll be sinking when he sees the underwear.

  Come on, Evie. Think!

  I smile harder. My cheeks are going to need Botox at this rate. “Would you like something to drink while we wait for room service?” I gesture at the minibar, hoping he’ll go over to take a look at the options, so I can snatch my underwear from the seat.

  “Thank you, dear. It’s very sweet of you, but I’ll be fine with just Earl Grey tea and some sugar cookies.” He waves at me. “Go ahead and freshen up if you like. Don’t mind an old man.”

  I think that’s his polite way of saying, “Wash up, stinky!”

  Before I can utter a word, he lowers his butt on the thong seat. I bite my lower lip. Is he going to feel it through the hideously expensive silk of his pants?

  He sighs and leans back, his legs stretched out. Okay, maybe not.

  Still… Is there some way I can make him move his butt and retrieve the underwear without him noticing? My foggy head can’t come up with anything. Left with no choice, and praying he doesn’t feel the thong now or later through his pants, I go to the bedroom. Nate joins me.

  “What was that about?” he says quietly. “I thought you wanted to leave him alone so we could strategize.”

  “I was trying to tell you—” I abruptly swallow the rest. I’m not discussing the whereabouts of my underwear if he didn’t get my silent message earlier. And I doubt Mr. I Can’t Handle My Liquor can come up with a decent plan to retrieve the thong without alerting Barron.

  “Tell me what?”

  “Nothing.” My thong is definitely off the agenda now. “You need to be dressed properly before we can face him.”

  I go through his things and pull out a dress shirt and a pair of coffee-colored slacks.

  “Here you go. I need to shower.” Then, eyeing the closed door, I lower my voice. Just in case. “And please make him leave!”

  Nate shrugs helplessly. “I can’t make him do anything. He does what he wants.”

  I was afraid of that. “Then don’t let him get up.”

  “Why not?”

  Closing my eyes, I quickly offer a prayer: Dear God, if you wake me up now, I’ll give you my left ovary and the small toe from my right foot. I pour all my heart in it, squeezing my hands together as hard as I can.

  Then I open my eyes again. Crap. God isn’t listening. If there’s broadband between us and the divine, it’s more broken than my cable. “Just… Never mind. Let me shower in peace.”

  I slip into the bathroom, run the water and furiously brush my teeth and gargle with a small bottle of mouthwash provided by the hotel. Then I strip and hop into the stall for the fastest shower in history. I need to be out there to make sure Nate doesn’t say anything to Barron that’s going to get us deeper into this mess.

  I put on a fresh white T-shirt and jeans. My hair’s wet, but there’s nothing I can do about that, since it takes forever to blow-dry, and I don’t think Barron is the type to sit around patiently for that long.

  Before going back out, I take a moment to inhale. Calm down. Relax. You can do this. Barron is just here to say hello. Form a unified front with Nate. Tell Barron it was just a mistake. The end.

  When I open the door, I see a huge room service tray with coffee, water, toast, tea and sugar cookies. Nate’s munching on the toast and having coffee, while Barron’s enjoying his cookies.

  “…should’ve thought of your mother,” Barron is saying. “She only has two children, and now both of you have eloped without any warning.”

  Because we were never planning to elope. Besides, we’re going to annul the whole thing soon enough, and she’ll get to attend her son’s real wedding. So she shouldn’t be that sad.

  Tell him that, Nate!

  But instead, my boss looks properly chastised. “You’re right. I should’ve said something to her.”

  What?

  “I know Blanche has been a bit impatient about babies, but she probably wanted to be part of the ceremony, even if it was a Vegas elopement.”

  “Of course.” Nate nods like a dutiful nephew, then pours a cup of coffee and hands it to me, barely meeting my gaze.

  Is he avoiding me?

  Barron turns his attention toward me, his glittering, dark eyes pinning me like a lance. “Do you have any siblings, my dear?”

  “No,” I say, not ready to have this conversation with Barron. I quickly start drinking the coffee. The quicker the caffeine hits, the better I can handle Barron’s questions.

  “Then I feel for your poor mother as well.” His tone is positively funereal. “You both need to buy her something extravagant and thoughtful to make up for this.”

  I choke, then spit the coffee all over my white shirt. Crap. Now Barron’s going to think I’m a drunk and a klutz.

  “Get your wife a napkin.”

  Wife. I start wheezing.

  Nate does one better. He blots my chin and shirt with the napkin. Why, oh why is he trying to be extra solicitous now, when normally he doesn’t even bother to pick out his own socks in the morning? I bet we look like a caring, loving couple. At least, it seems that way from the satisfied expression on Barron’s face.

  “Actually, it can’t just be your mother,” Barron says when I finally recover.

  I brace myself, making sure nothing else is in my mouth. I’m not letting him ambush me twice.

  “Your father missed a chance to give you away. Should make up for that too.”

  The mention of my dad deflates my mood. It would be nice to have him around at my real wedding—if Mom could ever find him. They broke up before she realized she was pregnant because he got a job in another state. She couldn’t reach him because he didn’t have any family, and it was before Facebook or Instagram. She always told me that my dad was a good man, and he would’ve done the right thing—if he had known about me—and loved me to pieces. I tried to find him myself, but it was impossible. There are just too many Bradley Browns in the world.

  Nate looks chagrined, obviously sensing my mood. “Barron…” He shakes his head at his great-uncle.

  For once, Barron no longer forges on like an unstoppable train. “I’m sorry. Did I touch on something sensitive?”

  And that makes tears bead in the corners of my eyes. I sniffle. “No. It’s just…my father’s not around anymore. My parents lost contact with each other before I was born.”

  Nate squeezes my hand. The gesture is so unexpected that I almost flinch, then let him hold my hand, appreciating the contact and comfort. “It’s okay. Really. I’ve gotten used to it.”

  “Nobody should have to get used to something like that.” Barron purses his lips. “Regardless of how the actual ceremony went, I expect a small party to welcome Evie into the family. Justin should hold it. Say, two weeks from now at his home. He is the head of Sterling & Wilson now.”

  “Why not sooner?” Nate asks.

  If we were alone, I’d smack him for that question.

  “Unavoidable, I’m afraid,” Barron says. “I’m going to be out of the country for a week. We can’t have the party until I’m back.”

  Obviously.

  “Do you want to tell Justin?”

  “No, you should.” Barron sighs. “You’re right. It’d be better to do i
t tomorrow, but it’ll take time to make travel arrangements for Evie’s mother. And I’m on my way to see Kerri and Ethan and my adorable great-grandson.” His eyes soften until they’re like melted chocolate.

  “But they’re in Virginia,” Nate points out.

  Barron shrugs. “Vegas isn’t much of a detour.” He stands. “I should get going.”

  Thank God he’s finally leaving.

  “I’ll see you in two weeks,” Barron adds.

  “Yes, of course.” Nate smiles.

  And I do the same, because “No, you won’t” isn’t even an option when he’s looking at us so expectantly. And with a hint that if we fail, we’ll all die a horrible death.

  Barron pats Nate’s shoulders like he’s single-handedly discovered a lost Shakespearean manuscript, kisses me on the cheek like we’re real family and walks out.

  I down the rest of my coffee. It’s lukewarm, but I’m too wrung out to care. “We need to tell him the truth before the party.”

  “Actually, it makes more sense to play along,” Nate says.

  “Play along?” I blink a few times, wondering if he’s still too drunk to think rationally. “As in…lie? And act like we’re married for real?”

  “Well…yeah.”

  The terror of school plays returns in dizzying vertigo. I hated—hated—being on stage, having to say the right things the right way even though they weren’t at all what I wanted to say.

  “He called you my bride and wife,” Nate says thoughtfully.

  Why is he talking like we’re married for real? “We could tell him we changed our minds and got an annulment.”

  “Did you see how he was talking about Kerri’s kid?”

  “So? What does that have to do with us?”

  His look says, How can you be so slow? “He’s been hinting for a child…from me.”

  “But not from me!” I say, in case Nate has forgotten that I wasn’t anywhere on Barron’s radar until now. “He won’t be too disappointed. And it isn’t like he expects you to marry only once.”

  For some weird reason, talking about remarrying reminds me of my thong. I turn and go to the now-empty chair to grab it…

  Except it’s not there anymore.