Marrying My Billionaire Boss

by Lee, Nadia

  “Well, none of them are my wife,” I say eventually. “And since I’m married now, they’ll never get a chance to fantasize about it again.”

  “You know what? It’s unjust that you didn’t ask me to be your best man, even if you were eloping.”

  Yes. Let’s focus on the most important point of my Vegas “wedding.” “You don’t need a best man for an elopement.”

  “Could’ve been a witness.”

  “Could have, but it was kind of spur of the moment. Besides, you were too busy with Skittles. Proposing to her, apparently. I am going to be your best man, right?”

  “I don’t know,” he says with a touch of asperity. “Maybe I’ll ask Edgar or Tony.”

  “Your brothers? Come on. Edgar’s about as much fun as a wet towel. And Tony…” I try to come up with something, but it’s hard because the man owns one of the hottest clubs in L.A. “Tony’s already married and will probably be stodgy and boring by the time your wedding comes around.”

  Court scoffs. “You’re so full of it. Anyway, are you going to introduce me to your wife or what?”

  “Yeah, of course. But she’s not here right now.”

  “Where’d she go?”

  I sigh because there’s no avoiding an answer. “Her apartment.”

  Court frowns. “She hasn’t moved in with you?”

  “Not yet.” No real way to hide the fact that there’s no trace of her living here. I should’ve tried to find the damned thong she was harping about in Vegas. Then I could’ve pretended like she was living here by leaving it draped on the edge of the kitchen counter. Or on the head of the statue dude. “I told you, we’re civilized.”

  “That’s separated, not civilized.”

  “Semantics.” I close my eyes, hoping he gets the hint that I don’t want to talk about it.

  But Court is about as perceptive as a charging rhino. “Come on, man. This is weird. What really happened?”

  That’s the billion-dollar question, isn’t it? Much to my endless frustration, I have no freakin’ idea. Then I wonder if Court might be able to help me piece it together. His parents are pretty fucked up, especially his mom. So maybe he’ll be better than me at thinking of ways things can go south.

  I try to gather my thoughts and tell him what I can recall, winding up with my conversation with Tiny Tim as Evie and I were leaving the hotel. “You know him, right?”

  “Sure. Big security guy, always smiling?”

  “Yeah. He was done with his shift, and he asked me if I was all right.”

  Court leans forward. “So he saw something wrong?”

  “He said Evie and I were looking pretty trashed the night before, so he made sure we stopped playing because he didn’t want to take advantage. Then he said he had one of his guys keep an eye on us until we went to our suite. Apparently we actually went to the chapel across the street to get married. His guy witnessed the whole thing.” I stick a hand into my hair. “The problem is, I don’t remember anything. For all I know, I could’ve run down the street naked.”

  “I’m pretty sure you didn’t. If you had, that would’ve made the front page of the all the tabloids.” Court tilts his head. “What does Evie remember?”

  “Nada. She’s just as freaked out about it as me, and she’s frustrated we can’t just annul the whole thing.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because of Barron.” I’m frustrated too, but not for the same reason. It’s more to do with the fact that I lost control and that the woman I want is my wife, but seems to have zero interest in having sex with me.

  “That’s weird about the memory loss. Evie being a lightweight, okay, fine. But you? After four lousy drinks?”

  “I’ve been wondering about that too. There’s no way I had more and forgot about it. Plus, Tiny said they cut us off when we started acting strange. It doesn’t make any sense.”

  “You think your drinks were tainted?”

  I laugh at the idea. “They’d never. The casino is aboveboard.”

  “Doesn’t have to be them. Could be somebody else who wants to come at you.”

  “Then why drug Evie?” The possibility of somebody coming after me doesn’t bother me too much, but them hurting Evie…

  Court frowns. “Maybe they didn’t know which drink was yours? Or maybe they needed to have her out of the way. If they wanted to kidnap you or drag you away, she wouldn’t have let them, right?”

  “Yeah, okay… But then why am I here, not kidnapped or dragged away?”

  Court nods. “Yeah.”

  We sit and think about it for a few minutes. Finally, I say, “I need to look into it more closely.”

  “Not you. Me.”

  “You? Why?” I ask, surprised. He knows I’m capable of handling this myself.

  “Whatever they were trying to do, they know they failed. Now they’re probably expecting you, or maybe Justin or Barron, to make the next move, and they’re likely ready for it. But me? They won’t see me coming, and by the time they figure it out, it’ll be too late.”

  That’s a solid point, and I appreciate that he’s going to do this for me when he’s engaged and would much rather spend more time with his girl. “Thanks, buddy.”

  “Eh, I owe you one. Skittles told me about the phone call you made.”

  I nod slowly, although I have no clue what I said. I only remember calling her, shit-faced, after twenty-some shots.

  “And you have to be my best man,” he says.

  I smile. “Wouldn’t have it any other way.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Nate

  “Cuckoo, cuckoo, cuckoo, cuckoo, cuckoo, cuckoo, cuckoo.”

  Exactly seven times. My body tightens with anticipation. Evie and I haven’t spoken since she sprinted to her Uber, but it’s okay. She’s too professional to call in sick. She’s going to be here in three, two, one…

  And there it is. The sound of the security system alerting me to her arrival.

  Very casually, I step out of the shower with nothing but a towel around my hips. This Monday is starting out like any other Monday, but it’s going to end differently.

  I’ve given a lot of thought to my and Evie’s situation. And Court’s right to call our living arrangement “separated.” That won’t do at all.

  It isn’t just that I’ve been lusting after her body and still get blue balls thinking about her. If we try to annul the marriage now—or if certain members of my family notice something’s off—they’re going to think that maybe the reason I don’t want to keep her is that she took advantage of me in Vegas. Barron isn’t the only one who worries about gold diggers coming after me. And no one in my family forgives easily.

  The thing is, I don’t want Evie hurt. What I want is her, in my bed, and distinctly unhurt. More like orgasmic and glowing. Then… Then we’ll take it day by day. No need to get too serious, trying to plan every moment of our future. Because laying it all out like that simply isn’t me. Justin’s the one who’s had his life completely planned since he was four.

  Then what? Keep her? Because she sure doesn’t seem to want to be kept by you.

  My mood sours.

  Divorce her and give her some consolation money?

  Of course not. I bristle at the rude voice in my head. I’ve never treated my previous girlfriends badly, and I’m not planning to just because Evie is no mere girlfriend, but my wife. I’m not one of those worthless asshole playboys with too much money. My parents taught me better, and beyond that, I grew up watching my dad. Real men have manners, protect and help people who are weak and vulnerable and stand up to bullies and assholes. Especially if they have money.

  And I intend to be a real man, just the way my dad showed me.

  Evie comes into my bedroom wearing a fitted pink dress that molds to her trim, curvy body. Her breasts look extra enticing today. I wonder for a moment if she pinches one of her nipples when she fingers herself. Or maybe she’s a grabber. Some women like to have the whole boob in their hand when t
hey…

  My cock perks up, letting me know that it, too, is amenable to being grabbed. Just as long as it’s Evie’s hand doing the grabbing.

  Stay the fuck down. It’s not time yet.

  It’s been almost twenty-four hours. She must’ve come to a decision—accepted our situation. People always adapt to new circumstances, and Evie is a smart woman.

  And that acceptance means she’ll acknowledge that we’re married. Husband and wife. No more “Mr. Sterling” or “Ms. Parker.” No more living apart.

  And to confirm my thoughts, I glance at her ring finger. The gold band is still there. Ha! I knew it! I clench my hand, feeling victorious as my own gold band shines.

  She smiles. “Good morning—”

  Anticipation vibrates through me as I wait to hear my name on her luscious lips.

  “—Mr. Sterling.”

  What did she just say?

  “You have a teleconference with the head of the Kerri Wilson Lloyd Women’s Health Center in Chicago,” she says. “Then you have a meeting with the auditors who just came back from San Francisco. So for today, I think maybe something powerful and conservative.” She walks into my closet.

  Out of habit, my gaze drops to her hot, perfectly shaped ass. But that doesn’t mean I’ve forgotten about the outrage of her still calling me Mr. Sterling. We shared a bed—albeit drunk and passed out. She should know I don’t have a giant stick up my butt by now.

  As though she sensed my baleful glare, she turns to me. “Is there something else, Mr. Sterling?”

  Listen to her. Mr. Sterling. “My name is Nate.”

  “I’m aware of that, Mr. Sterling. After all, I’ve been working for you for over ten months.” She gives me a sweet smile, the kind you might reserve for a curious and needy child.

  My blood pressure skyrockets. I want to shake her, but that’s really not the way to start off a marriage.

  She lays out my outfit for the day. “I’ll be downstairs preparing your breakfast.” She turns around smartly and leaves.

  The bedroom feels as barren and desolate as a Mongolian desert. Why is she doing this? Just to be perverse? Trying to needle me?

  Fine. If she doesn’t want to change the way she addresses me, I’ll change the way I address her. Problem solved.

  My mind made up, I put on the dress shirt and slacks she selected. They’re both gray, although the shirt is so pale that it’s almost white. I knot the burgundy tie into a prefect half-Windsor, put on my jacket and head to the living room.

  She’s already finished prepping my cup full of palate-despoiling green hell-slime. I take it from her, making sure our fingers brush. Simultaneously, I hear a small sharp intake of breath over the gurgling of the coffeemaker.

  Yes!

  If I were alone, I’d do a cabbage patch dance. She’s not immune. Not anymore. It’s like being married—even if we don’t remember the actual ceremony—is making her less impervious to me. I can work with this.

  I down the vile shit that tastes like cow fart, while maintaining a stoic expression. She watches me chug it down.

  When the last drop of the green goo has slithered down and hit my belly, I can feel my system give a shudder of relief. I hand the empty glass back to Evie. “Thank you, Mrs. Sterling.”

  She sputters, almost dropping the glass. “What did you just call me?”

  I pat her back, full of husbandly solicitousness. “Mrs. Sterling.” Innocent. Matter of fact.

  She pushes my hand away, the gesture gentle but firm. “That isn’t my name.”

  Inwardly, I gird my loins, but outwardly, I give her a placid smile. “Normally when a woman marries, she takes her husband’s name. Unless you want to hyphenate? Parker-Sterling, perhaps?” Her jaw drops open. I put a finger under her chin and close it for her. “I mean, it’s a bit of a mouthful, but I guess we can manage.”

  Finally she recovers. “That is completely unnecessary. I’m happy with just Parker.”

  “So, Nate Parker? Hmm… Not bad, but it might cause some extra paperwork.” I take the keys and start toward the garage, since Miguel’s still on paternity leave.

  “That’s not what I meant, and you know it!” she says, her feet slapping the floor as she comes after me.

  “Actually, I don’t.”

  I select the Bugatti because it’s a Bugatti kind of a day. I open the door for her, and she climbs in, looking daggers at me. We’ve agreed to share my car while Miguel’s on leave, for the good of the planet. Must reduce our carbon footprint. It doesn’t hurt that she smells awesome, either.

  By the time I’m settled behind the steering wheel, she has her tablet out like a weapon. She waits until we’re on the road before she begins.

  “I’ve given this a lot of thought.”

  “Good. I’m all ears.” Undoubtedly she took notes on the tablet. That’s her habit. I’m curious how she envisions our future as a married couple.

  “I understand that Barron’s traditional and all, but that doesn’t mean we have to play into his fantasy of how things are. I also understand you don’t want to upset him. And honestly, neither do I. So we’ll pretend to be married for eight—actually, let’s say six—weeks, then quietly divorce.”

  “Really? What’s going to be the cause?” I ask, amused that this is what she considers the best solution.

  “Irreconcilable differences. You know.”

  It’s hard not to laugh when she’s being so earnest. She’s incredibly cute. Still, I make thoughtful noises. “Child support? Alimony? And what percentage of my money do you plan to take with you?”

  The sound she makes is halfway between outrage and shock. “Mister Sterling. I would never. There won’t be any children. And it’s only for six weeks. Of course I don’t expect alimony or anything like that. I just want to be able to continue to work as your assistant.”

  What the hell? Does she really think we can go back to being boss/assistant after a hypothetical divorce? I’m not sure if that’s possible. It would be awkward…wouldn’t it? “But why? Irreconcilable differences makes it sound like I’m an asshole boss-slash-husband you can’t possibly tolerate.”

  Her gaze is fixed on the tablet. “There’s a huge difference between a boss I can tolerate and a husband I can tolerate,” she says, sounding like she’s reading her notes.

  I frown. Why does that feel like a small needle going into my belly?

  “And you plan to live where during the six weeks?” I ask—the most important question, the one I’ve been dying to get an answer to. There’s only one logical place, and I’m hoping she’ll see it without me having to point it out.

  “I don’t understand. I’m not planning on moving. The lease on the apartment isn’t up until next year.”

  I cough, unable to decide if she’s being purposely obtuse or just this clueless. “People are going to wonder if we don’t even live together.”

  “I can drive to your place, then you can drive me to work, then back to your place, and I can drive home. Very simple. No one will know.”

  “Ha. The paparazzi will. They’ll follow you around.”

  “Really?” She makes a big production out of looking around, craning her back behind us. “Because I don’t see any.”

  “Because they haven’t gotten mobilized yet. But they will, especially once it gets out that Barron’s throwing us a party.”

  “Damn it. I should’ve known the Vegas thing was trouble.” Her chin firms. “You know what? It doesn’t matter if they try to say that we live separately. I can just explain I was visiting my friend.”

  Oh, man. Evie can’t lie for shit. How does she plan to fake living together, fake being married and fake everything else? “Every day after work? And on weekends?”

  “Kim and I are very, you know, close. It happens.”

  “And I become jealous of your close relationship with Kim, and you end up divorcing me,” I say, writing the scenario for her.

  Her expression brightens. “I hadn’t thought of that, but
sure! Exactly!”

  Doing my best to suppress a smile, I put on a grave expression. “But that means there are going to be speculations about your and Kim’s relationship.”

  “So? Even if they dig, all they’re going to find as that we’re just friends and roommates…or ex-roommates.”

  “Yeah, but think about it. You’re spending more time with her than with your new husband. What does that tell you?” I don’t bother to wait for her to come up with the inevitable conclusion everyone’s going to reach. “You and Kim are lesbians. Or at least you, Evie Parker, are bi and doing both of us.” I put on a sad expression, the kind a cuckolded husband might, and place a hand over my chest. “How could you cheat on me like that?”

  Evie puts both palms over her face with a loud groan.

  I finally let myself smile. Every obstacle can be overcome with patience and finesse. It’s only a matter of time before Evie sees the light.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Nate

  Once we’re at the office, I don’t let anything distract me. And the same goes for Evie. She understands as well as I do how important our work is.

  The meeting with the Chicago head goes swimmingly. The women’s health center is a critical component of what we do. Every woman who shows up is treated, no questions asked. It isn’t our place to judge or probe. If they bring their kids, the kids are also given care. We have a pediatrics department specifically for that, and we do a lot of work with shelters, through a partnership with the Pryce Family Foundation. The most vulnerable people in our society are always the ones least able to take care of themselves. It’s our mission to ensure that they’re okay.

  When I have a thirty-minute break from meetings, I lean back in my seat and stretch my arms. The issues in Houston were regrettable, but I think my solutions scared the shit out of the remaining medical centers. So many wealthy families aren’t on top of their nonprofits the way they are with the income-generating portion of their business. But nobody in my family is the type to let anything slide.

  The door to my office opens, and Justin walks in.