Marrying My Billionaire Boss

by Lee, Nadia

  “Took you long enough,” I say. “I half expected you to barge into my place yesterday.” Good thing he didn’t, though, because I don’t think I could’ve handled another interrogation, especially when I was still hung over.

  He sits down without waiting for an invitation. “Ryan was acting up, and I didn’t want to leave Vanessa alone to deal with him. She’s expecting a detailed update when I get home tonight, though.”

  “Yes, well, hey, take a seat and make yourself comfortable. It isn’t like I have anything to do.”

  “I already checked with Evie. You have a little downtime.”

  I give him a resentful look. It’s wrong how easily he says her name.

  You could do the same. What’s stopping you?

  Because she isn’t calling me Nate like she should. For some bizarre reason, it’s a point of pride. Besides, her reaction to being called Mrs. Sterling was amusing enough to soothe my ego for the moment.

  “So. You two are really married?”

  I nod. “Looks that way.”

  “Then why is she here?”

  What is this? The Justin Is an Idiot show? “Because she’s my assistant?”

  “Well, now she’s your wife.”

  “She wants to work,” I say, remembering what she said about wanting to keep working, even after the “divorce.”

  “But as your assistant?”

  “Hilary works as an assistant,” I say, referring to one of his brothers-in-law’s wives.

  “Yeah, but not for her husband.”

  I wave the inconsequential detail away. “Because she never worked for him. But Evie’s been with me for almost a year now, and she’s fantastic. Why should we have to change anything at work just because our private relationship has changed?”

  Justin’s eyes narrow, which is not a good sign. He didn’t take over Sterling & Wilson by being stupid. If he hadn’t measured up, Barron would’ve tossed him out like trash and taken me under his wing. The notion makes me shudder. Justin’s shoes are not ones I ever want to fill.

  “You said you don’t remember anything, but that isn’t true, is it?” He regards me over steepled fingers. “Tell me everything. No bullshit.”

  “I’m not. It’s the truth.” And I do tell him everything. There’s no point in trying to hide anything anyway. If he thinks I’m holding back, he’ll get the family’s PI involved. And that would be bad, because Pattington always manages to find embarrassing details.

  “It’s a setup,” Justin says after I’ve finished, his gaze flicking toward the door.

  “What the fuck? You don’t suspect Evie, do you?” I ask, slightly stunned.

  “I trust no one. And you have a history of dating crazy, hot chicks.”

  I shrug, since I can’t argue. Even if I wanted to, he has Georgette to fling in my face, and I couldn’t block that with Captain America’s shield.

  “You’re so careless at times,” Justin continues. “Try to remember how much you’re worth.”

  “I’m more than my balance sheet,” I say, even though I know it’s something that’ll always follow me around.

  Justin’s expression softens a bit. “I know, but does the world know? They don’t look at us and see people. They look and see money. Or greedy fuckers who have too much. Entitled assholes who don’t deserve any of what we have.”

  What he’s saying isn’t wrong. But that doesn’t mean I’m okay with it. He doesn’t know Evie, so how can he brush her with a broad stroke like she’s the same as everyone else in the world? “Evie isn’t like that.”

  “Who stands to benefit?”

  “Still. Evie isn’t like that.”

  He gives me a long look. “I just want you to be careful.”

  “I am. And Court is looking into the whole thing for me.”

  “Court?” He looks vaguely annoyed. Probably his ego is bruised I didn’t ask him.

  “Yeah. Because if you’re right, and it is a setup, whoever did it will be expecting me or you to come after them.”

  Justin thinks for a moment and then nods. “Okay. That makes sense. And I know he’s actually pretty competent, even if he did steal the wrong girl at that wedding.” He shakes his head. “But listen. You tell him to call me if he needs anything. I’ll provide whatever’s necessary to get to the bottom of this.”

  I nod, mildly mollified.

  “And we have that party next Saturday at four thirty to welcome Evie into the family.”

  “Yeah, I know. Miles texted everyone. But why so early?”

  “Kids. They can’t stay up too late. It’s going to be small—or I’m going to try to keep it that way to avoid overwhelming Evie. But Barron might invite some extra people. Make sure to show up on time. You know how Barron is.”

  All this talk about the family makes me realize that our mother has been awfully quiet… I didn’t realize how quiet until just now. “Hey…is Mom okay?” She lives alone. She doesn’t have anybody around to check on her, make sure she’s taken care of, the way Dad used to.

  “Of course.” Justin’s eyebrows pull together. “Why wouldn’t she be?”

  “She didn’t call or text me. Not even once.” And that isn’t like her. I pull out my personal phone and check. Not even an email.

  “Oh, that.” He smiles. “She’s on her way to Los Angeles. She wants to see you and Evie in person and hear all about your secret romance. Act surprised, though, because she wants to surprise you.”

  “She’s already on the plane?”

  He nods. “Should be.” He checks his phone. “It took off an hour ago.”

  Oh, lord. Evie and I need to sit down and get our stories one hundred percent straight, because my mother is overprotective of me and is going to probe and wonder and question. No detail is too small for Blanche Sterling to overlook. “And where is she staying?”

  “With us. She doesn’t want to bother the newlyweds.”

  An idea strikes—a solution to one of my immediate problems. Trying not to grin, I say, “Tell her I’d love to host her at my place. Actually, I insist.”

  “Are you sure?” Justin asks, raising both eyebrows.

  “Yeah, there’s plenty of room. And no reason to have Ryan running her ragged. Especially if she’s coming out to hear about me and Evie.”

  He shrugs. “Okay, if you’re cool with it. Just so you know, though, she is expecting to have dinner at your place tonight.”

  “That’s not a problem,” I say airily.

  “Try to have it catered, so it doesn’t look like your usual Chinese takeout disaster,” he says dryly.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Evie

  The moment Justin leaves, Nate asks me into his office. I go in, my tablet ready.

  “Yes, Mr. Sterling?” I ask, in an extra-prim voice I don’t care for and would normally never use. It’s just that I feel like I have to in order to ensure we maintain a proper professional distance.

  “My mother’s coming to Los Angeles. Right now.”

  “She’s what?” I thought I wouldn’t have to meet anybody from his family until later, at the party Barron was talking about. I was planning on figuring out a way to gracefully get out of it somehow. Maybe smearing my face with radioactively glowing biohazard material the day before.

  “She’s expecting dinner tonight. So call a caterer, and tell them to make it something fancy. Maybe rack of lamb or something.”

  Oh, no, no, no, no, no. I’m not ready to meet Nate’s mom. Not even a little. And dinner? At home?

  “Is she going to stay with you, too?” I ask, my voice thick with panic. I can’t act like we’re living together when we’re not if she’s actually going to be there.

  “Yes.”

  No, no, no! “Did you tell her we’d like to have some time to ourselves? That’s what newly married couples do.”

  “She hasn’t seen me in a long time, and I think she wants to make sure I’m okay.”

  “You’re okay?” What does the woman think I’m going to do
to him?

  “I have a history of dating women who are a little, uh, unstable.” Nate scratches his chin.

  Oh. My. God. I guess his mother must know about Georgette. But really, does she have to stay with us? Doesn’t she know most new wives don’t want to share a roof with their mothers-in-law?

  Before I can vocalize my objections, Nate adds, “You should hire some movers and get your things over to the house. At least your clothes and daily stuff.”

  “Right now?” I run a hand over my hair. Can we hire movers so fast? But I don’t have that much stuff. Most of the furniture is Kim’s, and my bed would look out of place in his Malibu mansion. “What about Kim? I can’t abandon her. She’s my roommate.”

  “I’m not saying you should abandon your roommate. But do you want my mom to walk into my place with none of your things around? She’s going to wonder, and believe me, she doesn’t miss much.”

  Of course not. A woman doesn’t marry into this family and raise two boys by missing things.

  “I’m not sleeping with you,” I blurt out. “She won’t be spending her time in the…master bedroom.”

  Nate closes his eyes briefly. “No, I don’t think she will. But sex is something we need to discuss.”

  My face flames. I’m so not ready to discuss this out loud—in his office, of all places—when I can barely wrap my head around the fact that we’re married! “We already did.”

  He raises both eyebrows like he can’t recall this discussion actually happening.

  “In the car. On the way to work,” I remind him. “Obviously I’m not going to do it with you if we’re going to be finished with each other in six weeks.”

  “Even if we are only going to be married for six weeks, you can’t possibly expect me to go without for that long.”

  Oh, please. Of all the… But then I remember the statue in his living room. In the pose I saw—the sausage one—the guy’s face is twisted, as though he’s in some intense agony. Well, I guess having it turgid for too long would be uncomfortable, but…

  “Can’t you just…um”—I swallow, debating how to say it without feeling awkward and embarrassed—“…self-serve?”

  “Self-serve? What am I? A gas station?”

  “You know what I mean.” I curl my fingers and move my hand up and down, just enough for him to get the hint. “Like, in the shower or something?”

  “You want me to cheat on you with Rosie Palm and her five friends?”

  I nod, my face heating. He’s making it sound like holding his hard cock in the shower in his own hand is the ultimate dirty act. And instead of being mildly offended, the mental image is making me want to squirm. I suddenly realize my nipples are hard and aching. God, I’m a mess. An emotional and sexual mess.

  “For six interminable weeks?” he says.

  I clear my throat. “I won’t hold it against you. Besides, it isn’t really six weeks, because even if we were married for real, we couldn’t do it every single week anyway.”

  He looks puzzled. “Why not?”

  I give him a withering look. “Think about it.” I am not discussing my monthly cycle with my boss. Aunt Flo is coming in less than two weeks, and she always stays for a week.

  “I don’t know about sticking with Rosie for that long. She’s a one-trick palm.”

  “You do actually have two hands…”

  He shakes his head. “Same thing.”

  Hmm… I guess doing the same thing for six weeks can be tedious. The most logical solution would be to tell him to do it with other women. It’s not like we’re really married, but somehow, my tongue refuses to form the words. There’s a huge, burning knot in my throat, like it would cause me physical damage to suggest he should just…seek some variety with someone else.

  So I just say, “Well, I’m sure you can survive that long. After all, you’ve been drinking the same kale shake for nine months.”

  Guilt pricks at me. I haven’t been cruel enough to make the exact same shake every morning. I vary it by adding broccoli one day, spinach another and artichoke hearts the next, and cycle them throughout.

  “I see,” he says finally. Is it my imagination, or does he sound slightly disappointed that I haven’t done better with his shakes?

  He opens his mouth, but I don’t want to talk about sex or veggie shakes anymore. “Look, I’m going to go and grab a few things from my place. And I’ll make something for dinner.”

  He looks mildly surprised. “You don’t have to. We can cater.”

  “I know, but it’s your mother’s first meal with her ‘daughter-in-law.’ There’s no way I can cater. Or do takeout.” I certainly wouldn’t do that to my own mom.

  “But like you said, we aren’t even married for real.”

  “Yeah, but she’s your mother. She deserves that much. So what time is she going to be there?”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Evie

  I drive to my place first to pack enough things to look like Nate and I live together. It isn’t a lot—just toiletries, underwear, pajamas, a few T-shirts and shorts. Some work clothes. Oh, and shoes. I put everything into my two suitcases.

  I’ve got Kim on speakerphone the entire time. Partly because I need somebody to talk to and partly because I need my friend’s distraction and support.

  “Wow. His mom. That’s serious. Blanche Sterling is really reclusive, from what I’ve heard. Doesn’t travel much, just stays out in her house somewhere in Ohio. Her husband died a while back. Anyway, it’s a big deal she’s coming out to L.A. to see you. She didn’t do that for Vanessa.”

  Shit. Does this mean I should change into something better? Maybe my black cocktail dress? I’ve never met Nate’s mom, but if she’s anything like Kim’s boss’s wife, she’s going to be expensive and fashionable, with hair the same color as when she was in her twenties. And she’ll be in designer stilettos and a beautiful haute couture dress.

  “By the way, do I need a new roommate?” Kim asks. “Not that I want to get rid of you or anything, but I don’t feel right asking you to pay for your portion if you aren’t even living with me, you know?”

  “I don’t mind. It’s only for a month and a half. And I’ll need a place to stay once the divorce proceedings start.”

  “Okay.”

  “Now, tell me more about Nate’s mother. Do you know what she likes to eat?” Please say it’s something I know how to make. If not, I’ll have to look up a recipe online and hope for the best.

  “No, but make her something you’d make for your own mom. I would, anyway. Shows how you really are, you know?”

  Right! That’s great advice. It’s bad enough Nate and I are lying to Blanche already. And who doesn’t like a good roasted chicken? “Thanks, that’s a perfect idea. Okay, gotta go. I need to pick some stuff up from the store.”

  “Good luck!”

  Feeling like I’m on a reality cooking show, I rush through the grocery store and grab a whole free-range chicken, a few herbs, a locally grown lemon, a bag of rice, butter, bacon, whole-wheat bread, a pre-made pie crust and two pounds of peaches—all of them organic, fresh, locally sourced and hideously expensive. I can hear my bank account screaming as I swipe my credit card at the cash register.

  It doesn’t matter, I tell myself. I need to prep the right kind of food for Nate’s mom. We aren’t married for real, but she deserves a good effort from the woman who’s supposed to be her son’s new wife.

  I drive to his place, then let myself in and take stock of his kitchen. I’ve never used it like I’m about to now, but I’m grateful it’s fully furnished, with double convection ovens and a giant gas stovetop. I dump my suitcases in the living room for the moment, then start the chicken and the peach cobbler. I need to hurry or I won’t have enough time to make sure everything’s done by six. As it is, I barely have seventy minutes to prep and cook everything.

  While the chicken and the peach cobbler are going in the ovens, I drag the suitcases up the stairs. The master bedroom is empty, an
d it’s weird to go in there without Nate around…like I’m invading his privacy or something. I can’t believe I’m supposed to share this space for the next six weeks. He doesn’t even have two beds. Just one giant California king. I wonder if we can discreetly install a rollaway cot.

  Come on, Evie. Think of it like an extended sleepover. Just like in junior high and high school.

  Yeah, except my girlfriends weren’t hot like Nate. They didn’t have his lean, gorgeous arms or eyes bright with humor or a killer smile that makes my heart feel funny…

  Ugh, whatever. I can be professional about this. I am a professional.

  I start to unzip one of the suitcases, then stop when I realize I’m going to have to put my stuff in his closet and bathroom. That just feels too…intimate. Maybe I should just take stuff out on an as-needed basis. That way it doesn’t feel too permanent or anything. Yeah. I mean, who unpacks when they’re only staying for a little while? Not me. Six weeks will pass by in a blink. A blip.

  I shove the bags into the walk-in closet and shut the door. Need to get the rice started or it’s never going to be done in time. And stop thinking about Nate’s bedroom. Focus. I want to make sure Nate’s mom feels properly welcomed.

  I cook the rice on the stove with some butter, herbs and spices. Then I fry the bacon until the slices are crispy. I blot them with paper towels and check on the chicken and the peach cobbler. Both are coming along nicely.

  Now, what else? Salad.

  Wash, dry, chop the lettuce. Tomatoes, check. Avocado, check. Croutons, check. I then cut the bacon into small bits and toss them on the salad. That done, I quickly whip some balsamic vinegar, salt, pepper and extra virgin olive oil into a dressing.

  The place smells nice. Homey and replete with the aromas of dinner. A bit of pride surges inside me. This should do for a proper welcome. Who doesn’t love a freshly prepared, home-cooked meal?

  With a few minutes left, I re-powder my face and put on a fresh coat of lipstick. I should be just as presentable as the food.

  At six, I take everything out and set the table. Chicken. Rice. Salad. Peach cobbler. Some bread if she wants it. Butter.