She pushed the unwelcome thoughts from her mind and with a steely resolve Olivia straightened her spine. That sham of a ceremony might have been legal, but it was far from genuine. “What happened this afternoon at the Hunk-O-Hunk of Burning Love Chapel wasn’t really my wedding, Cassie. It was just the final step in a lengthy negotiation, that’s all. Believe me, if I ever do get married, you will be right by my side.” She gave her friend a reassuring smile. “And don’t think for a minute you’re off the hook for making the cake.”
It was obvious that Cassie was trying her best to muster the enthusiasm she knew Olivia was hoping for, although despite the curve that formed on her lips, the worry remained in her eyes. But before she could say anything, her brother rounded the sofa.
“There you are,” Matthew said. His auburn hair was in a total disarray and he seemed frazzled and out of breath, which only re-enforced Olivia’s suspicion that formal wedding events weren’t all they were cracked up to be. “Been looking everywhere for you. Emily wants to get a picture with the two of us.”
“Give me a minute, okay? Olivia and I were just—”
“Go with your brother. I’m fine.”
“Maybe I’m not.”
Olivia laughed. “Well, nothing about the situation is going to change in the next twenty minutes so go smile for the camera. Can’t disappoint the bride. Says so in the rule book.”
Begrudgingly, Cassie allowed herself to be dragged off by her brother. But a half hour later she was the one doing the dragging. She found Olivia sitting at the bar talking to a cousin of Emily’s who’d flown in for the weekend from Georgia. “Come with me,” she said, grabbing hold of Olivia’s hand. It was a command, not a request.
Olivia barely had time to mouth an apology to the man before they were in motion. “Whoa, slow down,” she said as her heel caught on the stone patio. “I’m going to spill my twenty-dollar drink. Where are we going in such hurry anyways—”
Cassie drew to an abrupt halt directly in front of Cole. Beside him stood their tour guide from the night before.
“Hi, Conor.”
“Hi, Olivia, or should I say Mrs. Grant?” He smiled as he lifted his drink to his lips, then paused with an observation. “Oh, shit, this is sort of your wedding reception, isn’t it? At least it’s a classy joint as far as bachelor parties go. Wouldn’t want you tossing your bouquet at some seedy strip club.” He took a sip of what looked and smelled like bourbon then whispered to Cole in a voice loud enough for them all to hear, “Let me know if you need a hand taking off her garter.”
Cole elbowed him in the ribs, sending Conor’s drink splashing out of his glass and all over his shirt. “Shut the fuck up, asswipe.”
“We need to talk to you,” Cassie said, her eyes darting from Olivia to Cole. “Both of you.”
“Yeah,” Conor said. “Because even though you’re both fucktards, we don’t want your asses to end up in jail.”
Cassie silenced him with a single glance. “What your Neanderthal friend is trying to say is that we both love you and even though we can’t begin to understand what you’ve done, the last thing we want is to see the two of you end up in any kind of trouble.”
“You are a sweetheart,” Olivia said. “But I don’t think the wedding police are going to bust us.”
“No, but his grandmother might,” Conor countered.
“There’s nothing she can do about it,” Cole said. “The marriage is legal. So says the state of Nevada and the King of Rock ’n’ Roll.”
“Elvis’s blessing aside,” Conor said. “Do you really think Meredith is going to give up that easily?”
“She won’t have a choice. This isn’t a criminal matter, Conor. Ms. Ramsey—”
“You mean Mrs. Grant?” Conor corrected.
“Olivia,” Cole continued, accenting her name, “is a U.S. citizen and aside from immigration fraud, it’s not a crime to marry someone you can barely tolerate.” He looked at Olivia. “No offense.”
“None taken,” she replied.
“All I know is that grandma of yours scares the fuck out of me.” Conor shuddered.
An elderly woman scared a man who was over six feet tall? She must be some granny.
“At the very least she’s going to want to, you know, authenticate this,” he said. “If I were you I’d be getting my shit together.”
Cassie nodded in agreement. “You’re going to have to at least pretend to love each other.”
Olivia rolled her eyes. “If I was that good of an actress, I would be—”
Cole cut her off. “I don’t see any reason we should have to alter our lives just because a piece of paper says we’re legally bound.”
Olivia cringed at the words “legally bound.”
“Really, that’s your big plan?” Cassie asked. “Just get married and then go about your business like nothing’s happened?”
“Yes,” the newlyweds said in unison.
“Then how do you expect anyone to buy this as real?” Cassie asked.
Olivia turned to Cole with raised brows, but he simply met her stare with one of his own. “Don’t look at me,” she said. “This was your brainchild.”
Cole ran a hand through his hair. “It’s not like I gave it much forethought. In case you have forgotten, it was a rather spontaneous proposal.”
Conor chuckled. “Classic.”
“Unbelievable.” Cassie said. “Are you two even going back to Chicago on the same flight?”
Olivia looked at her new husband who seemed decidedly less confident than he had an hour before. “Three o’clock?”
Cole nodded.
“You haven’t even discussed the flight home?” Cassie’s voice was several octaves too high. “Here, let me introduce you. Cole, this is Olivia. Olivia, this is Cole. Seems you two are married now, so you might want to get to know each other a bit before his grandma tries to have you brought up on fraud.”
“That’s not a possibility, is it?” Olivia asked Cole.
“Of course not,” he replied.
A fission of anxiety crept its way up her spine. “Are you sure?”
Cole shot her a look. “Yes, Olivia, I’m sure. I have a team of lawyers on retainer. Do you really think I would have done this without their counsel?”
She felt the tension ease from her frame. Of course, Cole would have done his due diligence, as he liked to say. But although Olivia felt relief, Conor was having far too much fun to let the subject go.
“Tell me you’ve at least made arrangements for conjugal visits?” he asked, still laughing as he slugged back the unspilled remnants of his drink.
“I’m not going to jail, asshole.”
“It’ll be fine. Orange is the new black.” Conor nodded to Cole’s all black attire, then smirked. “And you already own a pair of handcuffs . . .”
Handcuffs? Olivia swallowed hard. Before the night she’d spent with Cole, she had never experimented with any sort of kink. Not that she hadn’t been curious. Hell, half the world had bought a gray tie thanks to Jamie Dornan. But telling a partner that a little light bondage sounded fun wasn’t exactly the sort of thing you brought up over pizza and a movie. Yet somehow it had come up that night with Cole. A warmth spread through her as images of Cole, tying her hands with her panties, flashed before her eyes.
He’d gazed down at her with hooded eyes as he bound her wrists with her lace panties, tugging the fabric until it was snug against her skin before pulling her hands above her head and securing them to the bed frame. When he was done, he lingered for a moment, his eyes drinking in every inch of her naked body, until she began to squirm under the weight of his stare.
“What do you want, Olivia?” he’d asked.
“Everything,” she whispered.
“What are you talking about?” Cassie asked.
Oh fuck. Olivia’s head snapped up at the realization that fantasy had just blended with reality. She certainly hadn’t meant to say that out loud. “Hmm?” she asked, trying to feign nonc
halance.
Cole stared at her for a beat before turning his attention to their well-meaning friends. “Will you two give us a minute?”
“Only a minute? Dude, you really need to work on that stamina. Chicks dig a guy who can go all night.” He turned toward Cassie. “Am I right?”
“You’re a lot less charming when I’m sober,” Cassie said.
Conor laughed. “I’m an acquired taste.”
Cassie ignored him, focusing instead on Olivia. “I’ll be right over there if you need me,” she said. Then she locked her gaze on Cole and added, “with both my eyes on you.”
“Was Conor right?” Olivia asked the moment they were alone. “Will your grandmother come after us?”
Cole shook his head. “There’s nothing she can do. The marriage is legal, which is all that matters. Still, it wouldn’t hurt to take a few precautions.”
“What kind of precautions?”
“I don’t think we need to make any drastic changes, but we should at least have our backstory straight.”
“Our backstory?”
He let out an exasperated sigh. “How we met, dates we went on, how you knew I was the perfect man for you.”
“Come again?”
“I believe you did.” He smirked. “Many times, in fact.”
“I mean what the hell are you talking about? We don’t need some sort of fabricated history.”
Cole snorted. “You’re not suggesting we tell the truth?”
“A foreign concept to you I’m sure, but yes. ‘No legacy is so rich as honesty.’ Surely you’ve heard that one before?”
“I’m familiar with Shakespeare, Olivia. But telling people we got married to satisfy the terms of my parents’ will isn’t going to exactly boost my public profile. Or the quarterly numbers for that matter.”
“Not the part about why we married, the backstory. When people ask, we can explain how you’re a self-righteous megalomaniac with an utter disregard for the environment and how I’ve spent the last three months trying to show you the error of your ways. Of course, the last thing either of us expected was to fall in love and get hitched but then again, I am quite hard to resist.”
“More like hard to avoid.”
Olivia shrugged. “Semantics. Bottom line is opposites attract, politics makes for strange bedfellows, yada yada yada. Plus, it will make more sense when you announce your decision to establish the Northern Long Eared Bat Preservation Fund.” She flashed him a saccharin smile. “You know, as a wedding present to your new bride.”
“Fine. We can go over the details on the flight tomorrow.”
“In case you’ve forgotten, my seat is in steerage. And I’m not exactly welcome to pop in first class for a chat.”
“I’ll upgrade you,” he said matter-of-factly. As if dropping a few grand on a plane ticket was as simple as buying her a latte.
“Not a chance.” Tempting ice cream aside, there was no way Olivia was sitting in front of that polyester curtain. She had made a point and there was no turning back now, no matter how many toppings were on that sundae bar.
Cole let out an exasperated breath. “Fine. I’ll switch seats with your friend. But only until we have the details ironed out.”
“Whatever.” Olivia made a mental note to drag the conversation out until the meal service was over. If she had to stomach both airline food and a conversation with Coleman Grant, at least she could take satisfaction in the fact that he was having to choke down the same dehydrated ravioli she was. And the thought of him with his long legs tucked up under the tray table was almost enough to have her looking forward to the three-hour flight. Almost.
They stood there staring at each other for several moments before Cole finally broke the awkward silence with a simple good-bye. “I’ll see you at the airport on Sunday then.” He nodded to a man who was waving to him from a table near the bar. “Enjoy your night,” he said before heading off to speak with his friend.
Enjoy her night.
The words rolled around in her head until a strange realization hit her.
Her night.
Her wedding night.
That she would be spending alone.
Chapter Ten
Cole never broke stride as he made his way through the doors of Chicago’s Union League Club. Normally he’d stop to shake a few hands, but today he was in a hurry. It wasn’t every day a person could say they got the best of Meredith Vanderholden Grant. But on that day, his thirtieth birthday, Coleman Grant III had done just that. And truth be told, he couldn’t wait to see the look on her face when he delivered the news.
He did, however, pause for a moment in front of the painting that hung at the top of the grand staircase. The club had over eight hundred pieces in their collection, prompting the Chicago Tribune to once call it “The Other Art Institute of Chicago,” but Claude Monet’s Apple Trees in Blossom was Cole’s absolute favorite. He often admired the work of art, but not merely because he was a fan of French Impressionism. On the contrary, what he loved most about the piece was the story of its acquisition. According to legend, when the club purchased the artwork in 1895, the then-president asked in total dismay why anyone would pay five hundred dollars for a “blob of paint.” The story resonated with Cole on many levels, not the least of which was the parallels he drew from his own struggle to take his family’s company out of the dark ages and into the new millennium as an industry leader. If his grandmother had had her way, they would have stayed the course his father had maintained for two decades. That’s not to say Cole didn’t respect the work his father had done during his tenure as CEO. But times changed, especially in technology, and never more rapidly than in the years following his parents’ death. And if there was one thing his grandmother resisted, it was change.
Which was why they were once again meeting for lunch at the private club she preferred above any other the city had to offer. She belonged to five altogether, but the Union League Club was her favorite. Situated in the heart of the city’s financial district, the club’s membership included decades’ worth of former presidents and Supreme Court Justices, with their current roster being a virtual Who’s Who of Chicago. The dark paneled walls reeked of old money, and the bar served only the finest scotch. It was the perfect location for an afternoon power play. Only this time, it would be Cole who would walk away the victor.
When he reached the dining room, Cole paused to take a deep breath. This is it, he thought as he straightened his tie and tugged on his cuffs. Time to end this battle once and for all.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Grant,” the maître d’ greeted him by name. “May I show you to your table?”
“No, that won’t be necessary.” Cole knew he’d find his grandmother at her usual spot, a linen covered table for four in front of the oversized center window. She’d have her back to the glass of course, far more interested in the players in the room than the hustle and bustle on the street.
“Cole, darling, how lovely to see you,” she said, greeting him with a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. She tilted her head in invitation and Cole obliged, pressing his cheek to hers in a half-assed attempt at appearing civil.
“Grandmother.” He pulled out the leather wingback chair across from hers and took a seat.
“You know, in some cultures it’s considered disrespectful to keep the head of the family waiting.”.
“I’m five minutes late.”
“I’m a busy woman. And as of today, my responsibilities have expanded greatly.”
Cole had to fight the grin that tugged at his lips. This was proving to be more fun than he’d even hoped. He’d planned to drop the bomb and be on his way, but maybe he’d stay for lunch after all. Nothing wrong with letting the cat play with his mouse a bit.
“Oh really?” he asked. “Did you finally purchase that new foal you’ve had your eye on?” He placed his napkin in his lap. “They’re saying with the right jockey he might have a chance at the Triple Crown.”
Meredith l
ifted a perfectly arched brow. “Don’t play coy with me, Coleman. You’re well aware of the codicil in your father’s will.” Her gaze shifted as a new group of members entered the dining room. Cole watched as her shrewd stare evaluated their status. Satisfied that none of them warranted acknowledgment, she turned her attention back to Cole. “And we have the legal fees to prove that.”
A frown creased his brow. “I will never understand his reasoning.”
“Shall we begin with your teenage years or cut right to the college fiascos?”
Buzzkill. But fuck if he was going to let her drag him down that Memory Lane. “I’m not here to prove myself to you, grandmother. I believe the quarterly reports speak for themselves.”
“Family was important to your father. God rest his soul.”
Yeah, Cole thought, so important that he’d never even acknowledged his own daughter.
“The Grant Trust is well diversified. We’ve weathered worse than you,” she said with a smirk before growing more somber. “But the bottom line wasn’t his main concern. He only wanted what was best for you.”
“And he thought threatening to cut me off was the best way to accomplish that?”
“He merely provided an incentive.”
Cole gave a harsh laugh. “Oh, is that what we’re calling it now?”
“Your father gave you plenty of time to turn your life around.”
“Worked out well for you that I’m such a fuck-up then, eh?”
“Coleman,” she hissed. “I will not have you speaking to me in that manner.” His grandmother took a sip of water then dabbed the corner of her mouth with the linen napkin. When she spoke again, her voice was level and controlled. “And I won’t have you disrespecting your father either. All he ever wanted was for you to settle down and one day carry on the family name. Seeing as how he had no other children—”
Fuck that shit. Cole bit down on his molars to keep from shouting. “He has a daughter,” he managed through gritted teeth.
Meredith’s nostrils flared as she drew a deep breath through her nose. “I will not waste my time discussing that matter yet again.”
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