by Lindsey Hart
What she saw stopped her heart in its tracks. She leaned forward and scrolled down the page, sure that it was a mistake. That there must be another Brock out there with the same name. One who wasn’t the founder and head of a massive multi-billion-dollar software corporation. Apparently, he’d sold that and started something else, something where he funded start-up businesses. Brock was a real-life Midas because that took off as well. Everything he touched turned to gold.
June’s hand shook so hard she could barely navigate to a page with a picture.
She dropped the phone as Brock’s face swam into focus.
He lied to me. She’d straight up asked him and he’d lied to her about who he was. What else had he lied to her about? If he was some rich billionaire, why the hell did he need a Vegas wedding? Was it some kind of trick? Some rebellious move or PR stunt gone wrong? What the hell had she done?
Panic worked its way up inside of her. This was a mistake. All of it. Oh my god, I slept with him. Like… two times. And that shower…
Anger squeezed her chest and cut off her airway. She felt like she was falling, hopelessly out of control, drowning, the water filling up her throat and lungs. She was in over her head. Brock was the ocean, sweeping her under, closing in on her.
Gold. Everything he touches turns to gold. Her eyes fell to the gold wedding band on her left hand. Where the hell did they even get those rings? Who in their right mind would sell two inebriated, blackout drunk people a set of rings? Fuck. Who wouldn’t? This is Vegas. In a fit of rage and fear, she ripped the ring off her finger and tossed it to the floor. I’m not gold. He doesn’t own me. I’m not his.
June shut her eyes, trying to come up with a plan of attack. Instead, she saw an image of herself, grainy and fleeting. Sitting at that poker table, Brock beside her. Their wager. He’d just proposed marriage. She knew that. She’d remembered it before, but there was something else. They’d made the bet and he flipped his cards up. Two pairs. Eights and kings. Impressive.
Except that in her hand, burned into her brain, searing her like a red-hot brand of reality, cutting her to the core, was two kings. The third was on the table. She’d mucked her cards, tossing them in and announced that she’d lost.
Why?
Was she really that drunk? Or just that pathetic?
June didn’t want to answer that question. She let out a low moan and both Jaz and Mandy stirred. It might have been horrible to wake up married to a stranger. It might be worse finding out that he lied to her about who he really was, and she had no idea why he’d proposed marriage in the first place.
But it was the worst that she suddenly remembered, in her terrible moment of clarity, that she had no one to blame but herself.
Two sets of sleep-filled eyes blinked back at her. She must have had one hell of a horrible look on her face because her friends tumbled from the bed and rushed over to her like she was cut and bleeding out right there on the hotel floor. Fuck. She felt like she was bleeding out alright.
“What happened?” Mandy asked, clutching at June’s hands.
“Yes, what’s wrong?” Jaz set her small clammy palm on June’s shoulder.
June wished she could explain. She wished that her tongue wasn’t thick and swollen in her mouth or that it didn’t feel nailed down, incapable of any kind of coherent language.
She shook her head and brushed away tears, but they fell anyway. She didn’t even really know why she was crying, and it pissed her off. “We- need- to- to get out of here,” she stammered. “Right. Now.”
CHAPTER 19
Brock
Brock stirred to life slowly, unwilling to relinquish the last comfortable vestiges of sleep. He opened his eyes and reached to the side, expecting to find June there, warm and willing. He had a few good ideas of how he could welcome her into the morning. All of them ended with him inside of her and her screaming his name.
His hand hit cold sheets. Brock’s head whipped to the side. His eyes focused and he realized that she wasn’t there.
He sat up so fast that a rush of blood swam to his head. Black spots danced in front of his eyes and he had to take a deep breath to stop the room from spinning. He glanced around, but the place was silent. Nothing. She wasn’t there.
He tried to reason with himself that she could have gone down to the lobby for something. Ice. A drink. To order breakfast.
His stomach tightened like he’d just swallowed a damn brick. He already knew that wasn’t the case. His head whipped around. He went for his cell to see if she’d called or texted. His hand stopped. The marriage certificate wasn’t where he left it. The nightstand was black, modern and sleek, with a glass top. The top was raised up by four silver plugs. He’d tucked the folder in there, but now it was sitting on top of the glass.
Fuck. It wasn’t like he was trying to hide it. He was going to tell June who he was. He should have done it the night before, but he just wasn’t ready. He wanted this weekend, a few days with her just being Brock. Just him and her and nothing else between them. He just wanted to have a good time, to let her decide whether he was someone she could see herself spending more time with in the future. He didn’t want the company looming over his head. The money. He didn’t want June to look at him differently, to treat him differently, to base her decision off of what he could give her and do for her rather than off of who he was.
He didn’t want her to be like everyone else. To see him the way everyone else in his life saw him. He liked that he could remain anonymous. That for the first time in years, he could be just him. He put himself out there, laid himself bare.
And now she probably knew that he’d lied.
He didn’t think she’d look at the certificate. What reason did she have? He hadn’t hidden it away because he wasn’t trying to hide from her. He wasn’t trying to deceive her. He just wanted… a little more time.
“Fuck.” His voice echoed through the empty room. He reached up and scrubbed his hand over his face. His fingers rasped on the stubble along his jawline. By now she was probably back at her hotel room. She’d likely borrowed her friend’s phone and looked him up. She found him easily and she knew. She was either pissed as hell, confused as fuck, or plotting how best to get a massive settlement out of him since he’d been foolish enough to think that a crazy, drunk, shotgun marriage idea could work out.
What the hell was I thinking?
He’d had some dumb ideas in the past. Some revolutionary. Some stupid. It was his ideas that set him apart, that gave him that edge, that made him successful. This idea, whatever he’d been thinking, wasn’t one of his better ones.
Brock palmed his phone. He clicked through his contacts until he found Owen’s number, though he knew what it was. It was eleven. Maybe he still had time to get over to June’s hotel and try and explain to her why he hadn’t told her the truth. She’d asked him straight up the night before. He hadn’t really lied, but he hadn’t been honest either. For obvious reasons, but she wouldn’t understand. He needed to talk her down. Maybe he could still salvage things…
His chest caved in like someone had just dropped a building on top of him. Absently, with the hand not holding the phone, he rubbed at the ache. He realized how stupid that was and dropped his hand back to his lap. The ache was there inside of him.
June was there. She’d captivated him from the first second he slid into the seat beside her at the poker table. He remembered that much. Her smile, her eyes, her wit, her humor, her charm, the way she tried to resist him, the strength she had, like underneath all that creamy skin was a layer of iron. She amazed him. It was far too soon to say that he had real feelings for her, but he knew that the potential was there. He knew that he wanted to know her and the thought of her not being in his future, of not getting the chance, was so fucking painful he couldn’t breathe.
He dialed Owen’s number and thankfully, though it was Sunday, the guy answered on the first ring.
“My man. Please don’t tell me that you have a disaster of a si
tuation there in Vegas that you need me to clean up and that’s why you’re calling me on Sunday morning before lunch.”
God, he knows me too well. “I- uh- it’s not a disaster. I can fix it- uh- fuck. I think- can you just do me a favor? I need you to look up an address for me. I’ll give you the name. I need it ASAP. Also, I think I’m going to have to leave. I’m probably going to have to make a road trip to San Diego.”
Owen’s deep breaths filled up the phone. “I know this is bad. Your voice has that tone.”
“What tone?”
“The same tone you used when that blonde chick was stalking you after she found out that you were rich, and she threatened to say that you’d done something to her against her will unless you gave her a whole bunch of money.”
Brock sighed. “You could have just said blackmail. I would have known what you were talking about. It’s not that though. I- can you please just get me the address?”
“What did you do? Brock…”
“Nothing. It’s nothing. I just- address. Please.”
“Brock…”
“Owen.”
“This is bad. I fucking know it. I’ll help you out. Just please, tell me that it isn’t going to be all over the front pages of every magazine and newspaper. If it’s bad, I have to get on damage control immediately.”
“It’s not bad. Nothing happened.”
“You better not have gone down there and got yourself hitched in a moment of drunken stupidity. That would be the mess of all messes. I’m not sure that even I’m equipped to deal with that.”
Brock slammed his eyes shut. His head was beginning to ache. He felt like he had one hell of a wicked hangover, which was astounding since he hadn’t drunk anything the night before. More like a Juneover. God, what if Owen was right? What if she went straight to the tabloids and sold the story for money? What if she leaked everything out of anger and spite? What if she made him pay since they were legally married, and he hadn’t signed a pre-nuptial agreement? I’m so fucked. Just because she didn’t seem like the kind of person to do it, didn’t mean it wouldn’t happen. If Brock learned anything over the years, it was that he was generally far too trusting, and it came back and bit him in the ass more often than not.
“Brock? Are you still there?”
“Yeah.” He rasped his fingers over his jawline again. He enjoyed the burn, both in his jaw when he pressed down too hard, and on the pads of his fingers. “Look. Can you get me the address? I need it. I’m going to- head out early this afternoon.” He’d go to June’s hotel first, but he was sure that she was already gone. Even if she wasn’t, she probably wasn’t going to answer his texts or calls. He’d try that first, but her address was like a security blanket.
Owen hesitated and breathed out a frustrated breath into the phone. It was obvious how annoyed he was, not because Brock was obviously in a mess, but because he wouldn’t come clean. “Fine. I’ll have it over to you in an hour.”
“Thanks. I know it’s Sunday, so if it takes longer than that, it’s alright.”
“It won’t take me longer. I’m employed by you for a reason. To handle messes, situations, people, and to get information. My job is to make sure you look good. I’m there to guarantee that you’re the best version of you that you can be. If that’s not true, if shit hits the fan down there, please fucking call me. Please, Brock. If I wake up to a mess in the morning, splashed all over every tabloid, I am going to find you and strangle the life out of you myself.”
“I know. The whole ounce of prevention, pound of cure.”
“That’s right. If you’ve done something stupid, I can cut it off at the pass. I can fix it, but you have to tell me.”
“I know. Thanks.”
“So, have you?”
Done something stupid? Most definitely. Probably. Maybe… Fuck, I don’t know. “I- I’m not sure. Get me the address and I’ll find out. I’ll call you later this afternoon either way. You don’t have to worry. I can fix it.”
“I fucking knew there was something! What do you have to fix? Brock come on-”
Brock hung up. He immediately dialed June’s friend, since it was the only number that he had for her. When there was no answer, he ground his teeth. Owen tried calling him back, but he sent the call to voicemail. He dialed June’s hotel and through some sweet-talking, found out that what he’d already assumed to be true, was. She’d checked out. She was gone.
What if she never contacted him again? What if she was so hurt and angry that he’d lied to her that she disappeared? She was gone, but what if Owen couldn’t find her? No. He would. Brock knew that Owen was the best at what he did. God, the things he’d done to get him out of scrapes over the years, the way he worked with people, the way he got out the shovel and dug dirt when he needed to- it was nothing short of impressive. Owen had never let him down. Owen would find June’s address.
The rest was up to him.
Brock shoved out of bed. He stalked off to the shower. He’d give himself half an hour to clean up and get the hell on the road.
He’d beg if he had to. He’d come clean. He’d ask for a second chance. He’d do his best to make her understand. He’d tear out his heart for her just so she could watch it bleeding.
Too much. Way too much. He didn’t want to scare her off, but he knew that his future wasn’t a future without her in it.
He’d have to find a way to somehow convince her that the same held true for her.
CHAPTER 20
June
The passing scenery was so much drearier than it had been on the way down to Vegas. At least then she’d been filled with optimism. She’d actually believed she could go out and have a good time with her best friends and forget about her steaming pile of failed relationships.
Instead, she wound up married.
“Hey, are you going to tell us why we had to leave like the hotel was on fire? We had a whole day yet. We weren’t going to check out until tomorrow morning.” Mandy’s eyes scanned the rear-view mirror. Jaz craned her neck around from the front passenger seat. June wished she could disappear, that the back seat of the car would turn into a black hole and swallow her up.
No such luck.
No, she’d never had any luck. She was fleeing her bad decision, the worst decision. She was married to a man she’d given her body to not once or twice, but three different times. Married to a man, who, despite everything, she’d trusted. Married to a man she couldn’t make herself stop wanting. She’d had a good time. She’d admit it. It was crazy and unexpected and completely unhinged, but she’d enjoyed herself when she was with Brock. She felt… special. Beautiful. Hopeful in a crazy sort of way. She’d tried to keep her guard up, but with no effort at all, Brock had come smashing through her walls.
“I…” June crossed her arms.
“I mean, I thought everything was going okay with you and Brock. What happened last night?” Jaz meant well, but her question was like salt in June’s already stinging wounds.
She blinked hard. Why the hell did Brock have to marry her if he could literally get any woman he wanted? He’d put that ring on her finger and then he’d charmed his way into her heart. Into Mandy’s and Jaz’s hearts as well. Brock with his smile and his shining eyes and that damn dimple. Brock with his mysterious aura, his amazing tongue, his incredible co-
No. Desire burned deep inside of her. She chaffed in her own skin. She had to press her legs together to stop the flow of blood from reaching sinful spots. Maybe if she’d used her brain instead of letting her vagy make all the decisions for her, she wouldn’t have been so easily fooled. She wouldn’t have been dumb enough to believe Brock in their stupid game of cards the night before. She wouldn’t have let herself be swayed, begin to trust, begin to hope…
“Did he do something to piss you off? Did he say something stupid? Men are idiots, but that doesn’t mean we have to leave.”
“I…” could she tell her friends? Would they understand?
“Did he break thing
s off? Did he tell you he was going to give you the divorce? He seemed like he was so into it. He took us to that nice ranch and you guys disappeared into the shower and then we went to the show and you went back to his hotel… I hoped things were going to work out for you.”
“You deserve it,” Mandy tacked on. “You’ve had the shittiest run. You definitely deserved to have this work out.”
“Maybe I didn’t want it to,” June snapped, harsher than she intended. She met Mandy’s eyes in the mirror and when she saw the spark of hurt there, she sighed. “I’m sorry. I’m not mad at you guys. I don’t want to take it out on you. It just- didn’t work out. That’s all. We decided to call it quits. I decided to call it quits.”
“Why?” Jaz sounded so disappointed. Join the club.
“I don’t know. Mostly because it would never work. We were drunk and we got married. That was dumb enough. It was even stupider to think it could work. He lives across the country. Long-distance isn’t my thing and even if it was, it never works out. We all know I have the worst luck with guys. This was just the icing on the shit that is my life cake.”
“At least you have us. Are we a good consolation prize?”
June’s lips wavered until she finally cracked a smile. “You’re not a consolation prize.” She faced Jaz, who looked so sad it broke June’s heart. “You’re my best friends and I love you like sisters. I’m glad we came. I had a good time. Even if I ended up married to a complete stranger.”
“So- are you going to get a divorce then? Or did you file for it before you left?”
Panic clawed at June’s chest. “I- I guess I’ll figure it out.” She had no forwarding address for Brock, but now what she knew who he was, she had no doubt she’d find him. She’d get in touch somehow, maybe next week, when she could trust herself not to blow up or break down.