BIG SHOT LOVE: 5 Billionaire Romance Books Bundle

by Kristina Weaver

  “Then we have something to build on,” I insist quietly, taking a deep breath when she doesn’t immediately deny it. “You know we can find some measure of happiness together.”

  “You took everything I had. So slowly I didn’t see it until it was too late,” she whispers forlornly, her shoulders slouched and defeated when I look over at her. “You know how much my job means to me.”

  Yes I do. But at this point I need to have everything to settle the roiling in my gut, and if that means taking her only means of escape, I will do it and keep breathing, albeit not that easily.

  “I have something to keep you occupied.”

  She stiffens and I thank God we’re pulling into the drive. I’m pretty sure that saying anything more to her while I’m operating a vehicle—and she’s free to attack me—won’t be in anyone's best interest.

  I pull into the garage and turn the car off, sitting quietly.

  “What would that be Chase? Would you like me to lick your boots? Be your disposable sex slave? Oh! How about just storing me away in the cupboard till you have need of my services,” she hisses, releasing her seat belt with a thwack.

  “Don’t be ridiculous. You’re overwrought. Now just listen. I would like you to take over one specific charity, something that I usually do myself but can’t manage with all the work that needs doing on the new housing projects.”

  She flounces out of the car and I almost grin at her mulish expression.

  “You— Why won’t you just listen to me!” she yells, throwing the door open, storms in and makes her way to the kitchen.

  I follow, enjoying the view of her snit from behind as her ass jiggles in the designer jeans I personally picked out for her. Indeed, there is no lessening of my libido where she is concerned. I’ve reasoned that our marriage should work splendidly in that department.

  “Remy.”

  “No! I have something really important to say to you and you just need to listen, Chase. Please,” she begs, spinning at the table and gazing at me with longing and a need I refuse to meet.

  She had me lock, stock and fucking barrel and she discarded me like garbage. I will never give her that opportunity again. Ever.

  “What is it, Rem? Would you like to reiterate how hard you had it growing up? I heard that one already, and I have to say, I feel not one ounce of pity for the poor-little-rich-girl routine. Is it that you want more because you lived a decade in a farce of a marriage and can’t do it again? Not my problem. You chose the life that you had every step of the way. I gave you more and you were all too eager to throw it back at me so now you take what I am willing to give you,” I snarl, feeling some small satisfaction when her eyes cloud and go glassy.

  “You don’t understand,” she whispers. “And because you don’t, and won’t even bother trying, I’m sorry but I’m gonna have to leave. I’ll brave the streets and whatever is in store for me.”

  Okay, I have to admit I did not see that coming.

  Thank God I’ve planned for many contingencies that I hadn’t even thought of, or I’m afraid I might lose this battle. The woman’s chin is up, her shoulders squared and I get the impression that she really would walk out of here, penniless and without options just to prove a point.

  “You can’t leave.”

  I sound so calm but inside I’m raging. Just as before, I’m offering myself to her and she’s declining. Once again it’s as if the work and effort I put in means nothing to her. Well fuck that.

  “Yes, I am and you can’t stop me.”

  “Well, actually I can, Rem, and you want to know why? Because, as my wife, you are bound to me.”

  She laughs, the sound a hoarse crack that seems ripped from somewhere deep. The sound echoes off the kitchen walls and hits me with its derision and I harden myself against her next words.

  “I wouldn’t marry you if you were the last man on the planet! You’re immovable and mean. You won’t get off your fucking high horse and listen to me for even a minute. I can’t live my life with someone who couldn’t give a shit about me. I won’t marry you.”

  I feel a smile curve my lips a second before I leap across the room and drag her close to me with my hand behind her neck, my lips an inch away from her trembling mouth.

  “We’re already married, babe.”

  Chapter 23

  Remy

  I was shocked by those words. I’m ashamed to admit that after gasping and staring at him in slack-jawed astonishment that I’d barked out a laugh—cackled really—and shoved at him to lessen the feel of his body so close to mine.

  What I’d felt at that moment wasn’t rage or fear or any of the gamut of emotions that I would expect. I’d felt a little pity for his delusions.

  And I’d said so, reaffirming the fact that I would never even consider it.

  And then he’d dropped a whammy on me by taking my hand and dragging me to his office. Once there, he shoved a drink at me and opened his wall safe, his movements as determined and assured as always, his lips tipped in a smile that should have told me that I was screwed and screwed royally.

  I’m pretty sure I looked like a fish out of water when he calmly and arrogantly handed me a piece of paper and leaned a hip into his desk, his expression fierce and radiating a calm victory.

  Gosh, I hadn’t even known we were engaged in this battle, so color me shocked when I looked down and took in my defeat before I could take my next breath.

  A marriage certificate.

  Signed.

  Dated.

  Totally legit.

  “How?”

  He’d smirked and shrugged one shoulder, looking for all the world as carefree and relaxed as is possible, and then he’d taken it and slotted it into an empty frame already gracing his wall, the horrid thing taunting me.

  “You signed a few things in the hospital that you didn’t read.”

  “Hospital discharge papers!”

  “And this.”

  “But, but it needs witnesses and—”

  “Brick, Hensley and Dec were there, along with that very nice judge who just happened to pop in to see how we were doing.”

  I may have lost my temper at that point and stormed out like a five-year-old throwing a tantrum. It pissed me off even more when I heard him chuckle and shuffle along behind me, all the way to the bedroom. I flung a suitcase on the bed.

  Let me just tell you that I am more pissed at the fact that he watched me shove my clothes and toiletries in that bag. Let me zip it up and grab it by the handle. Let me storm out of there like a whirlwind.

  It was all useless because when I got to the garage, my car was not there in its usual spot and my wallet, when I finally whipped it out of my purse, was emptier than my heart.

  It hit me then, really hit me, that I have nothing. That everything I have now is what Chase is willing to give me. No job. No money. And as he'd told me, I’m married to him.

  If he can manipulate circumstances to the point that I’m married without even knowing it…well, let’s just say he made it clear that he would not take too kindly to his wife running around unattended.

  So back to the present.

  It’s been a week, give or take a few miserable hours, and I’m now married, employed by my own husband and effectively trapped on the grounds of the sprawling estate that he calls a home because I can’t get out unless I’m with him.

  I’m so surrounded by men that I can’t see where I’m walking.

  Oh, and I had an epiphany that led me to my new state of mind. After I got hurt in school, my grandma got me this kickass psychiatrist by the name of Dr. Yamota.

  She helped me unravel the big ball of seething turmoil that was enveloping me at that stage. I got enough perspective on the situation to move forward instead of becoming a psych patient.

  So yeah, love that woman. I finally realized that if I can’t unravel the tangle of emotions I feel after the abduction and the monumental mess I made of my relationship with Chase, I need an objective third party with mo
re intelligence and emotional stability than I have.

  So I’d called her and she’d graciously agreed to do phone sessions with me. I charged the shit out of Chase’s credit card to pay the extra fee a phone convo costs.

  I’ve spoken to her three times now for an hour every time, and we’ve come to the crux of things:

  1. I purposefully attributed shit to Chase that was not his liability.

  2. I royally fucked up something good, purposefully, due to fear and my unresolved trust issues with Brian. Again—not Chase’s burden to bear.

  3. I’m head over heels in love with the guy and that’s why I’m fighting shit tooth and nail.

  4. I need to fix the relationship, but since he won’t allow me to talk about things, I have to prove to him that I’m worth another chance through actions.

  There are a couple more things on the list, but right now I’m focusing on the most important: proving my loyalty. If I can’t tell him I love him, I need to show it.

  I have no plan of action as yet, but after I get through tonight, I swear I’ll come up with something totally cool. I hope.

  “You look amazing.”

  I turn from staring at my reflection to see him standing in the doorway, a large square box hanging from his fingertips. Does it make me totally vain to be happy when he looks at me and his eyes go all hot?

  I don’t care. I’ve purposefully chosen a long, off-the-shoulder jade sheath that hugs some of my curves and falls to my toes in a graceful sweep. The dress is clingy at my butt and chest but loose enough over other parts to flutter a little when I walk.

  Paired with an up do that leaves my shoulders and neck bare, and a pair of amazing nude heels that give me height, I am slamming tonight.

  “Thanks. You look…great.” I breathe, really digging the way his tux seems to highlight the leashed strength that hides beneath that veneer of coolness.

  Chase smiles a little and walks toward me, turns me slowly, and looks at me though our reflections in the mirror.

  “I’d like for you to wear this.”

  My first instinct is to reject whatever overpriced monstrosity hides in the box. I hate anything that is too over the top. hate even more having to lug around thousands of dollars’ worth of bragging rights, but he surprises me when he gently lays a thin white-gold chain around my throat and fastens the clasp.

  It’s perfect—just that one strand of gleaming gold that doesn’t hold anything. Plain, understated, though I know it cost a fortune just looking at the delicate weave of the chain.

  It’s some.

  “It’s lovely.”

  He smirks and I bite my lips. He knows that I was planning to pitch a fit, just assuming he was trying to give me a trophy-wife bauble. I feel myself blush and look down, gathering my nerves with an effort.

  “My parents will be there.”

  I’ve worried about this for days and instead of Chase doing what he always does—soothing me—he just shrugged and told me to roll with it. I’ve tried, I have, but I’m terrified of what they’ll say or do, and terrified even more of what they won’t.

  Chances are I’m looking at a public snub from my own parents, and while I won’t break over it, I really hate the thought of them telling the world that I’m no longer part of the fold.

  “Yes, as will Brian Carson,” he says dismissively, waving off my words and forcing me to snap my mouth shut.

  “I’m nervous.”

  “Don’t be. I’ll be there with you the entire time along with Gabe, Liv and Brick. They can’t hurt you unless you let them. Unless you’re hoping to reunite?” he asks drolly, making me grit my teeth at his mocking tone.

  He’s in one of his moods I now see, so instead of answering or trying to get a response that is really not happening, I gather my clutch and heavy wrap and walk past him in defeat.

  I’m definitely going to have to think of a way to get through to him tomorrow, I think, as he helps me into the car and jogs around to get into the driver’s side.

  I love the guy, but he’s seriously not doing himself any favors with the cold shoulder he keeps giving me.

  Halfway there, I finally stop sulking—yeah, I now sulk, a lot—and turn to him, my brow scrunched with curiosity.

  “Is this it then? We’re married and living a farce? There won’t be any warmth or companionship—just fucking.”

  Ooooh and I think I need to start a curse jar if I keep this up.

  Chase shrugs and doesn’t even bother to glance at me as he skillfully navigates the car around puddles of this morning’s rain and drives us closer to my worst nightmare.

  “It’s not a farce, Rem. A lot of couples live perfectly acceptable marriages with less than what we have. At least we still have passion to look forward to.”

  “Lust.”

  He inclines his head and stops the car, breathing deeply before looking at me with such kindness I am momentarily stunned. It’s the first time in weeks that he’s not giving me his trademark mocking smirk and I think I just fell in love all over again.

  “We can make this work if you just lower your expectations, babe. I will never be what you want, and I now see you aren’t capable of being everything I need. We’ll revise and work with what we have. Now chin up, Mrs. Marshall, we have a show to put on.”

  Chapter 24

  Chase

  I hate these bloody events, and what’s more, I fucking abhor having forced Remy to come here I know how much she despises all the pomp and show of a ‘charity’ function, which in all honesty is nothing more than rich idiots putting themselves on display and showing off their circumstance by layering jewels over their vapid wives’ necks, arms and fingers.

  One of those pieces is enough to feed a shelter full of people for more than a month. Yet they don’t see a thing wrong with ‘donating’ piddly amounts while preening around like Persian kings.

  Bloody leeches.

  At then there’s the fact that instead of begging off and donating an obscene amount of money as I usually do, I’ve brought my wife here to see how she’ll react to not only this fiasco, but her parents and her ex as well.

  Oh, and I’m also quite chuffed to be showing the bastards that I’ve stamped my ownership on her. Let’s not forget that little compulsion.

  “Drink your water, Remy,” I say, still keeping half an ear as Ricardo Blane keeps prattling on about tax write offs and whatever the hell else the man seems to think he knows.

  Remy gives me one look and ignores the glass of water, taking a glass of champagne from a passing waiter and downing it instead. Rebellious minx.

  When another waiter comes round to retrieve her empty glass, I have to grit my teeth when she takes another and sips at it. She hasn’t said one word in over an hour aside from murmuring greetings to others. I’m starting to regret this mission when I hear a murmur and look up to see her family approaching with Brian Carson in their wake.

  “Crud.”

  People are trying and failing to hide their interest when the Harrows come to a halt in front of us, their countenances pinched and so cold I feel my eyes narrow at the way they’re looking at her.

  “You aren’t welcome in our circles anymore, Remington.”

  I feel her stiffen where my left hand rests at the small of her back. I completely expect her to break, she’s held so rigidly, but my wife surprises me. Instead of crying or lashing out, she just gives them a slow once over and shrugs neatly.

  “Free country.”

  I’m utterly amused when I see their eyes widen somewhat before Mrs. Harrow launches a scathing attack on Remy. Through me.

  “You’re making a mockery of your lineage, Remington. Your boyfriend may be rich as Croesus but he has no breeding or alliances like we do. Brian is willing to forgive and forget if you stop this nonsense. We’ll even allow you back into the family. ”

  Remy looks down at the platinum band I put on her finger. A simple piece that is in no way showy or impressive, just something that tells the world she
’s taken.

  “Yes, darling. You deserve better than this. Marshall is a thug—even in the business world—just ask Gareth Knox,” Brian interjects.

  “Really, Remington, come now,” her mother says after casting us a haughty look.

  I hear Remy take a deep breath and feel her shift away from me. Then she looks up at me with a brilliant smile that reaches all the way to my dark soul.

  Her eyes are dancing with mischief and no small amount of affection when she winks at me and gives me an apologetic grimace.

  “Sorry, Mom, but that is not possible. Aside from my being married to Chase, well, I wouldn’t leave the man I love for anything in the world. Not your approval. Not the approval of these assholes standing around here, and fuck all if you think I will throw away a man as worthy as Chase for that weasel standing behind you,” she drawls, loud enough that I glimpse Brick, who’s standing clear across the room, smirk and cough into his fist.

  “He didn’t just screw anything with a pulse and a vagina, he went and screwed my cousin on top of it—and with your knowledge, I’ve come to learn. And then you had the audacity to tell me to just look past it.”

  Oh, she’s on a roll.

  “I wouldn’t want to be part of that hotbed of lies if you all were the last lifeline I had while dangling over a bed of ravenous piranhas. I. Am. Happy. With. The. Man. I. Love. Get over it, and really, don’t expect a fucking Christmas card.”