Accidentally Married to the Billionaire (The Billionaire's Touch, #1)

by Sierra Rose

  He crossed his arms. “You don’t want to be married? Seriously?”

  “You knew I was drunk.”

  “So was I.”

  “I don’t want to be married. Not to you or to anyone else. I’ll be happy to give you the ring back and tell the press and whoever that I was drunk. I’ll even claim I tricked you into it. I just can’t stay married to you because—because no. Absolutely not,” she said definitively.

  There. That ought to give him the clear picture of what was going on.

  “It was your idea,” he countered.

  “Somehow I doubt that, but even if it was, it was a crappy idea and one we need to undo as fast as possible,” she said, “I have work on Monday which is like the day after tomorrow. Can we get a divorce or something on a Saturday or is it a business hours only scenario? Reno! Reno is famous for divorces!!! Let’s go to Reno!”

  “I am not going to Reno,” he said with a roll of his eyes.

  “Hey, this is serious. Can I go to Reno alone and get the divorce? I need to find my phone and look it up. I have to get the number for the, like, Ministry of Quickie Divorces,” she said, scrambling for her clutch and finding her phone.

  When she entered the passcode, she was faced with a picture of the two of them at a jewelry store, a diamond ring, a steamy kiss. It stopped her in her tracks. It was worth about nine thousand words right there. The people in that photo were happy. They were happy, and they were burning the place down with that kiss. She felt a tightening low in her belly, a tug of lust from the memory alone. A faint memory of being held, clutched desperately and with passion. She felt her cheeks flush.

  “It’s a little fuzzy, but I remember being at a club with you. I remember saying I didn’t want to let the bitch win,” she admitted.

  “That would be my stepmother. She just filed an injunction to prevent me from using the company jet in the run-up to her taking full control of the corporation. So we’ll have to wait for my plane to get to Vegas later on.”

  Marj had to admit he looked so damn sexy in the buff. He had a thick neck, broad shoulders, bulging biceps, rippling muscles, lean waist, and a powerful chest. She blinked and tried to pull her gaze away from him.

  “Can’t you just send her a Snapchat of the marriage license and you giving her the finger?” she asked.

  “As much as I like that idea, I think it could set us back legally, with respect to making the marriage appear genuine.”

  “Okay, look, I’ll wait till after your birthday to divorce you. Is that fair? I mean, as long as you’re married by your birthday, that satisfies the will, right?”

  “No. Six months minimum, a year would be better,” he said.

  “That’s a long time. Did I know that when I agreed to it?”

  “It was your idea to get married and, yes, you realized the time frame involved,” he sighed. “Clearly when you’re sober you’re much less agreeable.”

  “Aren’t we all? I—look, could you put on some clothes? A lot of them. Because I can’t really think or argue very well with you dressed like that. Undressed like that,” she stammered.

  He shot her that sly grin. “Fair enough. But you have to go shopping and I have a meeting. Rafael will be here for you in, I expect, half an hour,” he said.

  “Why am I shopping? I have rent to pay.”

  “You have a public appearance when we deplane in Manhattan at the private airfield. We’ve both posted on social media about the wedding. That’s the idea,” he explained, “so you have to get some clothes. You said something about wanting to go to the Forum stores. I’m going to take a shower.” He shot me a sexy little grin. “Care to join me?”

  “Get in the shower with a perfect stranger?”

  “Husband,” he corrected.

  “No, darling. I have a headache.”

  “Boy, you were much more spontaneous and fun last night.” He sighed. Okay, I’m taking my shower now.”

  “Wait! If I have to leave in half an hour, this hair has to be washed and conditioned! I want to shower first!”

  “Then pick a bathroom. There are three here.” He shrugged and walked his devastatingly naked ass out of the room while she gaped at him.

  Marj opened doors until she found a bathroom with a huge sunken tub, not unlike the one in Pretty Woman. She ran a bath from the gold swan-shaped faucet and sank into freesia-scented bubbles. It helped the headache, but it didn’t stop her mind from racing. She had to consider her options to get out of this, especially since her partner in crime didn’t seem in any great hurry to put an end to the nonsense.

  The door opened to the bathroom, and she shrieked.

  “Relax. I’m bringing you water. Most hangover symptoms are caused by dehydration. Drink this.”

  “Thanks. It’s nice of you. But please don’t come in while I’m in the bathroom, okay?” she said, feeling weirdly exposed in the bath.

  “Right,” he said and left the liter of Evian on the ledge of the tub. “It’s not like I ever saw you naked before.” His tone was sarcastic.

  “Right. Because you’re my husband. And we did lots of um, stuff.”

  He smiled. “Lots.”

  Damn, was that smile of his sexy!

  Okay, Marj. Don’t get distracted by the hot guy. The hot guy who just happens to be your new hubby. What was I thinking?

  She took a long, cool drink and it felt amazing, hot water, cold drink, and after a few more sips she felt her head begin to clear. She drained the bottle after washing her hair. She found bobby pins in the free toiletries and, giving up on time for a blowout, she settled for the elegance of a ballerina bun. Then she put her too-sexy club clothes back on down to the blue stilettos and put the eyeliner and gloss in her clutch to good use. She might as well brazen it out. If she was shopping at the Forum on his dime, she had no reason to be embarrassed by how she looked. She might even buy a new outfit just for shopping in.

  He knocked on the door.

  “Are you decent or will you scream again?”

  “I’m decent. Thanks again for the water. I don’t really think I need to shop, though, and waste your money and both our time. This isn’t going to work, and there’s no reason to pretend it will,” she sighed.

  “You took down your teaser tweets and Facebook pictures of us.”

  “Yes. I’d like to wipe it out of living memory if I can.”

  He gently grabbed her hands. “You’ve changed your mind?”

  She bit her lip hard. “Let’s say I’ve made a less intoxicated decision. So there’s no reason to—”

  “I have a meeting so I can’t give this discussion the time it deserves. You go shop, I’ll do business. See if you can have some fun.”

  Brandon handed her the black credit card she remembered vaguely from the jewelry store.

  “Put on your rings,” he said, “please,” he added as an afterthought, indicating the thousands of dollars worth of diamonds and platinum discarded on the bathroom counter.

  “You want to keep up the charade?” she asked.

  “Please. Until we can talk. Do you think you can do that for me?”

  “Okay.”

  “Thank you, Marj.”

  She put the rings on reluctantly. It was a temporary concession. She’d talk sense into him once she was on the plane and had his undivided attention. She’d also feel stronger when she was back at her home base, not at this disorienting, neon lit, 24-hour party called Vegas. Seriously, people here ate shrimp cocktail at eight in the morning. No wonder everything was weird and uninhibited.

  She brushed past him and crossed the living room.

  “I’ll meet you back here at four,” he said with a smile, trying to lighten things up. “We have a flight to catch, darling.”

  She grinned. “Right, sweetie pie.”

  He chuckled as she left.

  Chapter 12

  Marj’s cell phone rang. She glanced down and saw it was her neighbor, Maria.

  “Hey,” she said. “What’s up?” />
  “Are you okay?” she asked.

  “Why wouldn’t I be?”

  “You don’t remember? You called me last night drunk as a skunk. You said you found the man of your dreams. Then you just hung up. I was really worried you drank too much.”

  “I did drink too much. But I’m fine. Thanks for checking up.”

  “I’m so happy to hear that you’re okay. So you found a man?”

  “You’d be so proud of me, Maria. I found him offline.”

  “I knew you could find love the old fashion way. So who is he?”

  “My boss.”

  “What?!”

  “Yeah.”

  “You can’t date your boss,” Maria said. “You gotta break up with him right now.”

  “You mean divorce him...”

  “You married your boss?”

  “He’s not just my boss, but the CEO of Power Regions, Ltd.”

  “Honey, are you telling me you married the CEO of your company?”

  “Go look on Facebook, the pics will speak for themselves. Oh, wait. I took them down. Never mind.”

  “Did you go to the Candlelight Chapel where Whoopi Goldberg, Bette Midler, and Sir Michael Caine got married?”

  “It’s all a blur, really. A hazy recollection.”

  “I guess ‘What happens in Vegas doesn’t stay in Vegas.’”

  “Not when you obtain a marriage license.”

  “If you got married while drunk, it’s not valid.”

  “Being drunk doesn’t make me ‘not married.’”

  “Maybe it’s all legal. But it’s definitely grounds for an annulment. Las Vegas is the reason why annulments were put into effect anyway. You can get married and divorced before you leave.”

  “Ha ha.” Marj rubbed her pounding head. “It’s all a little overwhelming right now. The whole thing felt insane.”

  “Maybe my advice about finding a guy offline wasn’t the way to go. Maybe you should get back on Blender.”

  “Tinder.”

  “Yeah, that’s the one. I like it. It’s disturbingly addicting.”

  “How would you know?”

  “Well, uh...”

  “You signed up?!”

  “Hey, don’t turn this around on me.”

  “You so signed up!”

  “Yesterday, I went on a coffee date with a man named Earl who is widowed. He even drives and was nice enough to pick me up and... Enough of me, back to you, Marj.”

  “You said to meet a guy the old fashion way,” Marj said. “And I did. I even got married first. Now how honorable is that?”

  “Meeting a guy the old fashion way is talking to somebody you have a connection with, and then going for coffee. Not a drunken night of love in the Vegas bars and casinos, then running off to a little Vegas chapel and getting hitched.”

  “I know. I came to the City of Sin to drink and gamble. I didn’t expect to accidently marry a billionaire.”

  “And now what?”

  “I stay married...for now.”

  “Was the marriage consummated?”

  “Very much so.”

  “You got married on a whim?”

  “He needed me.”

  “For what? A Green card?”

  “Brandon is a US citizen.”

  “Do you love him?” she asked.

  “That’s a very complex question. And it’s one I really don’t want to get into at the moment.”

  “It’s an easy one, if you ask me. Yes or No.”

  “I gotta go. I really need to think about this, okay.”

  “Okay. But call me if you want to talk.”

  “I will. And thanks for caring.”

  Biting her lip, Marj said goodbye and hung up. She knew she was in for a long lecture when she got back. She wanted to tell Maria the truth, but she knew that wasn’t an option. She’d sworn she wouldn’t tell anyone.

  When Marj was in the Town Car, she tried to question Rafael but determined that he couldn’t hear her. It must have something to do with the partition, she decided. When they arrived at the Forum shops, he offered to come along and carry her bags, but she politely declined. He programed his number into her phone so she could summon him to pick up her packages and tell him where to meet her. This, she decided, did not suck.

  The mall was crowded, the surroundings opulent Roman frescos and moldings—a surreal juxtaposition of modern consumerism and past artistry. She dodged in and out of shops with smart designer labels, restless and almost unwilling to try anything on. It felt like she was pretending to be someone else, someone who could afford fancy things and have a place to wear them. Someone, for instance, who was buying an outfit just to step off of a plane in.

  She tried on a red beaded cocktail dress just for fun, but found it too heavy. Instead, she gravitated toward jeans, beautifully cut dark wash ones that looked trouserish but cool. She tried a pair on impulse, admired her toned thighs and backside in the mirror, and bought them, not even wincing at the three digit price tag—even throwing in the blouse, the rugged cropped military jacket and scarf that went with them on the mannequin display. It was the kind of dressed down chic she always admired in magazines—a sort of edgier Kate Middleton, a Jennifer Lawrence on a coffee run with big sunglasses and that effortless oh-gorgeous-just-happens sort of ensemble.

  Marj texted the shop to Rafael so he could retrieve the bags and moved on in search of something more polished, dressier for the plane debarkation. Prowling through the smartest shops, she found alluring jeweltone separates, statement pieces, but nothing that said understated elegance.

  In a swank department store, she rode the escalator to the Better Dressing section and found an entire display of what she needed. Monochromatic looks in structured shapes with touchably soft fabrics that practically announced their expensive provenance. A beautiful cashmere and silk wrap sweater that looked like it belonged on a ballerina. A pair of matching trousers in deep plum wool. Nude pumps, a camel leather and gold statement cuff, tiny tortoiseshell hoop earrings with gold accents, a buttery leather camel colored clutch purse with a distinctive designer emblem on the outside. She surveyed her reflection with satisfaction. Then she ordered the car and stood at the entrance with her bags.

  Glancing at her phone, she saw that she had some texts and that it was now five o’clock. She’d lost track of the time. Annoyed with herself, and even more annoyed that she felt obligated to make excuses to some stranger who was now her husband, she texted Brandon to tell him that she was running late.

  In the back of the car, she slipped the lid off the box containing her sweater and shamelessly petted it. There was something about a silk and cashmere blend, which she’d never felt before today, that was so light and luxuriant. She couldn’t wait to wear it. Marj tried not to think about the matrimonial strings tied to that purple sweater.

  Chapter 13

  Brandon Cates had promised his new bride that he’d speak to the lawyers about their options. He knew damn well what their options were: stay married or give Lena the business with a giant, red bow on top. Still, he kept his word and made the inquiry.

  “Thank goodness you pulled it out of the fire!” his lead attorney, Brock, exclaimed, “I thought we were fucked after they got the last appeal thrown out. How’d you manage to get a bride in one night?”

  “A gentleman never gives details, Brock,” Brandon said, “but the lady’s having second thoughts in the light of day and wanted me to ask you what our options are for divorce and annulment.”

  “Seriously? You have your ‘get out of disinheritance free’ card and you’re going to give her an annulment? Is she that nuts? Crazier than Lena?”

  “No, not crazier than Lena. Just—reluctant. I’m not going to keep her hostage.”

  “I’m not suggesting that. I’m suggesting you do your best to be persuasive. I’ve seen you schmooze at dinners and get people I thought would give you the finger to end up signing on the dotted line. So turn that charisma on this girl and she won�
�t know what hit her. Crank it up to Extinction Level Event. This is not negotiable. You lose this girl, you lose the entire estate.”

  “Well, don’t bother sugar coating it on my account, Brock. I’m a big boy, and I can handle the truth,” he said sarcastically.

  “Joke all you want, Brandon, but this marriage has to last, and it has to look as real as it gets,” his lawyer said and hung up.

  He knew this already, truly he did. He just wasn’t sure how to break it to Marj, who he liked. She was bold and quirky and gorgeous. A little on the hysterical side, perhaps, but waking up married wasn’t a usual situation so he could make allowances for her seeming a little highly strung. She was going to freak out when he told her that it wasn’t practical for them to separate and that he needed her cooperation. That sounded so much like he was taking a hostage...you won’t get hurt as long as you cooperate...he shook his head. He needed a better tactic. Maybe Brock was right and winning her over was as simple and devious as winning her heart.

  So he had set to work, ticking off items from the list in his phone, to plan her perfect evening. Brandon had arranged for an intimate rooftop dinner by candlelight, a few romantic extras to entice her. He’d checked her social media to get a bead on what sort of music she liked and made sure the soundtrack of their evening was perfectly in line with her preferences. It wasn’t spying. It wasn’t manipulation. He was just personalizing their romantic evening. It was bespoke romance...only for the very discriminating bride and groom, in his opinion.

  Or for the hair-tearingly desperate.

  He’d even looked at her Pinterest boards. Good lord, women took those things seriously. She had about eleven thousand things pinned, mostly clothes and shirtless men—-at least her interests leaned toward him and his lifestyle—he was a man willing to remove his shirt and buy her clothes. He knew it was more complicated than that, but he flicked through her Dream Guy board for ideas of what he should wear. It was humiliating really, but he had to package himself for the utmost appeal. Marj was in marketing, so she’d appreciate the effort even if she didn’t (hopefully) realize he’d stalked her Dream Guy board in a most undignified manner. Too many pictures of that cowboy bastard Scott Eastwood, Brandon thought.