Shopping for a Billionaire's Wife
Page 28
“Their door?” I ask stupidly.
“If something’s wrong, he can open the door and we can check on them.” A chill runs through me, taking all the loveliness of last night with it. Declan can tell, lacing his fingers through mine, his thumb rubbing the back of my hand.
“I’m sure they’re fine. Probably just drunk and passed out.”
“Both of them? Andrew’s not the type to ignore his phone for this long, either. I know from Amanda. She feels like it’s his other girlfriend.”
Declan’s laugh makes something in me unclench. “Mistress Siri?”
“Something like that.”
Bzzzzz.
“Is it Andrew? Amanda?” I leap up and practically rip the phone from Declan’s hands. He just holds it up in the air, like a guy with a lighter at a concert.
Tap tap tap.
“It’s Jed,” the voice behind the door says.
Declan gives me a withering look and opens the door. Jed stands there, tense like a Secret Service agent, his Bluetooth earpiece yammering in tinny intervals.
We leave our suite and walk to the elevator in silence, wending our way through the enormous resort to Andrew’s private room. He and Amanda didn’t even bother with the pretense of giving her a separate room.
Tap tap tap.
Nothing.
Jed tries again. Tap tap tap.
Nothing.
“Mr. McCormick?” Jed says in sotto voce against the door.
Nothing.
Jed and Declan share a look, and Dec nods.
“Go ahead. Enter the room. I’ll take full responsibility.”
Using a special keycard on a cord, Jed waves it in front of the electronic door reader, and the lock opens. Dec slowly inches the door in, me behind him, Jed tastefully waiting in the hall, but at the ready should we need him.
The first sign that something’s wrong is the scent. Dear God, did they paint the walls with alcohol in here?
“Ugh,” Declan grunts, covering his face with his palm, breathing through his mouth. “What the hell did they do—move the tequila fountain from downstairs in here?”
“Andrew’s the CEO. Who knows?” We walk about eight feet into the suite, the bathroom door on the left, the living room directly ahead, bedroom door closed, on the right.
While the living room isn’t exactly clean, and is littered with alcohol bottles, half-full glasses of mixed drinks, and what looks like Amanda’s infamous Cheeto-marshmallow treat crumbs, no one’s dead in here.
I hope.
Tap tap tap.
Declan knocks on the bedroom door. No answer.
He pulls out his phone and texts someone.
Bzzzz.
We can hear the phone buzz behind the bedroom door.
My eyes fly wide open. So do Declan’s. The buzzing is loud. Why isn’t Andrew answering?
Panic fills my chest. “Open the door!” I urge. “Amanda!” I start knocking.
“You sure?” Dec’s hand goes to the doorknob, but he pauses. “He could be naked.”
“So what?”
Declan makes a face. “I don’t want you to see my brother’s junk.”
“They could be hurt or in danger, and you’re worried about whether I see Andrew’s penis?”
He shrugs. He doesn’t move.
Men.
I shove past him, open the door, and halt.
Two lumps—clearly bodies—are under the covers of the enormous bed. A pair of men’s underwear hangs from the ceiling fan, which whirrs slowly, the motor whining because in addition to that pair of underwear, there is a giant soap-on-a-rope dangling from another blade.
In the shape of a marijuana leaf that is at least twelve inches wide.
The floor is covered in a mixture of clothing, shoes, Cheetos, Star Wars action figures, empty alcohol bottles, a pet carrier, and—
“Is that pile of clothes moving?” Declan asks with alarm.
A translucent plastic thing shakes its way out from under a silver disco top, a fabric I vaguely recall Amanda wearing yesterday evening.
“Meow.”
Chuckles’ face pokes out from a plastic Cone of Shame, his meow pointed at Declan.
Written in purple Sharpie, on the side of the cone, are the words:
WILL SLEEP WITH PUSSY FOR FOOD
“Chuckles!” I gasp, but Declan beats me to it, bending down to pick up my poor cat, who is wearing...lipstick? And someone has attached hundreds of fake whiskers to the outer edge of the cone, making it look like the mouth of a hookworm.
“What the hell happened in here?” Dec barks.
Andrew’s head pops up from the foot of the bed, his neck and shoulders bare. “WHAT THE FUCK?” he bellows, which causes Chuckles to hiss and claw at Declan, who drops my cat right on the other lump in the bed.
Chuckles’s back arches up and he hisses again.
“AIIIIIIEEEEE!” screams the lump from under the covers. I’d know that scream anywhere. It’s Amanda.
“Thank God you’re okay,” I shout over her piercing screams.
“Claws! Claws!” she gasps. “I’ve had enough cat claws. Get him off me.” Her bare arms reach out from under the sheet, still bandaged from her animal encounter a few days ago. I wince in sympathy.
Declan has the presence of mind to reach down and pluck Chuckles off the covers and hand him over to me, but we see why Amanda screamed: Chuckles’ claws are out, deeply embedded in the duvet. I assume they went through the thin sheet that is the only cover Amanda has. Andrew reaches over to hold her in his arms, and sunlight catches something on his left hand.
I’m not the only one who notices.
“Is that a ring?” Dec asks, dropping Chuckles like a hot potato and taking a step forward over the thick layers of clothing and crap on the floor. He grabs Andrew’s left hand and stares at it, transfixed, like those cartoon characters whose eyes turn into spirals.
Andrew’s hair is standing up on end, and Amanda’s hair looks like it went through a salad spinner coated with yogurt. I can’t see her hands, which are under the covers, but a creepy-crawly feeling begins in the pit of my stomach.
I lurch toward her and my foot—my beautiful, Charlotte Olympia-covered foot—lands on something soft that says, “Oof.”
Clothing doesn’t talk.
I look down to find two eyes peeking out around a thick terrycloth robe that is littered with chocolate boxes from the chocolatier in the resort’s mall. When I say littered, I mean littered. There must be no fewer than fifty such boxes. How many French macarons and bacon-lavender-infused plaid chocolates did these people eat?
“Shannon,” the clothing pile groans.
“JOSH?” I gasp.
He sits up, thankfully clothed, wearing the same outfit I remember from last night.
“AIIIIIIIEEEEEE!” Amanda screams again, holding her left hand away from her body like it’s a poisonous snake about to bite her.
Her hand is shiny.
And there it is.
A ring.
“WHAT DID YOU TWO DO?” Declan bellows, the sound a sonic boom.
Josh does a weird jazz-hands thing and squeals, “Oh, my God, it’s contagious!”
He’s wearing a ring on his left ring finger.
Amanda faints.
Chuckles sniffs around what appears to be Andrew’s shoe, stops himself, and looks over my shoulder. I follow his gaze. Behind me is a six-foot-tall stuffed teddy bear.
My cat’s face breaks out into a look I know.
It’s the look Mom gets when she watches Sons of Anarchy.
Pandemonium breaks out as Declan gets right in Andrew’s face, shouting all sorts of profanity I’ve only read on Urban Dictionary but didn’t know people actually used in real life. Andrew’s patting Amanda’s face and looking around the room like he’s woken up in the middle of a hurricane, and meanwhile the giant soap pot leaf and men’s undies on the ceiling fan go whee-whee-whee like a soundtrack of the damned.
And Chuckles is claimin
g his territory one pee-soaked piece of fake fur at a time, starting with the giant stuffed animal’s head. Once his bladder empties, he climbs down the monstrosity, shredding the teddy’s face, and rubs against my calves. I pick him up and he purrs.
In the middle of it all, a blitz of multicolored neon hair shoots up from the other side of the bed, where we can’t see the floor, and it crouches, warrior-style, holding a can of pepper spray in one hand and a baseball bat in the other. A dark brown baseball bat.
No. Wait.
That’s a three-foot-long chocolate penis that looks awfully familiar. I open my mouth to tell him that is pretty much the least effective weapon for self-defense ever, when I’m interrupted.
“Geordi?” Josh shouts.
“Geordi?” Dec and I say in unison. What the hell is our chauffeur doing here?
Geordi drops the chocolate dildo, abandons the pepper spray, and rushes over to Josh, cradling his face. “Oh, my God! It wasn’t a dream. You’re still here.”
The owner of the men’s underwear on the ceiling fan becomes evident. Geordi’s wearing a button-down men’s dress shirt and socks.
And nothing else.
Josh, being a gentleman, grabs the duvet and covers Geordi, who reaches up to clasp Josh’s shoulder and freezes.
“What is that?” he says in a tone of disgust, pointing to his left ring finger.
Amanda comes to and looks around, palms on either side of her head. “Stop playing the tuba,” she whines.
“No one is playing the tuba,” Declan snaps. He gives the entire room a glare worthy of James.
“Amanda,” I say gently, letting Chuckles down so he can—I don’t know—go find some pussy to sleep with. “What happened?”
“Who the hell is she married to?” Andrew groans as Amanda jumps away from him, almost letting one boob show. She pins her head in place with her hands and looks at him.
“Who am I married to? What? What kind of question is that?”
“There are three men in here with wedding rings on!” Andrew shouts back.
“That’s riiiiiiigggght,” Josh says, drawing out the word, wiggling his hand with a grin. He gives Andrew a saucy look. “And the Supreme Court declared last year that I can marry anyone I want, too.”
Andrew already looks like hell warmed over, but that comment drains the hell from his blood.
I look at Amanda, then Andrew, then Geordi, my eyes slow and steady, my breathing controlled and strong. Finally, I settle on Andrew, and just as I’m about to speak, Declan beats me to it.
“Little bro, the more important question is: who the hell are you married to?”
Shannon and Declan are husband and wife! But what about Amanda and Andrew?
What’s next for Amanda and Andrew as they figure out what happened? Will Shannon and Declan finally get their honeymoon?
Check out Shopping for a CEO’s Fiancée:
We skipped right over the whole fiancée thing and went straight from girlfriend to wife.
At least, I think that’s what happened. I woke up after my brother’s Vegas wedding reception with my luscious girlfriend in bed with me. We’re both wearing wedding rings.
So is her coworker, Josh.
And our Vegas chauffeur, Geordi.
Who the hell am I married to?
Unraveling this mystery will be as difficult as figuring out why Amanda and I are having panic attacks over the thought of being husband and wife.
Or, whoever we’re actually married to.
Oh, ^%$#.
It’s true that what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas, with one exception:
If she’s my wife, we’ll make it work.
If she’s not?
I’ll make it happen.
* * *
Pre-order Shopping for a CEO’s Fiancée, book 9 in the Shopping series, now!
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* * *
Shopping for a CEO’s Fiancée is coming June 22, 2016. Join my newsletter mailing list or Facebook page to stay tuned for release dates.
If you haven’t read Declan and Shannon’s story in the Shopping for a Billionaire Boxed Set, go read it right now! This series began in May 2014 as a serial, and the boxed set has 670+ pages of their hilarious, hot, and crazy story.
Read more now!
Shopping for a Billionaire Boxed Set
Other Books by Julia Kent
Suggested Reading Order
Shopping for a Billionaire: The Collection (Parts 1-5 in one bundle, 670 pages!)
Shopping for a Billionaire 1
Shopping for a Billionaire 2
Shopping for a Billionaire 3
Shopping for a Billionaire 4
Christmas Shopping for a Billionaire
Shopping for a Billionaire’s Fiancée
Shopping for a CEO
Shopping for a Billionaire’s Wife
Before Her Billionaires
Her Billionaires: Boxed Set
Her First Billionaire—FREE ebook
Her Second Billionaire
Her Two Billionaires
Her Two Billionaires and a Baby
It’s Complicated
Complete Abandon (A Her Billionaires novella)
Complete Harmony (A Her Billionaires novella #2)
Complete Bliss (A Her Billionaires novella #3)
Complete We (A Her Billionaires novella #4)
Random Acts of Crazy
Random Acts of Trust
Random Acts of Fantasy
Random Acts of Hope
Randomly Ever After: Sam and Amy
Random Acts of Love
Random on Tour: Los Angeles
Merry Random Christmas
Maliciously Obedient
Suspiciously Obedient
Deliciously Obedient
About the Author
Text JKentBooks to 77948 and get a text message on release dates!
New York Times and USA Today bestselling author Julia Kent turned to writing contemporary romance after deciding that life is too short not to have fun. She writes romantic comedy with an edge, and new adult books that push contemporary boundaries. From billionaires to BBWs to rock stars, Julia finds a sensual, goofy joy in every book she writes, but unlike Trevor from Random Acts of Crazy, she has never kissed a chicken.
She loves to hear from her readers by email at jkentauthor@gmail.com, on Twitter @jkentauthor, and on Facebook at facebook.com/jkentauthor
Visit her website at http://jkentauthor.com