by Sierra Rose
ACCIDENTLY MARRIED
TO
THE BILLIONAIRE
Part 2
By
Sierra Rose
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Cover Art: Book Cover by Design
Chapter 1
Marjorie Cates, nee Reynolds, sat on the bed in her suite. They weren’t at the resort in Las Vegas any longer. This was the suite in her new husband’s luxurious Manhattan townhouse that was appointed for her use. Everything was very cream-colored and elegant—not her taste exactly but not too shabby altogether. There was a chandelier, the kind with the faceted crystal drops that dangle off of it and bend sunlight into rainbows along the walls. Marj had always wanted a chandelier or five of her very own. Not that her former fifth-floor walkup would have had room for even one tiny crystal chandelier. It was only in the last seventy-two hours since she met and married Brandon Cates that chandeliers had become a realistic option.
It was a sweet deal if she didn’t think about it too hard. Less than a week ago, she’d been a chronically single marketing drone at a company that was being taken over by Power Regions Ltd. Marj was on the team dispatched to Vegas for the confab and PR push about how this was supposed to be a positive step for the company being swallowed up. The wine was good, but the meetings were boring, and she wound up in a club at the casino drinking with a hot guy. A hot guy who turned out to be the head of Power Regions for the moment.
He had been the CEO for the last five years, but that was about to end on his thirtieth birthday thanks to his dad’s will. A will which stipulated that Brandon Cates had to be married by his thirtieth birthday or hand over the company and all its assets to his wicked stepmother, the social climbing Lena. Having exhausted all legal inroads, he was desperate for a solution. So obviously Marj, full of great ideas and expensive booze, had proposed to him. He’d keep his company, and she’d get a temporary rich husband instead of loneliness and rent and utilities.
I’d been so lonely. And I was so loaded. I guess the two don’t mix.
There were diamonds and vows and some mind-blowing sex, and morning after amnesia of who exactly he was and why they were together. She secretly wished that awkward period of confusion was as complicated as their relationship would get, but she knew better than to hope. Because the bastard was thoughtful and gorgeous and great with his hands. And thanks to the vicious Lena, he trusted women about as far as he could spit. Which meant that she was out of the frying pan of being heartbroken when her recent ex dumped her for his secretary and into the fire of trying hard not to fall for her husband.
It was only for six months, for the will to probate, and then she’d be free with a settlement of several million dollars Brandon had stipulated in their nuptial agreement, and he’d have his father’s business. Marj was determined to walk away with a smile on her face, hopefully, a strong friendship with her ex-husband, and enough money to live wherever she wanted and maybe get her brother into rehab once he finished his hitch in prison. She didn’t want to walk away with a broken heart, but she was already concerned that her heart was on the table, whether she’d intended it to be part of the deal or not.
First off, Brandon Cates had made sure she knew there was something (a settlement) in the arrangement for her, that it wasn’t just Marj doing a highly personal favor for her boss. Then, he’d ordered this incredible cake, chocolate mocha, for her to celebrate the ceremony. There were a hundred other thoughtful little things he’d done, like trolling her Pinterest boards to make sure everything was to her taste from the food to the Titanic style pendant he’d give her. Who wouldn’t fall in love with someone like that? She was trying not to. She was trying her damnedest, but some things were out of her control. Like the way her breath caught every time he smiled at her, which was happening more often.
He’d gone straight to his office, and the driver had taken her to his townhome. It had one of those grand entryways with the marble floors and the chandelier and the gilt-framed paintings on the walls. A housekeeper had shown Marj the suite designated for her use. So here she was, soaking up the light, jasmine scent of entitlement, sitting on a four-poster bed that cost, she was sure, more than any car she’d ever owned. She admired the red dress she was going to wear for dinner with the Wicked Queen that evening. Then she looked down at her chipped off nail polish and decided that wouldn’t look too good for the new bride of the fabulously rich guy to have sleazy looking undone nails. She dug through her purse, realizing too late that she hadn’t packed polish because the TSA didn’t let liquids on the plane. Marj was not a woman who paid for manicures, thank you very much, so she needed to find a bottle of nail lacquer, something classy.
First, she got on Pinterest and looked up “classy manicure” but determined quickly that stuck-on Swarovski crystals were probably not Lena Cates, Esq.’s idea of sophistication. She pressed the intercom button on the phone and rang the housekeeper.
“I’m not sure how to do this, and it seems stupid, but all my nail polish is at my apartment an hour across town with traffic. Do you have any, like, polish remover and maybe a clear lacquer?” she asked, a little embarrassed.
“I’ll have something sent up, ma’am,” was the woman’s formal reply.
Marj felt like she was about to be called to the headmistress’ office or something. She waited, hoping there was something she could use to take off the messy polish. She had an emery board in her purse that thankfully hadn’t been confiscated at TSA as a potential weapon, so she shaped her nails and started looking up common household items that could be used to remove polish. Half an hour down the rabbit hole of questionable amateur Internet chemistry, she got up to answer the door. The housekeeper held out a tray; an honest to God tray with nail implements and solutions, and nine bottles of polish.
“I do apologize for the delay, Mrs. Cates,” the housekeeper said.
“No, it’s cool. Thanks,” Marj said, mystified.
She tried to take the tray from the housekeeper, but the women drew it back, recoiling in what almost amounted to horror that Mrs. Brandon Cates would carry an actual tray with her own wealthy hands. The woman placed it on a nearby table and asked if there would be anything else.
“No, I’m good. Thanks,” Marj said.
When the housekeeper told Marj she had a guest, she wondered who. Maria, her next door neighbor, had stopped by.
They sat in the living room and chatted.
“Well,” I won’t stay long,” she said, hanging on to her cane. I know you have to get ready. I just wanted to say hi.”
“It’s great that you stopped by.”
“Are you coming back?”
“I’m afraid not.”
“Oh, Marj…”
“Don’t worry. I’ll still come and see you, just like before.”
They talked and Marj filled her in on everything except the fake part.
“You just picked a billionaire up and married him?” Maria asked. “Just like that?”
Marj snapped. “Just like that.”
“He’s a lucky man. I can’t wait to meet him.”
“Thanks. You’ll love Brandon.”
She patted my hand. “I know I will.”
“So Maria, when did you get back into the dating game?”
“When you introduced me to Tinker.”
“Tinder,” Marj corrected.
She giggled. “Yes. I found an old high school friend by accident. He’s fu
nny, and charming, and quite the hottie. We’ve been hitting it off. He pushes me around in the wheel chair, and we explore museums, bookstores, and theaters. I would’ve never thought my perfect partner was only a click away.”
“What made you decide to do it?”
“Well, I thought…you’re over the hill when your back goes out more than you do.”
Marj laughed.
Maria’s eyes twinkled. “And I wanted to go out more than my back. I wasn’t sure if I’d ever want another relationship. You know I had a long and happy marriage. But after years all alone, I realized that I did want to enjoy life with that someone special.”
“I’m glad you’re so happy.”
“There’s no question in my mind that I had to do it…before there was no question in my mind. You know I’m forgetting everything. I want to go out and have fun while I still can.”
Marj grinned. “It’s wonderful. You’ll have to introduce us very soon.”
“I will.”
Marj said goodbye and she had a car take Maria home, so she didn’t have to pay for a taxi. It was a great visit and Marj loved seeing her. She missed her like crazy.
She went back upstairs and perched on the edge of the chair and inspected the bounty of manicure supplies. She swiped away her old grotty polish and greedily tried stripes of the new colors to see what she liked. Therein lay the rub. She liked the grapey purple, maybe with the silver glitter over just the tips. But she was going to have dinner at the Cates family estate and disco nails didn’t seem apropos, even for Marj.
Her dress was red. She should have neutral, well-groomed nails, she decided with a sigh. Removing the various colors she’d painted on to try, she chose the creamy beige and did a credibly neat job of painting her now-boring but totally proper nails. Thinking slyly of her closed-toe shoes, she stripped off her socks and painted her toenails bright purple just for the hell of it. She could be business on top, party on the toes, she thought—a regular mani-pedi mullet.
As soon as her nails were dry, she tried out the massive tub in her bathroom, soaking in deep rose-scented water until it cooled. She moisturized and fussed with her hair. It was always tricky what to do with the hair—auburn and wavy that tended toward huge and curly rather than the red carpet sort of sleek tumbling waves that looked effortless. Right now, she knew her hair had looked better in Vegas because it was so dry. Manhattan was having a rainy spell, and her hair was better than most meteorologists at announcing that fact. Anti-frizz serums were unearthed from her luggage and applied, along with various other unguents meant to tame the overlarge bundle of fluff that her hair wanted to be today.
“You have to behave. We’re meeting the Wicked Queen. Now is NOT the time to audition for the Broadway adaptation of Brave, for crap’s sake,” she muttered at her reflection, “Think lovely, think princess, and I do NOT mean Merida.”
Heated appliances were indicated. Despite temptation, she knew from long experience that a sleek blowout wouldn’t last three hours in this humidity. So she abandoned that pipe dream and pinned back the top and went for beachy waves. She could tame the curls enough to approximate beachy waves. It was totally doable.
It took an hour and a half plus she broke four bobby pins in the attempt, but she managed it. The dress would’ve looked better if she had a decent spray tan, but remembering the Dreamsicle experience from a month back, she decided to stick with pale. The makeup was harder—she liked dramatic smoky eyes and her trademark MAC Ruby Woo lips.
Being elegant was going to be a real bitch, she decided as she toned it down to a simple brown eyeliner, and she used the sheer rosy gloss for a purpose it was never intended—solo on her lips without the deep red lipstick beneath it. She looked so…young. And untroubled. And sort of plain, she admitted. It wasn’t her favorite look; certainly not for a fancy evening that she normally would’ve thought demanded red lips and statement earrings. The trouble was, she was representing Brandon Cates and had to look a proper, respectable blushing bride, not brash, not flirtatious, not herself.
Marj was debating whether to grace Lena Cates with the wearing of the sapphire and diamond pendant when Brandon knocked at her door. She knew it was him and not the housekeeper. Something about his knock, about the very aura of his presence sent a sizzle through her. She opened the door and there he was. Tall and strong and alluringly thick wristed (she smiled wryly at herself over that descriptor), dark hair swept back from his forehead, just devastating in a white shirt undone at the neck.
“How are you settling in?”
“It’s fairly fabulous. Where do you bunk in this joint?”
He winked. “With you, darling.”
“For show.”
He ran a finger down her cheek and looked at her with lustful eyes.
“We have mind-blowing sex,” he purred. “Is that for show?”
She laughed. “Where’s your real room?”
“Down the hall, last door on the left. Interested? I’d be happy to give you a tour.”
“I wish. But the hair took me an hour and a half, don’t ask. If I muss it—which I totally would if you show me your room—we’ll never make dinner with the WQ.”
“Have I mentioned what a turn-on it is when you call her that?”
“Despite the fact, it makes me a rather sullied Snow White?”
“I didn’t mind sullying you, and I won’t let any woodsmen come at you with an ax during dinner,” he promised. She smiled and he continued. “We better get going. The hag awaits us.”
“I bet our wicked queen is still pimping. Staring into her mirror, saying, “Magic mirror on the wall, who is the fairest one of all?”
“And the mirror tells her it’s you…”
“She won’t like that one bit. Promise me you’ll keep the Wicked Queen from poisoning me with an apple?”
He flashed her that movie star smile, all glistening white teeth. “Without a doubt, love.”
“I wonder why she wants to have dinner with us.”
“To meet her competition, her adversary. You’re a contender for her throne. But don’t worry, like in all good fairy tales, the villain will be defeated by the hero.”
“And heroine,” Marj added. “I helped too.”
“We’ll defeat her together. My guess is that she wants to portray me as a wild, cunning, desperate beast preying on your gentle innocence.”
Marj scoffed. “Gentle innocence?” She twirled around. “Does my gentle innocence show in this dress?”
His gaze wandered down to her spilling cleavage. With a mischievous smile, he said, “I love this dress and what fills it out. It’s so damn sexy.”
“I’m glad you love it, but sexy isn’t what I’m going for. I’m going for more of a conservative look. But this dress captured my attention and I had to try it on.”
He grinned widely. “It’s totally captured my attention.”
“I have another blue one that would work.” She held it up and Brandon nodded no.
“It’s too Kate Middleton,” he said.
“Perfect! Because that woman has become a modest style icon.”
“But I like the other dress better.”
“But this one will cover up the babies. I think it’s the right way to go.”
“You’re right. And you’ll look like a bombshell not matter what you wear.”
“Awww. Thanks, honey.”
He smiled, then glanced at her pendant. “So why’s Titanic out? Are you wearing it?”
Marj fingered the sapphire wistfully. “It’s gorgeous, isn’t it? I absolutely adore it, but haven’t had a chance to wear it. So I will now.”
“Don’t wear it with Lena. She’ll put a hex on it or something,” he grimaced.
“Does it look stupid with the dress?”
“No, not at all. The main thing though is—where’s your wedding ring?”
“Oops. I took it off to mess with my hair. I better wear those, huh?”
“Since you’re supposed to be complet
ely besotted and would never let them out of your sight, yes, you have to wear them,” he grinned.
“They’re heavy,” she said with an imitation pout.
“First world problems. My diamonds are too heavy…” he smirked.
“Right. I never had that trouble before. I want you to admire, though, how my nails are not bright or sparkly, and I’m wearing approximately one-third of the makeup I normally do. In honor of meeting your socialite stepmother,” she said, extending her hand for his approval.
“Wear the rings. Wear all the makeup you want. As long as she and her lawyers are convinced that we’re crazy about each other, we have nothing to worry about. Just be yourself.”
“Right. Myself. I’m sure that’ll impress her.”
“She may be rich now, but she was an intern who hooked up with her boss. She is in no way your superior in breeding or education, Marj.”
“I find that only mildly reassuring. She knows how to be wealthy and gracious. I only know how to be scrappy and budget conscious and sort of rude,” she said uncertainly.
“You’re more flippant than actually rude. And she’s about as gracious as a pit of vipers. Chanel-wearing vipers,” he corrected, “You’re twice the woman she’ll ever be.”
“You’ve known me three days. I pick my teeth after I eat popcorn,” she deadpanned.
“Doesn’t matter. We both lovingly accept each other’s irksome quirks. I’m going to grab my jacket.” He glanced down. “Are those the shoes you’re wearing?”
“Yes. Why?” she demanded, indicating her nude stilettos.
“Because they’re not you,” he said.
She playfully nudged him. “And you know me so well?”
“I’m very observant and perceptive.”
“Is that why you excel in the business world?”
He stroked his hand down her arm, giving her goosebumps, and then intertwined his fingers with hers. “I know they’re not you.”
“Neither is the pale lipstick. Or the teensy earrings,” she said.
“I thought women judge each other by their shoes.”