Accidentally Married

by Jean Oram

  Her cheeks had been flushed, the night fun, full of unexpected moments of freedom blending into the next. He hadn’t wanted it to end.

  “Like I was going to have a seizure? So romantic,” Jill teased. She’d been swinging their linked hands, and when she noticed, she dropped his, shoving her fists deep into the pockets of her coat, his borrowed suit jacket peeking out from under its hem. He suspected that if she truly had been planning to burn it she’d changed her mind.

  “When you asked me later why I proposed I replied that it just felt right. You agreed, and then I’m not really sure what happened after that.”

  “We found a late night chapel.”

  “Yeah?” He turned to her, waiting for details. He knew this part—he’d searched the registries after seeing her yesterday and had tracked their marriage back to the chapel on Shalina Avenue. Just in case the certificate was a fraud. Which it wasn’t.

  “That’s where we got married. I looked it up.”

  “Me, too.” He shrugged at her inquiring look. “Just performing due diligence.”

  She sighed as they walked slowly, her steps measured. “So this thing with Tiffer… It’s good for your business?”

  “It could be a life changer if he accepts my proposal.”

  “I hope that… That I didn’t…” She gestured vaguely toward the restaurant they’d left behind.

  “I’m sure it didn’t change a thing.” The money part was going to be an issue, though. If Jill didn’t repay her loan there was no way he could personally secure Tiffer’s fee, let alone the increase. The company couldn’t leverage that amount due to its expansion plans. In other words…stuck.

  Jill let out a groan. “I can never go in there again. Nobody in the business world will take me seriously.”

  Burke was silent for a moment, then, realizing she was still fretting, said, “Are you kidding? Everyone was wondering how to get what we have.”

  “We have nothing but accidents, Burke.”

  He shrugged noncommittally, feeling strangely as though he’d failed her.

  “If you want me to go to that conference with you—even though we’ll be divorced…”

  It still surprised Burke on some level that Tiffer had indeed previously denied a partnership because of his dating habits, and not the health or positioning of his company.

  “Just…let me know whatever you need.”

  He nodded thoughtfully, considering her offer. She’d definitely put a kink in his plans, but a deal with Tiffer would help Burke forgive any damage she’d inadvertently done. Assuming he got the deal and could pay the fee.

  Possibly if he shifted priorities for the next two months he could find a way. They could angle that momentum they’d been creating right into the global market.

  Two months, though. That wasn’t a lot of time.

  “How about we cross that bridge when we come to it?” Burke said finally. “But pencil me in, seeing as Tiffer only seems to like me when I’m married.”

  He thought about the weight of that statement. The implications.

  Burke glanced at the woman walking beside him. He could already see that divorcing Jill was going to be a problem for his bottom line in a way he hadn’t quite anticipated.

  3

  Overlooking the city of Dakota from his top floor apartment, Burke ran on his squeaking treadmill, which was set off to the side in his living room.

  Thinking and thinking.

  There had to be a way to raise enough money in time to work with Tiffer. Assuming the man accepted Burke’s pitch in April.

  Beyond his apartment windows Burke could see the mountains rising in the distance, hiding Jill’s hometown of Blueberry Springs. They had to get a divorce. It was just too risky to let her stay tied to his life, business and finances.

  How serious had Tiffer been about Burke bringing his wife to the Metro Conference pitch? Would it be an automatic “no” like in the past if he showed up single?

  Burke’s treadmill program decreased the incline, putting him into the cool-down zone, the squeaking quieting enough that the TV on the wall across from him could be heard. There was a news piece about the missing adult daughter of a British Mafia family, followed by a story on a murder-suicide. Burke hit the remote, turning off the television. Leave it to the news to put his life into perspective.

  He stepped off the treadmill and wiped the sweat from his brow with a towel. He found his tablet on the coffee table and pulled up the order he’d placed last night for a new treadmill, then canceled it before sending a service request to a local repairman instead.

  To raise the fee to work with Tiffer, he was going to need to save more than a few thousand on workout machinery. Maybe he should skip repairing the machine altogether and just use the office gym more regularly?

  He thought back to Jill running on the treadmill beside him, decked out in her business attire. He smiled and shook his head at the memory of her persistence. There was something about that woman…

  No, he was definitely repairing his treadmill, as the gym had too many distractions.

  He swapped out his tablet for his cell phone, and with his sights locked on a sculpture his assistant had convinced him to buy, he took a photo. Two years ago he’d charged Gulliver with the job of finding a decorator. Instead, his assistant had personally taken up the task of turning the sleek apartment into a home. But the overpriced sculpture, like everything else in the place, meant nothing to Burke.

  The little fur-ball of a kitten Burke had found in the building’s trash bin came skittering across the floor. Nobody had claimed the little beast and it had been a fluke that the cat hadn’t been crushed or carted away before Burke found him. Burke’s aunt, however, thought it was all serendipitous, as she’d been trying to convince Burke to settle down, get a pet, and all that grown-up jazz.

  She’d nicknamed the cat Serendipity, but out of protest, Burke had decided to dub him Fluke. It fit better, anyway. Plus it was a boy. A boy who’d just pounced on his shoelaces, sinking his claws through the mesh tops of Burke’s sneakers.

  “Ow!”

  He peeled the cat off his foot, sticking the puss on his shoulder, where he liked to ride. The feline began to purr on his warm perch, rubbing the top of his head against Burke’s five o’clock shadow.

  “What else can go from this place, Fluke? Hmm? Other than your scrawny butt, of course.”

  The cat’s claws sank in and Burke wasn’t sure if it was for balance or in protest for the insensitive comment.

  “Don’t worry, your real owner will find you soon,” he said, turning to snap another photo. “Then you can go home.”

  The cat made a flying leap to the nearby couch, his claws making a shredding noise as he slid out of view over its back, dropping onto an arrangement of blown glass vases Gulliver had insisted weren’t girlie.

  Burke heard the sound of breaking glass and swept the cat out of the mess.

  “So…I guess I can’t sell the couch, since you just ruined it. Or those one-of-a-kind collectible dust-catchers.” Burke touched the thin cut in the couch’s fabric. “Seriously. Common courtesy, cat.” He cleaned up the glass while Fluke sat nearby, tailed tucked neatly around his body, looking innocent and slightly regal as he blinked at Burke. “It’s okay, I never liked those, either.”

  Sighing, he toured the rest of the main floor, snapping a photo of a painting, his drum set, the leather massage chair he’d never used and Fluke had yet to destroy.

  Burke took the open staircase to the bedroom loft, continuing his mission. Once done, he uploaded the folder of photos to his assistant’s virtual to-do list, then showered and got dressed for work. He debated locking Fluke in his bedroom for safety and to narrow the feline’s swath of destruction, but last time he’d done that, he’d come home to curtains that looked like a five-year-old’s first macramé project. It was best the cat be left to roam the entire apartment, spreading out the mess so it didn’t seem as bad.

  Burke locked his apartment,
checked to make sure the neighbor’s kid was still okay to come by after school to play with Fluke for a bit, and forty-five minutes later walked into his office, to find a panicked Gulliver.

  “Are we losing our jobs?” his assistant asked in a hushed tone, scurrying alongside Burke. His usually well groomed and perfect appearance was flawed by a shirt that hadn’t been tucked in at the back, a sure sign the man was flustered.

  “No. What do you have for me today?”

  Gulliver handed Burke a steaming mug of coffee, and instead of digging into the plastic folder tucked under his arm, he pleaded, “You can’t close the place. I know profits haven’t been what we projected, but Declan’s son needs surgery. He needs a good health plan. Andrea’s about to go on maternity leave. You can’t leave her unemployed with a new baby.”

  “Keep your voice down. Nobody’s losing their jobs.”

  The office had quieted, and everyone was studiously trying not to look at Burke, and failing. The only movement was a leaf falling off a potted fig outside Andrea’s office.

  “Everyone back to work,” Burke said, before striding into his own office, barely refraining from slamming the door. Within seconds, Gulliver was letting himself in.

  “What is it?” Burke asked with a weary sigh.

  “Emilio thinks he has HIV again—and no, he didn’t have shingles, it was a spider bite, thanks for asking—so I really can’t deal with trying to sell your personal possessions in the faint hope of keeping the company afloat. I have enough drama in my life, and if we’re going down we need to just accept it. Not cling to the sinking lifeboat.”

  Burke took a second to unpack all of what Gulliver had said. He started from the top.

  “Does it ever make you wonder why Emilio keeps thinking he has HIV when he’s in a committed relationship with you?” he asked gently.

  Gulliver tossed himself onto the low couch near the door. “He likes the attention. He’s loyal.”

  “Have you tried focusing on him more when you’re home? You know, put down your phone?”

  “Will you fire me if it takes more than a few hours to reply to your emails?”

  “Probably,” Burke said with a teasing smile. He’d started the company with Gulliver at his side and couldn’t imagine walking into the office without the man there, ready to help him tackle his jam-packed days. They hadn’t grown this big, this fast by lollygagging or by being unfocused. Gulliver was so integral that he’d even named the company. A horrible name, but still. He was as much a part of the place as Burke was. “By the way, I want to talk to the marketing department about leveraging the uniqueness of our company name.”

  Gulliver nodded to acknowledge the additional task. “About time.” He switched subjects with his usual speed. “He just can’t seem to be happy.”

  “Emilio? Another brilliant reason to stay single. You never know if they’re happy or about to leave you.”

  Gulliver was watching with his eyebrows raised. Obviously, his assistant had heard something and was waiting for Burke to mention it. Burke had a feeling that whatever it was, it was about Jill.

  Burke took a sip of his coffee to buy himself time, then set it down, noting that Gulliver had chosen a plain black cup, which was a sure sign he was in a touchy mood and that Burke ought to tread carefully.

  “You know if we’re going down as a company I won’t draw it out. You’ll be the first person to know. And to stick with your analogy, I’ll give everyone plenty of time to securely situate themselves in a lifeboat.”

  “I knew it,” Gulliver moaned.

  “Oh, stop already.”

  Gulliver pulled himself out of the funk. Well, mostly.

  Burke pushed back his shirt cuffs, his attention catching on the stylized comma tattoo on his right wrist. It wasn’t a bad tattoo, but he wasn’t an editor or bookish type and the black mark made no sense to him. Although according to Gulliver, who had a degree in creative writing, he did tend to put too many commas in his memos. Maybe the tattoo was supposed to be ironic. He’d wanted to ask Jill, since the mark had appeared the night they’d married, but he was too embarrassed by the already large list of out-of-character things he couldn’t recall having done that night. But apparently had.

  He held up his wrist. “Make me an appointment to get this thing removed, would you?”

  “I like it.”

  “It’s ridiculous and has no meaning.”

  “Live the cliché with your drunken tattoo.” Gulliver held up a hand that was blotchy and pink. “My eczema has gotten so bad there is no way I could ever get a tattoo.”

  “See your doctor.”

  “The medicated creams don’t work because I’m so stressed. If we’re going to try and remove something, let’s focus on fixing my eczema rather than your perfectly fine tattoo.”

  “Did you send out any partnership letters? We need to raise funds in case Tiffer accepts our pitch.”

  “I literally screamed when I got your email. Emilio fell right out of bed. How did you manage to snag that pitch spot? Was he drunk? Did you offer him special favors?”

  “There are still a lot of hurdles to get over before the pitch. Such as raising the funds for his contract fee.” And showing up there with a wife. One whose name was Jill Armstrong. The very Jill Armstrong he was intent on divorcing.

  Burke repositioned the cup sitting on his desk. There had to be an answer that solved everything.

  “I sent them. But nobody can afford to work with you, so don’t get your hopes up,” Gulliver stated.

  “You have to sell all that decor stuff. I don’t need it.”

  “Sell it yourself.”

  Burke turned to look out the window behind him. Streams of traffic four stories down were choking each other with their exhaust fumes, visible in the icy air.

  “Why can’t this be easier, Gully?”

  “Because then everyone would be doing it. There are more profits in choosing the environmentally destructive option. Our business is about not going that route, so please don’t change for the sake of cash. We’d all make a Burke voodoo doll if you did.” Gulliver gestured to the offices beyond the closed door. He lowered his voice. “Any luck with Autumn’s father and the tax breaks?”

  Burke shook his head. “The only thing I’m close to getting is an unwanted girlfriend.”

  He winced at the thought. He was married.

  Gulliver stood up. “No pressure, but you’re responsible for the world, Burke Carver. Our futures and fate rest in your hands.”

  Burke pursed his lips at the dramatic statement, giving Gulliver a look. “Thanks for the added weight on my shoulders.”

  “It’s why we love you. We trust you with our lives because of those big broad shoulders of yours.” Gulliver, with a sassy look, left the office, closing the door behind him.

  “Gulliver!”

  The door opened. “Yes?”

  “The file?”

  “Right.” Gulliver handed him the folder made from recycled plastic, quickly outlining the day’s “must-do” items.

  When he let himself out again, Burke began on the starred task—the most important item. The door opened once again and Burke suppressed the urge to groan at the interruption. He had issues to mull over. Specifically, the fact that he couldn’t seem to get Jill out of his mind. And not just because he needed both to divorce her and stay married to her.

  Oh, right, and according to the starred item on his list, he also had to sort out a way to boost the profitability of their bamboo fiber T-shirt line.

  “And,” Gulliver stated dramatically, “just to reiterate, I’m not selling off your possessions. I lovingly chose each and every one of them specifically with you in mind.” He closed the door again before Burke could reply.

  Burke pressed the buzzer that went to Gulliver’s desk. His assistant didn’t answer. Burke began tapping the buzzer, knowing it would eventually annoy him into answering.

  “Not selling a thing,” Gulliver chirped through the speaker a
few moments later.

  “Yes you are, unless you come up with a better way to raise the capital.”

  Silence.

  “And I have an appointment downtown at three. Clear my calendar.”

  “Hot new date with the new girlfriend?” Gulliver asked, without his usual gusto.

  So he had heard about Jill.

  “Something the opposite of that.”

  “Should I prepare one of the larger I’m-a-doofus breakup gifts so she might come back, since you went for one who wasn’t cool and lifeless?”

  “There is no girlfriend,” Burke said, taking special care to emphasize each word.

  “I heard about MacKenzie’s. She seems frisky. Someone to keep you on your toes. And definitely better than that cold fish Autumn Martinez. When are you getting rid of her again? I can pencil her in for a formal dismissal so she gets the hint that you don’t do real-ationships.”

  “Funny. Thought of that one yourself?”

  “I did. And there’s a very nice up-yours gift on sale at the shop around the corner that could have her name on it.”

  Burke silently shook his head, trying not to smile. There were both upsides and downsides to having an assistant such as Gulliver.

  “So?” the man prompted. “What’s going on with this new woman? Does Autumn know?”

  “Jill and I are nothing,” Burke said, feeling the lie. Whatever they had, it was certainly something. Unpredictable, too. He’d never gotten lost in a kiss like that before. Or married on a whim, either.

  And his need to comfort her last night…what had that been about? That was putting the “real” in real-ationship.

  But he didn’t have time for someone who had ‘big mess’ written all over her. He needed to divorce her, move on. He could figure out Tiffer later. Right now he needed to focus on finding a new lead to chase.