BLISS: A Wedding Enemies to Lovers Alpha Bad-Boy Billionaire Romance

by Marr, Maggie

  BLISS: A Wedding Enemies to Lovers Alpha Bad-Boy Billionaire Romance

  Maggie Marr

  Copyright © 2019 by Maggie Marr

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Created with Vellum

  Contents

  Also by Maggie Marr

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Epilogue

  Untitled

  Untitled

  Introduction

  Part I

  Part II

  Acknowledgments

  Also by Maggie Marr

  Wonderful Love

  Two Hour Romance

  Built

  Bliss

  Bump

  Surf

  Sun

  HUGE

  Boy Toy

  The Glamour Series

  Hard Glamour

  Broken Glamour

  Fast Glamour

  Easy Glamour

  Luxe Glamour

  Impossible Glamour

  Vicious Glamour

  Eligible Billionaires: The Travati Brothers

  A Forever Love

  A Billionaire for Christmas

  A Convenient Arrangement

  A Forbidden Love

  Eligible Billionaires Bundle The Travati Brothers

  Hollywood Girls Club Series

  Hollywood Girls Club

  Secrets of the Hollywood Girls Club

  Hollywood Hit

  Hollywood Girls Club Bundle 1-3

  Eligible Billionaires Series

  Can’t Buy Me Love

  One Night For Love

  A Christmas Billionaire

  Last Call For Love

  Running From Love

  Eligible Billionaires Bundle 1-5

  Powder Springs Series

  Courting Trouble

  The Christmas Wish

  Candy Cane Lane

  Chapter 1

  Torrey

  “Well if it isn’t Torrey Bliss! Hey babe, how does it work out that you’re always a bridesmaid and never a bride?” Kurt nods toward the back room of Galvenetti’s where I’ve set up a pre-wedding dinner party for Becca.

  Most nights, I’d smile at Kurt and not even dignify his drunken little jab with a response, but tonight isn’t most nights.

  “I don’t know, Kurt, how come you’re always an asshole and drunk at Galvenetti’s?” Too shrill. Damn, I need to reign in my bad mood.

  “Touchy, touchy.” Kurt upends his beer bottle. In about three more sips he’s either going to face plant on the floor or Joey’ll throw Kurt’s ass into an Uber and send him home. Either way Kurt’s not my problem and he definitely isn’t worth my time. I shouldn’t let a drunk who happens to also be an asshole get under my skin and normally I wouldn’t.

  Even if he is right.

  Becca’s wedding is the seventeenth time I’ve been a bridesmaid and the tenth time I’ve been maid of honor. Every girl’s best friend. A real girl’s girl. The woman you call when your boyfriend dumps you, your cat dies, or you lose your job…sometimes all in the same week. Normally—ninety-nine percent of the time—I’m good with that. A-Okay, but this week is that one percent when I’m not.

  “Hey,” Kurt says, stumbling down the bar. He grasps the edge of the bar as if holding the rail on a wind-tossed boat. “Not ever going to ask you to get married, but let me know if you’re looking for a little sexy-sexy time.”

  I wave my hand in front of my nose. “Swear to God, Kurt, if someone lit a match in front of your face El Segundo would explode.”

  “Ha, ha, you’re funny. Not!” he says in that drunken sort of way where the timing is off and the drunk looks ridiculous. “So listen, Torrey, I hear that you and Todd finally broke up for good.” He leans his arm on the bar. “Finally caught him with his assistant right? That’s been going on for forever! Surprised it took you this long to figure that out.”

  Heat floods my chest. My heart hammers.

  “Who told you that?” I hiss. “Do not say another word about Todd and me.” I glance across the dining room where Becca stands beside Carmen and Sookie. Sookie is the reason for tonight; she leaves for Beijing tomorrow and can’t go to the wedding next weekend. “Do you understand, Kurt? Not another word.” I shoot him my evilest evil eye.

  I refuse to hijack the wedding party dinner this weekend and the wedding next weekend with my personal pity party. Plenty of time to feel sorry for myself once my duties of maid-of-honor are complete.

  “Touchy, touchy!” Kurt leans toward me like he’s got a secret to share. “Upset about the boyfriend boning your assistant?” He wobbles, falls forward, and plants his hand on my shoulder. And farts.

  “Okay, Kurt,” Joey calls from behind the bar. “It’s time for an Uber.”

  “Uber, schmuber!” Kurt waves his hand. “I’m fine. Just offering this little lady a ride on my love-machine.”

  “I suggest you take the Uber. First, I can pretty much guarantee you that there isn’t one woman here tonight that will take you up on that offer, and second, I’m guessing—and I know my stuff where this is concerned—I’m guessing that after all the drinks you’ve had tonight your love machine is out of commission for the night.”

  Joey smiles and pulls out his phone.

  “You got this?”

  Joey nods. “You know it.”

  “Why you got to be so mean to Torrey?” Kurt leans against a bar stool for support.

  “You say mean, I say truthful.”

  “You know what your problem is, Torrey?” Kurt asks. His right eyelid droops to nearly closed. He looks like a drunk pirate.

  “No—what’s my problem?” Joey and I exchange a smile like we’re both in on a joke.

  “You’re too uptight. Always busting balls and never having any fun. I mean, have you ever just winged it?”

  Heat cascades through my chest. My cheating ex-boyfriend’s primary complaint about me was nearly identical to Kurt’s words. Too uptight. No spontaneity. “Winged it, Kurt? Do you mean wing it? Have I done that? No, Kurt, I do not wing things. I plan, I work, I follow through.”

  “See there it is,” Kurt says in his slurry speech. “Right there—so serious, so uptight.” His head rolls on his neck. “You just sound so angry. Maybe consider having some fun?”

  Joey hands me my bourbon. I glance from the drink to Joey’s eyes.

  My chest tightens. His look, it’s almost like Joey feels sorry for me. I press my lips together. Am I going to laugh or cry? “Wing it,” I say to Joey and shake my head. I can’t even fake it. Kurt’s words cut like a knife. My ex said that my lack of spontaneity was the cause of his bang-fest with my assistant.

  “Kurt, it’s time for you to go home,” Joey says.

  “Fine, fine, fine.” Kurt holds up his hands. “Was just trying to see if this lovely lady needed to get laid.”

  “I’m good, thanks.” I turn back toward the party room where Becca and Carmen and Sookie stand talking about what everyone talks about all the time—the wedding. I walk into the room and stand beside Becca, Carmen, and Sookie.

  “So where is th
e bachelorette party?” Sookie asks.

  “Vegas baby!” I say.

  Becca eyes me. “No, not Vegas,” she says in that super-stern no fun sort of way.

  “I wanted Vegas,” I mumble into my drink.

  “We’re not really having a bachelorette party and Jake isn’t really having a bachelor party either,” Becca says.

  Sookie looks confused. “Then what’re you having?”

  “We’re having a dinner party at a swanky place in Malibu,” I say. “It’s on the beach and super expensive and then we’re spending the night at Shutters. She’s calling it a bridal-party dinner.” I take a long sip of my drink.

  “Ooooh, that sounds totally fab!” Sookie coos.

  “Does it?” I ask. “Does it really? Because I think Vegas sounds better.” Especially now after walking in on the bone-a-thon on my desk.

  Becca gives me the look. The look that says she is the bride. Besides, Becca has no idea why I’m snarly and I’m saying nothing until after her honeymoon. Better get my negative vibes under wraps.

  “But Becca wants a bridesmaid’s dinner and dinner will be fun too.” I plaster a cheerful smile onto my face. She’s the bride. I’m the maid-of-honor. The bride gets what the bride wants. Someday, when I’m a bride, I’ll get what I want. I glance across Galvenetti’s where Kurt stood.

  I’m never going to be a bride.

  Is Kurt’s drunken assessment accurate? Am I destined to only be a bridesmaid? Am I going to endure this fate for the rest of my days? Do I even want to get married after what I saw happening on my desk three weeks ago?

  “A bridal-party weekend,” Sookie parrots. “Sounds classy, relaxing, and fun.”

  “Mmmhmm, if that’s the way she wants to go out,” I say. I sip my whiskey.

  “What restaurant?” Sookie asks.

  “Teatro Del Sol,” I say.

  “You got a reservation?” Her eyes widen. “That place is impossible to get into!”

  “Torrey does all their marketing,” Becca says. “She got us in. I’ve always wanted to go.”

  “Yep,” I say. Another long swallow of bourbon. Lucky me, my marketing firm, the one I started with my cheating ex-boyfriend, reps the restaurant. Deep breath. My business may or may not be going down the tubes along with the relationship.

  I take another drink. The sea of words flowing between Becca and Carmen and Sookie washes over me. I catch fragments. Becca and Sookie walk toward the bathroom. Dinner is over. I hitch my purse over my shoulder.

  “How you doing?” Carmen grasps my elbow and squeezes.

  Ruh-ro. Wait? What does Carmen know?

  “Great! Fab! How’re you?” My bright falsetto doesn’t even fool me. How the hell will it fool my second-closest friend?

  She leans in, her lips hovering beside my ear. “Todd’s sister cleans my house. I know.”

  My heart quivers and my lips turn down. My bottom lip trembles. “Carm, I can’t.” I close my eyes and shake my head. “This weekend and next weekend are all about Becca and I just can’t…not until the bridal dinner and the wedding are over.”

  Her arm wraps around my shoulder. “I get it. Not another word to anyone, but just know that I know and if all this wedding stuff and…other stuff, gets too heavy or too much?” She looks into my eyes. “I got you, kay?”

  And that’s what friends are for. Right here. Carm is totally ride or die for whatever the hell I need. I say I can’t talk about it until two weeks from today, and she says she’s good with that. But if I change my mind tomorrow and call her at three am? She’ll be ready for that. I turn into a balling puddle of goop in twenty seconds in the middle of Galvenetti’s? She’ll be the mop to clean me up. Yes, that’s what good girlfriends do for each other and I know this to my core and that is exactly why I swallow this pain and all my feelings and promise myself that I’m not saying anything more to anyone about my dickhead of an ex until Becca is on her plane to her honeymoon in Mesquale.

  “What about you? How are you doing?” Carm wins the suckiest-situation award. I didn’t even live with Todd. Just stayed at his place nearly every night and built a business with him.

  FML.

  “A little better every day,” she says. She and Dave separated nearly a year ago and their divorce should be final soon.

  “Aren’t we just the twins of love,” I say. “Regular spokespeople for happily-ever-after.”

  “I’m hoping that our losses provide some good juju for this wedding because otherwise sister-girl is doomed.” Carmen sips her wine, then asks, “We’re set for this weekend right? Dinner? Spa? Breakfast?”

  “All good,” I say. “We’ve got it all covered.”

  “Sounds easy,” Carmen says. “What could go wrong?”

  “Many, many things,” I say. “But that’s my life. For Becca and Jake, I predict everything going right. They’ve had enough near-misses in their relationship now it’s time for smooth-sailing.”

  “Agreed.” Carmen holds up her wine glass.

  We clink glasses. Two bridesmaids, neither one really believing much in love or happily-ever-afters, but we’re both sure as hell certain we’re going to do everything in our power to try and make certain that our best friend gets hers.

  Chapter 2

  Brett

  I love LA. There is no place in the world like Los Angeles. The warm breeze, the palm trees, there’s something in the air of this city that makes me believe anything is possible.

  I pull in a deep breath of Golden State air.

  Ahh. “Amazing this place!” I say to no one in particular. I follow my driver from luggage claim to the town car. I pull my phone from my pocket. So many texts since I left Australia. I scroll for the one I want. There it is. Jake Warren aka the guy getting hitched.

  You here yet? You got the reservation for dinner tonight?

  Yes, and fuck! I scrub my hand through my hair. Shit. Shit. Shit. Reservation for tonight. Completely forgot. I close my eyes and turn in a circle. I sigh and open my eyes. The driver lifts my bag into the trunk of the town car. “You wouldn’t happen to know the owner of Teatro Del Sol would you?” I ask.

  “Sorry, sir,” he says and opens the back door.

  “Right.” I slide into the car and press the number to my assistant. “Derek, we’ve got a bit of a…well let’s just call it a challenge that will provide you an opportunity to excel,” I say.

  Derek sighs. I pay him well, but unfortunately because I’m often busy and flying all over the world, and a bit forgetful, I often provide Derek with “challenges that give him opportunities to excel.”

  “Yes, sir,” Derek says. “How can I be of service?”

  “Ah! There you are, excellent, excellent! Great attitude. I need a reservation at Teatro Del Sol in Malibu for tonight,” I say.

  “Excuse me?” Derek says, “But I thought you said that you just said that you need a reservation at Teatro Del Sol in Malibu for tonight.”

  “Exactly.” I grab a rocks glass from the bar and pour bourbon into it.

  “But, sir, isn’t that the swanky place in Malibu? The place that is impossible to get into without a year’s notice?”

  “That’s the one!” I say. “But you’re industrious and I’m certain you can get it done.” I roll down the window. Bright blue sky whips by me. The driver turns out of LAX. “It’s for the groomsmen’s dinner,” I say. “The one I’m hosting for Jake.”

  “Sir, I thought that the bride’s brother was handling the dinner tonight.”

  “Nope, it’s me,” I say. “Forgot to mention David’s in the throes of a rather unfortunate divorce, and as such I, the best man, am handling the dinner tonight.”

  “Ohhh, sir.”

  “An opportunity to excel, Derek,” I say.

  “Yes, sir, an opportunity to excel,” Derek repeats back to me as he often does. “Well, I need to get started, sir. You’re thinking eight for dinner?”

  “Give or take, yes. Then cigars and poker in Jake’s suite. You’ve set up the
suites at Shutters, yes?”

  “Yes, sir, both yours and the groom’s suite have a full bar, great view. Continuous room service. A hot tub. Entertaining this weekend should go quite well, sir, especially since it would seem you’re going to do so.”

  “And next weekend? At the wedding, you’ll have a car at the ready?” I ask. Bourbon slides down my throat. “I mean, not to say that Jake’ll get cold feet and want to leave, but it is the best man’s job to be at the ready should the need arise.”

  “Yes, sir. Two tickets on standby for Mesquale should things go awry.”

  “Love that resort! Please send Ryan and Charla a note, letting them know that if I don’t use the tickets this weekend, I’m using them soon. Really, Derek, you must go to Mesquale. One of the most beautiful spots on the planet. The surf there is off the charts.”

  “Love to, sir, if ever I get a bit of vacation time.”

  “Ah yes, vacation is ever so important.” I pour another two fingers of bourbon into my glass. “So you’ll get me my reservation for tonight, please?”

  “On it, sir, will send you confirmation when I have it. Please let me know that your accommodations are acceptable.”

  “You got it, Derek.” I press off on the phone and lower my window even further. The car speeds toward Santa Monica, and while I live on the beach in Sydney, the ocean air smells a bit different wherever you go. We take a right and pull into the circle at Shutters—or my driver attempts to pull into the circle at Shutters.

  What the hell? A woman stands at the back of her SUV and it’s as though her entire closet has exploded from the back of her car. A rainbow of colors and silks are strewn onto the pavement in front of one of North America’s finest hotels.