“Are you still drunk?”
He shook his head. “No, although I’m starting to think this would be easier if I was.”
“Well, have at it. I’m sure there’s a few bottles we didn’t open.” She turned to leave again, but this time it was Cole’s hand on her elbow that stopped her at the door.
“Wait,” he said.
She glanced down to where he held her arm and instantly he released her.
“Just hear me out. Please?”
Again, with the please. It was like there were two Coleman Grant’s waging a war inside of him. Or maybe he had a little devil on one shoulder and a bound-and-gagged angel on the other. Either way, this strange turn of events kept getting stranger. “Five minutes,” she said.
He gestured toward the circular sofa that filled the center of the room. “Can we sit?”
She snorted. “Shouldn’t you be down on one knee?”
He looked as though he were about to speak and judging by the expression on his face it was no doubt going to be some snide remark about her being on her knees sucking his cock. But instead of hitting her with a barb, he held his tongue. Score one for the angel.
“I find myself in a bit of a predicament,” he began once they were seated.
“That requires you to get married as soon as possible?”
“By Tuesday.”
She laughed. “Yeah, right.”
“I’m being serious, Olivia.” He took a deep breath. “The terms of my late parents’ will mandates that I be married before my thirtieth birthday or the estate will revert to my grandmother’s control and turned over to a charitable trust upon her death.”
Whoa. That was a lot for her caffeine deprived brain to process. And here she thought all she was going to have to manage was putting one foot in front of the other for a proper walk of shame. “Why in the world would they do that?”
“Let’s just say they thought I had a bit of growing up to do.”
“So, in other words, you were a total fuck up and a colossal disappointment?”
Something flickered across Cole’s face that for a moment had Olivia regretting the dig. His parents were dead, reminding him that they thought so little of him as to put some archaic codicil in their will was a low blow, even for them.
He cleared his throat. “My lawyer called this morning with the news that the courts have denied our most recent motion.” When she didn’t react, let alone speak, he continued. “From what he tells me, I’m out of options. And with my birthday on Tuesday—”
“You figured you’d just propose to the next girl you laid eyes on?”
“Believe me, under normal circumstances, you wouldn’t be my first choice. Hell, you wouldn’t even be my last choice, but I’m out of time.”
And just like that her momentary thaw iced back over. “Did they teach that in a class at one of your snooty boarding schools? ‘How to Woo a Woman While Still Being a Dick’?”
“Let’s take a moment for due diligence, shall we?”
“A wife is not an acquisition, Cole.”
“No, but in our case, this would most definitely be a business transaction. The same principles apply.”
She leaned back against the couch cushion and folded her arms over her chest. “I’m listening,” she said, although for the life of her she had no idea why she was hearing him out. Or why her coffee was out of reach.
Cole stood. “This would be a mutually beneficial arrangement.” He crossed the room and returned with her coffee cup. What was he, a mind reader?
Olivia watched as he set the china cup on the table in front of her before once again joining her on the sofa. “I get how this helps you,” she said. “But what do I get?”
A slow grin formed on his lips. “Me.”
Her stomach rolled, and for a moment she thought she might be sick again. Only this time she wasn’t sure if it was the hangover or the conversation that was putting the hotel’s white sofa at risk.
“You don’t have to look so repulsed. I’m actually quite a catch from what I’ve been told.”
“Your sales pitch needs some work.” Olivia pushed to her feet. “And I need some sleep.” She was still getting her bearings when he played his trump card.
“I’ll back your conservation project.”
She froze. “What did you say?”
“You heard me.”
Yes, she had heard him. Believing him was another story. “You’ll move the site?”
“Move the site, construct a wall, dig a moat. Hell, I’ll build the little fuckers a bat hotel if that’s what it takes.”
Dig a moat? “You haven’t listened to a word I’ve said over the past three months, have you?”
“Not really,” he admitted.
“Then how do you know you can afford to make the necessary changes?”
He gazed up at her nonplussed. “Billions, Olivia, with a b.”
“How long?”
“Several generations.”
“Not how long have you been obscenely wealthy, jackass. How long would I have to be married to you?” Despite hearing the words, she wasn’t one hundred percent convinced they’d come out of her mouth.
“Three months.”
Olivia sank back onto the sofa. Three months. Ninety days. Two Thousand, one hundred and sixty hours.
“That should be long enough to sort the legal matters, then we can begin the divorce proceedings.”
“Planning our divorce at the same time as our wedding? This proposal just keeps getting better.” She took a sip of her coffee as she contemplated his obscene offer. It was crazy and impulsive, but all that aside there remained one rather large issue. “What makes you think I could stand the sight of you for three months?”
“It’s not like we’ll be joined at the hip. We won’t even be living together. Just a few public events for appearances’ sake.”
“Still, that’s three months of my life.”
“You’ve spent that long stalking me. Think what you could accomplish with the next three months. Being Mrs. Coleman Grant III is not without its perks, Olivia. That name opens doors—which I’m sure you’ll charge through like a bull in a china shop—but it’s a far cry from a sidewalk ambush.”
She set her coffee on the table and began rubbing her temples with her index fingers. Was she really considering marrying a man she despised? Then again, twenty-four hours ago, she could have never imagined sleeping with him either. And there was no denying it was a tempting offer. She’d spent most of her adult life working for non-profits, championing the causes that meant the most to her. If she could crawl through caves or wade through marshes, surely she could endure a marriage of convenience.
“Of course, you’ll have to take yourself off the market.” He smirked. “Can’t very well have my wife sleeping her way through the city.”
She shot him a look she hoped shriveled his dick. Truth was, at the moment, Olivia didn’t have much else going on in that area. With the exception of a few random dates here and there, her love life was pretty much nonexistent and for the most part she preferred it that way. Staying off the market for three months was the least of her concerns. Not murdering her husband on the other hand . . .
“But aside from that, it will pretty much be business as usual. And the best part is”—Cole leaned back and rested one ankle on the opposite knee—“you’ll be harassing some other SOB. We can be rid of our ridiculous morning ritual. You can lead your life, and I can lead mine. Simple.”
“Got it all figured out, haven’t you?”
“Hardly. But I’m sure my lawyers can have a more detailed contract drawn up within a few hours.”
“If I agree to this, when would we—”
“Tie the knot?”
It was an expression she’d heard a thousand times before, but in this context it took on a whole new meaning. Using the phrase “tying the knot” in reference to marrying Cole felt less like a commitment and more like a hostage situation. Of course, there was
the whole panty incident, but as far as she was concerned that never happened.
Cole stood, making it clear he considered discussion time to be over. “I’d like to settle this matter as soon as possible.”
Olivia stared out the window. Below them, the hustle and bustle of the Strip was already gaining momentum, and for a moment she wondered how many other tourists would be planning impulsive weddings that very same day. Her shoulders sagged, and she sighed.
“Should I take that as a yes?” he asked.
“I have some terms of my own,” she said.
“Such as?”
She straightened. “Such as I decide how to tell the people in my life.”
“Of course.”
“And I want everything spelled out in detail,” she continued. “No wiggle room when it comes to relocating your site.”
“Done,” he said. “Anything else?”
There probably was, but at the moment her head was swimming through a stream of mud. “Not right now, but I’ll let you know if I think of anything.”
He let out an exasperated breath. “Do we have a deal?”
She couldn’t bring herself to say the word, so instead she just nodded.
“Great.” Cole reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. “What do you have today?”
“Spa day with the girls. You?”
“Golf outing.” He checked his watch. “Meet back here at say, five?”
“Okay.” Were they really just planning a wedding as if it were nothing more than meeting for coffee?
“Give me your phone.”
Olivia frowned. “Why?”
“So I can put my number in your contacts.” He shook his head. “Does everything always have to be a battle with you?”
Olivia handed him her smartphone, then watched as his thumbs flew over the keyboard.
“There,” Cole said, handing it back to her. “Text me, and then I’ll have yours.” He opened the search engine on his phone. “I’ll make the necessary arrangements at the chapel.”
Jesus, now it sounded like he was planning a funeral.
“Do you have any preferences?”
She cocked her head to one side. “Like?”
“Elvis or no Elvis, drive thru or aisle?”
“I don’t care.” There was, however, one detail Olivia felt very strongly about, and the sooner he learned the score the better. “But Cole?”
“Hmm,” he said without looking up from his phone.
“Just so we’re clear, married or not, what happened last night is never happening again.”
Chapter Eight
Cole had never given marriage much thought. For a man like him, getting married was nothing more than a necessary progression, assuming one wanted legitimate heirs to carry on the family name. It was just something you did, like going to college. Or the dentist.
He’d spent his early twenties drifting in and out of relationships, but eventually they’d all ended the same way. Because no matter how casual he tried to keep it—or how much a woman insisted she just wanted to “hang out”—ultimately each and every one of them wanted more. Six months. For some reason that was the magic number, and it never failed. Things would be going along smoothly and then bam! That six-month anniversary would roll around, and the professions of love and devotion would start. And the nagging. And the bitching. And the if-you-loved-me-you’d-want-me-in-your-life-for-ever.” Forever? Jesus, he barely managed to keep a car for two years, and Cole really loved his cars. But the same woman for two years, let alone a lifetime? No, thank you. Not until he absolutely had to. And since as a man he was spared the whole “ticking clock” syndrome, he’d planned to put that day off for as long as possible.
Which is why he’d spent the second half of his twenties completely untethered. The women in Cole’s life knew the score from the very start. There was no gray area, no room for misinterpretation. He made sure to spell it out clearly so there would be no misunderstandings: They were seeing each other, not dating; he would call them when he was available, and if they were busy he would move to the next name on the list; he wasn’t their boyfriend and while he always practiced safe sex, there should be no delusions of monogamy. These were his terms. Like it or leave it.
Of course, a few told him to go to hell, which was fine by him. Those were the ones who would end up keying his car on some tear-filled drunken rant. But for the most part, the women were amenable to his terms. Sure, a few probably thought they would be “the one” who would eventually win his heart and show him the error of his playboy ways. They were mistaken of course, but that delusion was all on them because getting married was the furthest thing from Cole’s mind. At least until today.
As little thought as he’d given to his eventual marriage, he’d given his actual wedding day even less. Dresses and flowers and cakes and seating charts were all matters for the bride to contend with. All he’d have to do was show up in a tuxedo and repeat the words the minister recited. But as he stood in the rear of the “Hunk-O-Hunk of Burning Love Chapel” he could honestly say he’d never thought his wedding day would involve a minister dressed as Elvis. Or an organist who he was fairly sure was supposed to resemble Priscilla Presley on her wedding day, even though the look was decidedly more Bride of Frankenstein. Or a ring bearer dressed as Angus Young from AC/DC. The schoolboy uniform was bad enough, but if he did that Chuck Berry duck walk thing down the aisle, Cole thought he might actually lose it. And the fucking icing on the cake? He wasn’t even wearing a tux.
Cole turned in the small vestibule and checked his reflection in the mirror. When he’d left Chicago, he hadn’t planned on getting married, so he hadn’t bothered to pack a tux. But he never went anywhere without his favorite black Armani suit. He tugged on the French cuffs of his starched white shirt and straightened his black tie. Not too bad, Grant, not too bad.
“They’re ready for you,” Tiny Angus said.
Cole took his spot in front of the glittering alter.
Preacher Elvis adjusted the collar of his rhinestone jumpsuit, then announced, “Please rise for the bride.”
Cole glanced over his shoulder at the rows of empty chairs. “I think we’re good to go.”
On cue, the organist began to play a rendition of “Love Me Tender.” Elvis set his Bible down, picked up a wireless microphone and began to sing. Cole wondered if he’d paid extra for the show, but then the doors at the rear of the chapel opened and all thoughts left him but one.
Olivia stepped into the rays of colored light streaming through a stained-glass window made to look like the famous “Welcome to Fabulous Las Vegas” sign.
Fuck. Him.
According to lore, and his observations at nearly every wedding he’d ever attended, this was the moment that was supposed to stun him, give him that goofy look he’d seen on the faces of countless friends, and damn near take his breath away. As Olivia began her walk down the short aisle, she took his breath away all right. But not in the way other grooms had described. No, Cole’s reaction was less “Look at this beautiful woman who has agreed to be mine” and more “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”
Because the woman taking her place at his side wasn’t wearing a white dress. She was wearing a pair of faded jeans, flip flops and for the love of God . . . a White Sox T-shirt. Great, on top of everything else she wasn’t even a fan of the right Chicago baseball team.
“Dearly beloved,” Elvis began. “We are gathered here today to get through this thing called life.”
Wrong artist, asshole. But at the moment, the fact that their minister was mixing up his musical icons wasn’t Cole’s biggest concern. Because while their wedding picture wasn’t going to be on the society page, he might need to show it to a few people to help with the authentication. A bride dressed in frayed jeans and flip flops was hardly an image befitting a Grant.
“Couldn’t be bothered to wear a dress?” he grit out between his teeth.
She shrugged. “Didn’t have time to
change.”
Fan-fucking-tastic. Now he’d look like the schmuck who cared more about the wedding than she did. That was probably her plan all along. Well, two could play at that game.
“Excuse me,” he said, interrupting the King’s monologue. “Seems my blushing bride didn’t have a chance to find the dress of her dreams. You wouldn’t by any chance have an extra gown we could rent?”
Elvis looked at him over the rim of his signature gold sunglasses. “Um, well no, usually people just get hitched in whatever they’re wearing.”
“I just hate to disappoint my little princess.” Cole couldn’t believe he’d managed to get the words out without gagging.
Gothic Priscilla turned on the piano bench. “She can wear this.”
“No fucking way,” Olivia said under her breath.
Perfect. “That would be so kind of you.” Cole reached into his pocket and pulled out a wad of bills. He peeled off two hundreds and handed them to the young girl. “I can’t thank you enough.”
“No problem,” she said, taking Olivia by the hand and dragging her toward a side door. “We’ll be right back.”
And ten minutes later they were.
“Ta-da,” young Priscilla said as she waved her hands in front of Olivia. Cole nearly pissed his pants. Not only had the girl given Olivia her gown, but she’d done her hair and makeup as well.
“You should wear a bee hive more often,” he told her as she took her place beside him.
“Shut up,” she growled.
“What?” Cole tried to keep a straight face and failed. Miserably. “I’m just trying to compliment my lovely bride. You look beautiful with that much eyeliner. Who did your makeup, Ozzy Osbourne?”
“I mean it, Cole, not another word or I’m out the door.”
“Are we ready?” the King asked.
“Yes,” they said in unison.
Elvis cleared his throat. “We’re gathered here today to witness the joining of two very special people. Cole and Olivia, if you have come to Graceland to wed then you must have arrived at that special place in your relationship. The one where you know you can’t spend another day without being joined for all of eternity.”
Black Tie Optional (Wild Wedding Series Book 1) Page 6
