Marrying the Billionaire (Bishop Brothers Book 2)

by Allie Winters

  Again, not a good look.

  “Archer,” she laughs. “You’re so handsome. Why can’t you take a picture?”

  “You think I’m handsome?” The question slips out unbidden.

  She bites her lip, lowering the phone. “Well, yeah.”

  “Oh.” A sliver of warmth snakes through me, leaving me even more tense. Why in the world should it matter that she likes the way I look?

  “You seem kind of edgy. Do you want to do this later?”

  “No, I want to get it over with.”

  She flinches, my stomach bottoming out at her reaction.

  “Not because of you,” I backtrack. “I just have more work to do after this.”

  She nods, all affability gone, both of us morose as she holds up the phone once more.

  How do I keep fucking everything up?

  I stand abruptly and pace the length of the living room, settling my hands on the back of my neck, my chest heavy with a weight that won’t lift.

  “We don’t have to take the picture,” she says after watching me for a minute. “We can do it when you’re in a better mood.”

  “I’m fine,” I growl. Yeah, that was convincing. “I just wasn’t prepared. Everything’s moving so fast.”

  She lifts off the couch, joining me in the middle of the living room, and wraps her arms around me, my body going still.

  “What are you doing?” Is that my voice that sounds so stilted? I quickly clear my throat.

  “Calming you,” she murmurs against my chest, her fingers stroking the tops of my shoulders softly, a shudder running through me. “Come on.”

  She leads me back over to the couch, settling herself behind me, kneading the stiff muscles once again.

  I go boneless under her touch, the tension melting away, my eyes closing as I exhale slowly.

  “I understand about everything moving fast,” she whispers, her breath warm against the back of my neck. “One day I was engaged to Gabriel, and the next, I’m kicked out of my apartment and married to you.”

  My stomach twists at the reminder of what I did- Wait, did she say kicked out?

  Before I can ask her to clarify, she continues, “But we can make this work. You said you didn’t want to embarrass your family after what happened at the wedding, that you wanted this marriage to seem real to others. And pictures are even easier than in-person events. You only need one photo to make it look real.” She sounds like the opposite of Dad. It only takes one photo to ruin everything. “If you feel unprepared, maybe we could… practice.”

  “Practice?”

  “Yeah. Like getting comfortable with one another. So it seems more natural.”

  She continues rubbing my shoulders, my body relaxed now, enough to agree to her proposition. “What do you have in mind?”

  “We need to seem like we want to be next to each other. Our body language can show everything without us having to say a word. That’s the whole point of ThousandWords, right?”

  I nod. Our slogan is A picture is worth a thousand words. That’s why you’re not allowed any captions when you post. You’re supposed to tell a story with your picture.

  And I call myself a successor to Dad’s company? I’ve been missing the entire point of our app the last few days.

  “Come on, let’s try again.” She slips out from behind me and settles into my side, holding up my phone. “I won’t take any pictures right now. I just want to study how we appear.”

  Our image shows on the screen, her hair bright against mine, her skin porcelain against my natural tan.

  “See, we look good together.”

  Yeah, we do. A power couple, as one tabloid labeled us.

  “So when we take our picture, we’ll keep our shoulders dropped, face relaxed, body loose.” She touches each place she mentions, soothing something inside me. “And it’ll seem like the most natural thing in the world.”

  “How do you know all this?”

  “I was reading a book on body language when you came in,” she admits, setting the phone on the coffee table next to her Kindle. “I thought it might help.”

  Well, at least she’s taking this seriously. Unlike me. “When that guy said to kiss you… I froze. Like an idiot.”

  “You’re not an idiot,” she murmurs. “Not at all.”

  I focus on her lips, how lush they look, how soft. “Do you think anyone else will ask us to kiss?”

  “They might.”

  I lean in, inhaling her perfume. Is there rose in there? “Then we should be prepared. And redeem ourselves for that photo.”

  “Okay.”

  Maybe if it’s me initiating, it’ll be different. No one watching us, expecting anything. We can take our time.

  My lips meet hers, as soft as I remember, a strange waver in my stomach distracting me as I increase the pressure. She returns the kiss, her hands moving to rest on my shoulders, and I try to focus on making it appear as if I’m into it.

  Except the longer we continue, it’s not a problem getting into it. If anything, I’m too into it.

  Her fingers curl around the nape of my neck, chilly against my heated skin, and my hands automatically reach for her waist, tugging her in closer to me.

  She complies, her breasts pressed against me, and my mind flashes back to the glimpse I had of them last night as she bent over my desk to hand me my drink. Surprisingly full considering her slender frame, the valley between them deep, the contrast between her pale skin and the black lace stark.

  “Should we take a picture?” she murmurs, her chest rising and falling more heavily than it was a minute ago.

  “Yes.”

  She fumbles for the phone and opens the camera app again, not waiting for me to initiate, her lips greedy on mine. This time, though, I’m prepared, meeting her halfway, matching her energy.

  I slip my tongue into her mouth, unthinking, and she startles, dropping my phone, where it lands with a gentle thump on the rug.

  “Oh, shit. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have-”

  “No, no. It was my fault.” She bends down to pick it up, holding it against her chest, even more out of breath.

  I reach out and extract the phone from her hold, my fingers grazing her breast in the process. “Should we see what you took?”

  I navigate to the gallery and swipe through the photos, only one word coming to mind.

  Hot.

  Caught in an intimate moment, we appear hungry for each other, a prelude to what’s to come.

  I glance over at Serena, her cheeks flushed. “I don’t know if we can publish these.”

  I was thinking the same thing. “No. This is a little too… much.”

  “How about this?” She takes the phone from me once more, angling it toward us as she presses a kiss to my cheek, her lips warm against my skin.

  “There.” She shows me the picture, my mouth curved in a half smile on the screen I didn’t even realize I was doing, her eyes closed, intent on the kiss, but somehow radiating that love she’s able to flip on like a switch. “I think this one’s a winner.”

  I clear my throat and hold out my hand for her to place the phone in, afraid to touch her again. “I’ll email it to Angelina.”

  Not half a minute later I get a reply, effusive praise in bold letters across the screen.

  “She likes it.”

  “Good.”

  Silence stretches, my body remembering her lips on mine, that sensation in the pit of my stomach I couldn’t quite identify before now patently obvious once I saw those pictures.

  Arousal.

  Serena’s a beautiful woman, though. It’s only natural to get aroused kissing her.

  But this isn’t just any woman. I shouldn’t be having lustful thoughts about her. Not when she’s been so good to help me, to read up on ways we can improve our image, to work with me and the PR team fixing this mess I’ve made.

  Did she do all this with Gabriel too? Other than one picture of the two of them touring a wedding venue, I couldn’t find any
other posts of them together.

  Not that I was looking.

  Would she help Gabriel the same way? Bring him a glass of Scotch at night? Massage his shoulders?

  Kiss him?

  I stand, suddenly restless. “I have more work to do.”

  She blinks at my sudden change in demeanor. “Okay. Do you want me to heat you up some dinner?”

  “No.” I pull at my collar, the fabric too tight against my neck. “I mean, no, thank you. I’ll be in my office.”

  “Goodnight, then,” she says softly, her gaze a weight on me as I leave the room.

  The only thing is, do I want it there?

  Chapter Eight

  Serena

  I rouse myself out of bed at eight, the earliest I’ve woken in the six days I’ve been here, but I still somehow manage to miss Archer as I head into the kitchen.

  “But it’s Saturday.” I blink stupidly at Lori, who merely smiles in response.

  “He works a half day at the office on Saturdays, then usually comes home and works some more. Unless there’s a special event, he doesn’t deviate from that schedule.”

  I chew my bottom lip, watching as she gets the ingredients out for a tomato and spinach omelet. I’ve gotten spoiled with her cooking for me. “What about Sundays?”

  “He exercises from six to seven, then gets ready for the day and leaves at seven-thirty. That’s every day, mind you.” She cracks two eggs in a bowl and beats them lightly with a fork as butter melts on the heated skillet. “On Sundays, he usually holes up in his office until I leave.”

  “What does he do for fun?”

  She shakes her head, smirking. “Archer doesn’t do fun. Or, rather, working is his version of it.”

  Well, on the upside, I only have to compete with one thing then.

  “You’ve been asking an awful lot of questions about him over the last week.” She pours the egg mixture in the pan. “Are you looking to spend more time with him?”

  I glance up, her dark eyes focused on me, and I squirm in my seat, sure she’s able to see right through me. “I, um, just want to get to know him. He’s my husband.”

  She nods, poking at the omelet with her spatula. “Serena, I’m going to say this with all the love in my heart, because I really like you.”

  I wipe my palms on my shirt, afraid of what’ll come out of her mouth. “Okay.”

  “Archer might be your husband, but be careful thinking you’re his wife.”

  I take a moment to process her words, mulling them over. “Am I that obvious?”

  She smiles, something maternal in it that eases me. “Not to him. He’s an incredibly intelligent man, but not when it comes to things like this. It’s going to take a while for it to really sink in he’s married, whether it’s for show or not. And longer for the way you want to be married.”

  I trace circles on the counter in front of me with my finger. “Do you think that could happen? The way I want it to?”

  She adds the tomato and spinach into my omelet, folding it over. “Be patient with him,” she says, not really answering my question.

  I can be patient, though. I have for this long.

  I eat breakfast and head out to the animal shelter, where it’s bath day for half the dogs. I help Sabrina wrangle them up and spray them down, laughing as Petey tries to catch the water in his mouth. I’m a stinking, soaking mess by the end, but that comes with the territory.

  I stop by my desk upstairs, remembering I have a change of clothes tucked away for situations like this. Oh, and it’s a Michael Kors dress. Won’t be telling Dad about this one.

  Now that I have Archer’s credit card, though, I could replenish my closet. I’ve exhausted all the gowns Dad allowed me to keep with the three events we attended this week. But I did take that trip for lingerie and sleepwear already…

  I’ll wait till we have another event we’re attending to buy anything else. In the meantime, I should start on the benefit I want to plan for the shelter. Looks like we’ll need those donations now.

  Mackenzie’s office isn’t too far of a walk, but I’m still sweating slightly as I open the shop door, the fresh fragrance of flowers hitting my nose. The air conditioning feels heavenly as I pause to sniff a bouquet of roses, my favorite flower.

  “Hi, can I help- Oh, it’s you,” the dark-haired woman from behind the register says, her face taking on a panicked expression. “Serena, right? What are you doing here?”

  Am I not allowed to be here or something? “I wanted to book Mackenzie for a fundraising-”

  I stop as I peer into her glass office, her head thrown back in laughter, the man in there with her smiling fondly at her. And it’s not just any man.

  It’s my ex-fiancee.

  “Is that Gabriel?”

  “Um…” The woman trails off, clearly uncomfortable with whatever’s going on.

  I walk over and knock on Mackenzie’s office door, her eyes widening as she recognizes me. Gabriel looks over too, sobering when he sees me.

  Mackenzie stands from behind her desk and calmly walks over, as put together as she always is, and gives me a wide smile as she opens the door for me. “Serena, what a surprise. How can I help you?”

  Is no one going to address why Gabriel’s here? The wedding was last week.

  “That fundraiser I talked to you about a couple weeks ago. The one for my nonprofit. I, um… I’m sorry, am I interrupting something here?”

  “No,” she assures me, indicating for me to take a seat. “Gabriel works with me now.”

  My brows raise despite myself. He works here? At her event planning business?

  “My dad disowned me,” he explains. “And Mackenzie was nice enough to offer me a job.”

  She gives a small smile, rolling her eyes at him. “We’re business partners now.”

  “Oh, wow. Archer never said anything about that.”

  Gabriel sticks his hands in his pockets, going over to stand by the window. “He doesn’t know.” He glances over at me wryly. “But don’t worry about keeping it a secret. You can tell him.”

  Good. There’s no way I could lie to Archer about something like that if it came up.

  He rubs at the back of his neck, a sheepish expression crossing his face. “And, uh, I should apologize about what happened last week-”

  “No, no. It’s fine.”

  He arches a brow, clearly conveying his skepticism.

  “I mean, the end result was fine.” Better, actually. “And that op-ed you wrote helped too. Thank you.”

  He nods, studying me. What’s with everyone doing that today?

  “So things are going good between you and my brother? I haven’t heard from him since Sunday.”

  “We’re great.” Well, as much as we can be.

  Mackenzie watches us silently from her desk, thankfully keeping quiet about the confession I made to her weeks ago. She didn’t tell Gabriel I wanted to marry his brother instead of him, did she?

  “So you’re happy?” His eyes, so similar to Archer’s, narrow on me, like he’s waiting for the least little sign to confirm or deny whatever he suspects. “Happier than you’d be with me at least?”

  “Um, that’s a loaded question.”

  “You don’t have to spare my feelings,” he grins.

  “Yes. I’m happier.” And if I can get Archer on the same page as me, I’ll be ecstatic.

  “Good.” He relaxes, his shoulders dropping. “You realize we’re in-laws now, right? I have to make sure my big brother is behaving.”

  Oh God, I somehow didn’t make the connection he’s my brother-in-law. Talk about weird family reunions.

  “So you wanted to discuss a fundraiser you’re hosting?” Mackenzie asks, steering us back to the reason I came here.

  “Yes.” I gladly jump on the topic change and spend the next thirty minutes with them discussing a range of options for how the event can go, the atmosphere between the three of us infinitely easier than it was a month ago planning the wedding.


  I leave with a plan to present to Wendy tomorrow after those interviews and focus my attention on what’s to come for tonight.

  I hold the heavy glass tumbler in my hands as carefully as I can, trying not to let any of the alcohol slosh over the sides as I make my way to Archer’s home office. He closed himself off in here yet again, but I’m no longer letting that be a deterrent.

  I was too nervous last time to study whether my skimpy outfit actually affected him, but I’m confident in his reception to my massages at least. The last two nights he turned to putty in my hands as soon as I started. It’s not exactly sexual, but I’ll take what I can get. And to be honest, it’s a bit of a power trip knowing I affect him like that.

  I knock on the door, his deep, “Come in,” from the other side sending a shiver through me. I concentrate on his face this time, his eyes widening the slightest bit as his gaze travels down my body, taking in my pale pink nightie, lingering on my legs.

  Thanks, Victoria.

  “You work late on weekends too?” I cross his office, bending over the massive desk to hand him his Scotch.

  “It’s part of the job,” he replies, gaze now flicking between my face and the cleavage on display in front of him. Claire was definitely onto something with her advice.

  I resist the urge to smile, my efforts finally bearing fruit. “Do you ever take a break?”

  His lips twist wryly. “This week has been a break.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah. I’ve been out more than I probably have in the last month. But there’s still the same workload. Well, even more now that we’re acquiring Montague Media.”

  “Do you have a lot to do with that?”

  “I’m the Chief Financial Officer. I’m ultimately responsible for making sure it’s in our best interest financially.”

  “Haven’t you already done that, though? It must be serious if your father agreed to-”

  Crap. Why am I bringing up that our whole relationship is only because of a business deal?

  “Me marrying you? Yeah, Dad’s serious about it. He keeps going on about some proprietary algorithm Montague Media has that he wants. I don’t really understand it, to be honest.” Well, that makes two of us. “I’m a numbers guy, not a programmer.”