Accidentally Married to the Billionaire (The Billionaire's Touch, #1)

by Sierra Rose

“So when we’re divorced I’m free to go on TV and find the next Mr. Marjorie Reynolds?”

  “I’d rather you didn’t but you may need to hold auditions to find a man who can be my successor,” he said with one raised eyebrow, which made her laugh.

  “At least you’re not preventing me from a reality show career after we’re through. I may need to do a tell-all Real Housewives style gig to revamp my image from photo ready corporate wife back to wild child.”

  “If necessary, a gag order can be part of the divorce settlement.”

  “Right. Like that would ever work on me,” she laughed.

  “Then I will have to keep you incredibly happy with flashy mall jewelry, so you don’t divulge all my dark secrets,” he said.

  “Hmmm....there wasn’t any other major jewelry in Titanic. I may have to watch that Gatsby movie Leo made just to diversify my diamond options,” she said.

  “Was Gatsby too literary for your zombie tastes?”

  “Nah, too boring. I tried to watch it once and I fell asleep. That blond chick—-ugh. What a whiner. Now I get how he’d want Kate in Titanic. She’s awesome and smart and outspoken but Little Miss Fragile had her some mental problems in Gatsby, I’m telling you.”

  “You are, without a doubt, the first person ever to refer to Daisy Buchanen as Little Miss Fragile.”

  “I mean, she’s going to get Leo killed.”

  “Correct me if I’m wrong but didn’t he die in Titanic?”

  “That was the iceberg’s fault!” she said vehemently.

  “Remind me not to go up against you with DiCaprio on the line,” he laughed, “you take him pretty seriously.”

  “I’m a passionate woman. That shouldn’t surprise you.”

  “It doesn’t, but my sudden jealousy of an actor surprises me.”

  “Don’t beat yourself up. We can’t all be a monumentally talented thespian and environmentalist who looks that hot with a beard.”

  “I may have to look into some environmental charities, see if I can compete.”

  “Leo’s place in my heart is forever. Don’t even try.”

  “I find that strangely rude and upsetting.”

  “Then don’t think about it. Think about my gorgeous sapphire necklace. I’ll never let go, Jack!”

  “My name is Brandon. If you could refrain from shouting other men’s names, both in bed and in the media, it would be ideal,” he said sarcastically.

  “I’ll work on that. So, if I make a whole new aspirational Pinterest board are you going to be a follower?”

  “Absolutely. Can I add Pinterest stalking to the pros list?”

  “Yes. Also, where’s my dessert from last night?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean if you read all my foodie pins, surely you found a dessert. I’ve only pinned about six hundred of them.”

  “I think 439 at last count, all of which were chocolate based.”

  “So...?”

  “In the mini-fridge.”

  “Ooooh,” she said, hurrying to the appliance and finding a beautiful chilled cylinder of layered chocolate mousse and espresso soaked sponge, like a naughty tiramisu.

  Almost reverently, Marj took the dish from the refrigerator and carried it to the desk where he sat typing away at his laptop. She took a spoon from the room service cart and held it out to him.

  “Try it.”

  “It’s not poisoned. Promise. You don’t need a food taster. We’re not royalty,” he snarked.

  “Oh, just taste it. It looks incredible,” she coaxed.

  “No, thanks,” he said.

  “You can’t have dessert?”

  “I can, in moderation, but I keep away from refined sugars. It’s safer,” he explained.

  “What did ‘safe’ ever get either of us? Not married, that’s for sure!”

  “I don’t want to overtax my pancreas,” he said.

  “That is without a doubt the sexiest thing anyone’s ever said to me,” she teased.

  “Thanks anyway,” he said.

  Marj took the spoon and scooped a large bite into her own mouth.

  “I wasn’t trying to be an asshole. I thought it was okay for you to eat a little of it. I looked it up on my phone. My phone was cool with you having dessert,” she said, “So I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable.”

  “You didn’t. I just don’t like to indulge,” he said. “I work out and follow a strict diet.”

  “Then maybe that’s a skill I can teach you. I never had the budget to indulge, but I damn sure can figure it out for both of us!”

  “There’s Wi-Fi on our plane, so you can shop online if you want. It’s a long flight back to the city.”

  “Do you like living there? Manhattan, I mean?”

  “I suppose. It’s where my business is based, although we have offices in Hong Kong, Geneva, and Tokyo. Do you prefer one of the other locations? I’m not opposed to splitting time between two homes.”

  “I wasn’t complaining. I just wondered if you live in New York because you like it or because it’s easy.”

  “Because it’s easy. I have my home, my staff, my office the way it’s most efficient for me. Everything’s functional and if I want Chinese food at two in the morning, I know I can have it.”

  “I’m guessing you could get food in Hong Kong then, too,” she teased.

  “True. But would they deliver?”

  “You could always send your staff,” she said, “I never knew anyone who had a staff. I bet you don’t even clean your own toilet!”

  “I also don’t shop for groceries or make my own dinner reservations. I have a number of conveniences that most people don’t get to enjoy. I’m grateful for them, if it helps,” he said loftily.

  “Your willingness to share them with me, should I require two in the morning sushi, would help,” she said.

  “Sushi? It’s uncooked.”

  “Don’t tell me, your pancreas?”

  “Joking about my diabetes is—”

  “Irreverent? Inappropriate? Honey, maybe you should’ve talked to me longer before we got married. I’m always this way and I’m not going to chase every remark with a disclaimer that of course, I know diabetes is a serious illness and I mean no disrespect. But, seriously, Brandon, when it’s just the two of us, I have my personality and, yeah, probably I’m annoying. So be brave. You and your pancreas both.”

  “I have never heard anyone be so flippant.”

  “Piss you off?”

  “No, the opposite in fact. I’m not sure if you noticed yet, but I tend to take everything seriously, myself most of all. So you’re the antidote—infuriatingly flippant. I can’t say I dislike it, Marjorie,” he said with an unexpected grin.

  “Oof,” she huffed, “You have to give me a warning when you’re gonna smile like that. Knocks the wind right out of me. I could fall over in front of the media and then there’d be a rumor that I’m drunk,” she said.

  “Is that your trademarked flippancy telling me you find me attractive?”

  “Yes. Now enough with the crooked smile, hot guy. A girl has got to eat her dessert for breakfast, because once vacation’s over, it’s gym time and I have a boot camp class calling my name!”

  “We have a gym at home. Basically any machine you could want,” he said smugly.

  “Right, so is there a hot yoga instructor and a trainer there who shames me until I complete thirty reps? Because if not, I’m going to sit on those machines and drink milkshakes and call it working out. I have to have the motivation, by which I mean I need peer pressure and someone to yell at me.”

  “If you prefer the gym, sweetie, then go to the gym,” he said as he returned his attention to his laptop.

  “But do I have to leave the gym looking like a Kardashian with my giant designer handbag and my dumbass platform sneakers?”

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about, so I’ll answer in the negative. No, I don’t encourage you to wear giant dumbass things,” he said.

/>   “Good. Because I’m more of a Taylor Swift type, leave the gym with sunglasses and red lipstick and a kick ass crop top.”

  “Kick ass. Not dumb ass. Right,” he said.

  “You are so not listening to me!” she laughed, finishing up her dessert, “What time do we leave?”

  “At eleven. And this evening, we’re meeting my stepmother for dinner.”

  Her eyebrows shot up in astonishment.

  “An audience with the Wicked Queen? Remind me not to eat any apples. I am, after all, her successor. The newest Mrs. Cates. That makes her, like, the Dowager Wicked Queen and I’m the Wicked Princess, which sounds younger and prettier.”

  “You blow her out of the water,” he said.

  She smiled. “Thank you.”

  “Think you can handle her?”

  “You bet. So what am I wearing to meet the WQ?”

  “Anything you like.”

  “Do I have time to go shopping again? Or should I recycle the sexy, black and gold number from last night?”

  “I can have my assistant call Nieman Marcus. They’ll send some dresses over for you to choose from. Don’t stress. We have people, Marj,” he said with a sexy grin.

  “Oh, people. How could I forget?” she said.

  True to his word, Brandon mobilized an assistant and within the hour, Marj had half a dozen wardrobe choices in the suite. She modeled them one by one for a mostly oblivious Brandon who favored her with the occasional glimpse away from his computer screen. When he acknowledged the red dress with a half-second more of his attention, she did a fist pump of victory.

  “I knew it! I knew there was a two blink dress in that pile somewhere!”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “When you don’t care, you barely look up. But this time, you looked at me long enough to blink twice, which is by far the most undivided attention you’ve favored me with. It must be a knockout,” she teased.

  “I’m not used to working with distractions in the room,” he hedged.

  “Well, I plan to be plenty distracting. So if you need a few minutes on your own to accomplish something, you’d better tell me straight out. Otherwise I’m going to torment you with shoe choices. Are you sure I shouldn’t wear the white one? It’s got that bridal vibe.”

  “The white one has a high neck. I recommend showing off your assets. This one flaunts. I think meeting my esteemed stepmother is the perfect occasion to flaunt. In fact, the more fabulous you look, the more Botox injections she’ll demand tomorrow at the dermatologist,” he said.

  “You’re positively evil. So, should I toss some glitter on my cleavage to make sure she looks? We could send subliminal boob job messages to her. Because mine are original,” she said.

  “Hers are aftermarket accessories, I’m sorry to say. They didn’t show up until her third anniversary with my dad. I’m not sure if they were a present from him or for him. I prefer not to think about it too closely,” Brandon grimaced.

  “I hate her because of how she’s treated you.”

  “What?”

  “You don’t trust me as far as you could spit, Brandon. Don’t bother denying it. You’ve got everything lawyered up for your own protection. You’ll barely look me in the eye unless we’re naked. Someone, and I’m betting that someone is the Wicked Queen, has made you damn gun shy of women.”

  “Wow. Flippant is fine, welcome even. Trying to psychoanalyze me after a two days’ acquaintance is not. My relationship with my father was always complicated and Lena didn’t help matters. That’s all I intend to say about it.”

  “Way to shut me down, cowboy. It’s a shame I didn’t sign any notarized documents about keeping my mouth shut,” she said, “because I’m taking the wife thing seriously. If I think you need my help, I’m helping you. If that means showing off for the evil stepmother, I will. If it means calling you out on your bs, I’ll do that, too.”

  “If calling out bs is on the menu, I warn you it works both ways.”

  “As it should. Trouble is, I pretty much recognize and take credit for my bullshit. I use sarcasm as a defense and I cry at the end of Titanic, and I really don’t want my heart stomped on again. There, that’s about the extent of it,” she said.

  “What about your family?”

  “What about them?”

  “They don’t come to events, I believe you said. Are they in a cult?”

  “Ugh, I wish. No, my mom’s a drunk and my brother’s in prison. That about cover it?”

  “Good to know. I’ll have my publicist address those concerns before the media decide to investigate you and turn up a checkered past.”

  “There’s plenty they could find out if they want to. It’s up to you how you handle it. I didn’t want to be an embarrassment but it’s pretty unavoidable at this point.”

  “If the gossip articles show you in that dress, no one will read the words. It is a knockout, or rather you are.”

  “Again with the charm,” she rolled her eyes, secretly pleased.

  “Our flight leaves in an hour. We need to get going.”

  “Right, I’ll change. Again.”

  “Anything you don’t want from Nieman’s, the hotel can have sent back,” he said carelessly as if it were a given that she’d just keep whatever she liked.

  “Thanks. I pretty much love them.”

  “Then you should pretty much keep them. I’ll have Rafael load them in the car.”

  “There’s no room in my weekender, Brandon,” she said solemnly, “it’s stuffed full.”

  “That is not a problem. It’s our plane. You can bring a mountain of shopping bags. Or rather Rafael can,” he said.

  “Gosh, you’re snooty. I could get used to this!” she said.

  “I wish you would,” Brandon said, kissing the top of her head.

  Marj darted back to the bedroom and changed into her flight ensemble. Once they were on the plane, she started to get nervous.

  “The reporters will just want a picture of us, a picture of you really. I tweeted this morning that I was bringing my bride back home to Manhattan. That should create a frenzy, and you’ll be at the center of it. I’m sorry about that, darling. It’s part of the job.”

  Brandon patted her leg encouragingly.

  “What are you, my scout leader? If you want to encourage me, use tongue,” she said.

  Brandon obliged, bending her back over his arm and kissing her breathless.

  “Better?” he challenged.

  “Lots. Put it on the pros list in your phone,” Marj said a little shakily.

  “Are you worried about the reporters or Lena?”

  “That depends. I mean, I might look bloated on TMZ, and that’s bad enough, but I have this weird feeling that the WQ may send a woodsman to cut out my heart,” she laughed nervously.

  “I told you not to stress. There’s nothing Lena can do to you. You’re not alone any longer. You’re my wife and any disrespectful conduct on her part will be addressed by me. If she doesn’t mind her manners, we’ll leave. Or rather she will, because for the moment she occupies my father’s mansion. However, after the will is probated, that property will belong to us. So if she gets on your nerves, just keep in mind that six months from now, you can tell her to shove her stuff in a U-haul and get out.”

  “Your dad didn’t make any provision for her to stay in their home until her death or anything? That’s shitty,” Marj remarked, “no offense.”

  “Be glad that I don’t follow his example. You’ll be cared for in the event of my death.”

  “Your death? You’re in great shape. You’re not even thirty until next weekend. Why would you even mention that?” she asked, her voice a little squeaky.

  “I meant to reassure you that, unlike Lena, you stand to inherit the townhome, the cars and a sizable life insurance policy.”

  “Why would you do that? We’re only married for a few months.”

  “First, it has to look real and a man in love would think of his bride’s future.
Also, if I get hit by an Uber driver, I’d rather the money and worldly goods not revert to Lena who was my father’s next of kin in the event of my death.”

  “No texting while you cross the street, okay?” she said, upset by the idea.

  He covered her hand with his.

  “I’ve got this. I’ve thought it out from every angle and I’ve made certain that you’re safeguarded. Try not to distress yourself.”

  “I’m already distressed. This is basically our third date and you’re talking death benefits!”

  “True, but, in my defense, we’re on a fairly serious third date, flying cross country, being married already...I already know everything your Pinterest boards can tell me and there’s a list in my phone of pros and cons for backup. Rest assured, Marjorie, I’m going to take care of you.”

  She leaned her head on his shoulder and sighed.

  “Are you still worried?”

  “A little. I’m also trying to avoid turning my phone back on because I messaged Britt this morning about our wedding. I know the notifications are going to explode.”

  “Want me to text her for you? You’re facing the paparazzi for me. The least I can do is intercept the bevy of questions she peppered you with.”

  “Intercept and bevy are about as hot as sweaty socks,” she said, “however if you’re willing to send Britt a selfie to calm her down, that’d be great. We’ll Skype tomorrow but I just don’t want to get into the meet cute and the sudden wedding just now. I’m too focused on meeting Lena.”

  “You must be. You didn’t even call her the Wicked Queen. Here,” he said, taking her phone and powering it on, “Ah, yes, forty-three notifications. Let’s see...” he held her phone at arm’s length and kissed her, the shutter clicking on her phone.

  Marj watched in awe and amusement as he messaged the picture to Britt with the caption, “Busy now, ttyl.”

  “She’s going to DIE when she sees that. No, wait, do not delete that. It’s about to become my Facebook cover photo!” she said, importing the image.

  “That’s what I’ve always dreamed of—kissing a woman until she was overcome with the desire to edit her social media accounts. See, I can be flippant, too.”

  “A few more weeks of me and you could be a much less serious person. I may need to take you to play laser tag, to loosen you up.”