by Mia Carson
“It’s not what you think.”
My laugh was crueler than I’d intended. “It never is.”
“No, I mean it. I caught him in bed with his personal trainer.”
Ouch. “Man or woman?”
“Woman.” She paused a moment and smirked. “I guess it could have been worse.”
“It can always be worse. So you caught them in bed together? I’m happy to be your sweet revenge.”
“I left him.”
“How long were you married?”
“We weren’t. We were engaged. The wedding was in January.”
“He couldn’t even wait before he started cheating?”
Mackenzie crossed her arms over her chest and frowned at me. “I should really go. I’m here on work.”
“Your boss sent you to Vegas? They’ll understand if you’re a little hungover in the morning.”
“Oh, I’m going to be hungover in the morning, alright.”
“I want to help you forget your ex.”
A tiny smile quirked at the corner of her mouth. The more time I spent with her, the prettier, more beautiful she became. And more intriguing.
“What are you into, Mr. Creed?” She sat again, though not cuddled up close to me like she had been before.
“Like, sex stuff?” My mind was on a single track. I couldn’t help it. Dominating you, Mackenzie Taylor. Making you do things you’ve never imagined doing.
“No. Like in your life. What gets you excited?”
Oh. That answer wasn’t as easy. I didn’t say “money” because I knew how it would make me sound. I hadn’t discussed my financials with Mackenzie yet. She obviously knew I had money, but the scope of my wealth would have made her pretty head spin. Everything I could think of that I liked all came back to money. Not cool, Scott. What happened to you?
“Hiking,” I answered. How long had it been since I was out in the woods, just me and nature? “Craft beer. You?”
“What’s your passion?”
Again, money. Screw it, it’s a one-night thing. She can go if she doesn’t like it. “Money.”
She cocked her head. “How so?”
“I have… a lot of it. It’s like a garden. I like to grow it, and maintain it, and spend it.”
“Investments?”
“Many of them.”
“I’m picturing Scrooge McDuck diving into his money bin.”
“Now the Duck Tales song is stuck in my head. Do you know what would actually happen if you tried to dive into a bin of gold coins like Scrooge does?”
“I don’t know, but from my basic knowledge of physics and the expression on your face, I can’t imagine it’s good.”
I laughed. Mackenzie Taylor was a funny lady. “Let’s just say telescoping spine.”
“Not pleasant. I’d imagine it’s hard to clean the gore off the coins.”
I couldn’t resist. I reached for her, pulled her to me, and kissed her on her plump, luscious lips. She froze, and for a moment I thought I’d made a mistake, moved in too fast. Then she softened in my arms, her hand finding the back of my neck. Her lips parted, and she tasted like raspberries and flirtini. Her mouth was small, I noticed, and my imagination burned. I sat back on the plush couch and pulled her on top of me. She fell on me, legs wide, and she looked around to see who watched the gratuitous PDA.
“It’s Vegas, baby, no one cares,” I reassured her, my hands clasping her ass.
“I care,” she whispered into my mouth.
I was so used to being with women who only wanted me for my money, who wanted a quick roll in the hay because I own a yacht and I’ve got a six pack. Hearing her say that ignited something in me. I can’t lie: alcohol played a part.
“I have an idea,” I murmured against her lips. “Let’s get married.”
She laughed. “I’m drunk, but I’m not that drunk.” (Spoiler: she totally was that drunk.)
“No, seriously.” The more my whiskey-infused brain latched on to the idea, the more I liked it. To hell with Giuliana PostvanderBerg, I wanted Mackenzie Taylor. “It’ll protect your honor, and you won’t have to deal with cheating dirt bags ever again.”
She turned her big brown eyes at me full force, like dual laser beams. “Promise?”
The booze answered for me, full of enthusiasm. “I promise.”
The waiter brought the next round of drinks we’d requested. A pair of tequila shots and some beers as chasers. We slammed the shots, and Mackenzie yelled a little “whoop” of victory.
“You don’t think we’re too drunk for this, do you?” We chugged the two beers, clinking our bottles at the end.
“No way.” I grabbed my phone and called one of the chapels—they send a limo to the hotel to pick you up. The guy on the phone said the Clark County Clerk was open for another twenty minutes, and the limo would be happy to stop there on the way to the chapel. “You’d better hurry, then.” Sounded good to me. What a magical place that the clerk stayed open until midnight.
“I didn’t expect to wear this at my wedding,” Mackenzie giggled. She texted her friend Susie, I texted Ryan, but neither of them answered us. They snooze, they lose.
“We’ll get the license, we’ll get you a dress, then we’ll get married. It’s all good.” She loved it. She loved the limo. “Baby, you’ll get used to this if you stick with me.”
“I have to stick with you! I’m going to be your wife tomorrow!”
“Tomorrow seems so far away.”
God, I can’t remember the last time I laughed as much as I did with her in that limo. The clerk didn’t want to give us a license because we were both drunk. I asked Mackenzie to step aside, and I leaned in close to the poor woman who probably just wanted to wrap up for the day and go to bed. “It’s not a bribe because those are illegal,” I whispered. “But I’ll give you ten thousand dollars right now if you sign the slip.”
“Sir, you don’t have ten thousand dollars.”
I showed it to her, and I saw her eyes turn to dollar signs. My signature and Mackenzie’s were sloppy but legally binding. We kissed right there in the clerk’s office, running our hands all over one another. The clerk let us do whatever we wanted. She was a happy camper.
“I want to be a mermaid for my wedding. Can I do that?”
“Whatever you want, baby.”
We swung by the mall in Caesar’s Palace, and she found a dress that made her look like a mermaid, green and shimmering. The strapless top barely held her breasts in place, and I couldn’t wait to get back to my room to take it off her and make love to my new wife. The back cut so low she had to stick the underwear she’d worn in her purse. I ran my hand over her bare flesh. This was the best idea I’d ever had.
As we waited for the ceremony to begin, my phone buzzed. Ryan. What the hell are you doing! Stop! Now!
He called me, and I hit ignore. Elvis asked me if I would take this beautiful mermaid to be my wife, and I enthusiastically said yes.
“You may now kiss the bride.”
Mackenzie
Sucking in a deep breath, I slipped into the suite and retrieved the dress. Seriously, Mackenzie? What the hell was I thinking? I’d already bought the dress for my wedding with Lucas… five thousand dollars down the drain for white silk and a gazillion iridescent beads. I’d left the dress hanging in our bedroom when I left. Have fun with that, Lucas.
I scurried back into the bathroom and struggled to pull the dress on.
I studied myself in the mirror. Holy crap. I was a hot mess. My hair was matted and frizzy, raccoon circles darkened the skin under my eyes. And the dress. Oh God, the dress. I dimly remembered seeing it on a mannequin, squealing with delight, and insisting I be married in it. If nothing else, thirteen-year-old Mackenzie would have thought sparkly mermaid the coolest thing ever to wear to the eighth grade prom.
So work sent me here to get close to Scott Creed, to see what I could learn about him in reference to the upcoming merger. I guess I’d accomplished that mission…
&nbs
p; Of course, as soon as he woke up, we’d have the marriage annulled. I was way too young to be a divorcee. The thought bolstered me. Of course he’d want this handled, and soon. It was…I racked my brain, in a city like Las Vegas, days lose all meaning. Friday. I didn’t know exactly how a marriage could be annulled, but it seemed like something a playboy like Scott would know.
I heard a sound from the bedroom, someone stirring on the bed. Had I lost my chance to slip out quietly? My firm had his contact information on file. I could look him up and give him a buzz when we both got back to New York.
“Mackenzie?”
I froze. Actually looked around for a place to hide before I remembered I was an adult, and even if I’d been drunk as a skunk when I made my bad choices, I was still responsible for them. I opened my mouth to answer, then shut it again. God, my hands were actually shaking.
“Mackenzie?”
“In here,” I squeaked. I was gasping in tight little breaths, and my head spun. I forced myself to draw in a long, measured lungful of air.
“Are you all right?”
“Little hungover,” I said.
I heard the groan of the bedsprings. Some soft sounds. Please let it be Scott putting on pants. I didn’t think I could handle full frontal Scott—though my blurry memory of him was quite pleasant. It wouldn’t do for me to dry heave at the sight of my new husband’s genitals.
Just making the joke in my head almost sent me dashing, in my mermaid dress, to the toilet bowl.
Scott appeared in the doorway. Let me tell you a bit about Scott Creed based on what I knew from the prep work my company did with me before sending me into this lion’s den. He’s new money: His dad came over from Ireland in his twenties, and married a Southern woman who had land but no money. His father got in on the beginning of the dot-com boom and hit it big when Scott was in his teens. His parents lived in a modest house on Long Island, but Scott and his sister, Serena, fully embraced their new lifestyle. Scott had taken over the company, and Serena was one of those people who’d become famous for being famous. She had a Twitter account and a lot of money, which meant she was a well-recognized personality. Sometimes she screamed at the paparazzi, and one time she made a sex tape. So controversial.
All this thinking about Scott and his money made me think about my own problems. I had nothing now that Lucas was gone. I’d taken my stuff and moved out, the car was in his name, and I had a mountain of student loans. My credit card debt made me want to throw up even though I’d done that more than once this morning and had nothing left inside me. My job was good, sure, but living alone costs a lot. I bet Scott had pocket change that could make me debt free.
He’d pulled on a pair of shorts, which left his exquisitely muscled chest deliciously exposed. On his back a tattooed phoenix rose from flames starting at his waist and extending to the edge of where a dress shirt would cover it. The tattoo surprised me last night. I wondered what else about Scott I didn’t know.
He obviously spent a lot of time at the gym, and his physique showed it. Glorious six pack, bulging biceps, shapely legs. His frame was a little on the slender side, but he stood at least six feet, which made him almost a full head taller than I was.
He lingered for a moment, scrutinizing me. I told you, I looked a mess. He pushed past me, poured me a glass of water, and got some aspirin from a bottle. He held them out to me with big, strong hands. “Here, take these. Drink this.”
Of course I know that’s how you counter a hangover, but his assertions set me off. “I’m good, thanks,” I snapped. Bitchier than I should be, I know, but I hate being told what to do. Lucas used to talk to me in the same way, like he knew better than I did what was good for me or not. I could feel the same old rage bubbling up in me. I took it from Lucas for how long? I wasn’t going to take it from a guy I barely knew. Even if he was my husband.
“You’ll feel better.”
“I’ll feel better when I get back to my room and get out of this dress.”
“You look beautiful.”
I glared at him for patronizing me. I could feel the color rising in my cheeks. What kind of a fool did he think I was?
“I can call my personal assistant and have some clothes brought for you. I mean, if you don’t want to go out like that. I can also do room service, get something in your stomach?”
“I’m fine.” My stomach, the traitor, growled loudly. Scott affected this faux sympathetic look. I didn’t want his pity.
“At least let me get you a car. Where are you staying?”
“Linq,” I lied. I didn’t want him knowing where I was staying. I didn’t want his car, but I couldn’t find my shoes, and it was already going to be embarrassing enough going back to my room at God knew what time wearing this ridiculous dress. What was I going to do with the thing? Jesus, would he try to bill me for it?
I pushed past him to the sink and tried to deal with my raccoon eyes. Unfortunately, my mascara is one of the high end brands, which means it’s waterproof, and sticks like superglue. Works great on eyelashes, works just as well on my face. I scrubbed at myself until my skin was red and raw.
“What time is it?” What would Lucas say if he could see me now? Probably nothing, as I could only imagine the look of satisfaction on his face as Monica rode him like a pony.
“Two.”
“In the afternoon?” Jeez, Mackenzie, could you ask a stupider question? At two in the morning, I’d been standing at the altar.
Scott wasn’t smiling at me anymore. His tone changed. I could tell he was getting pissed. “Yeah, the afternoon. Hold tight and I’ll call you a car.”
“Hold tight” almost set me off again. What did he think I was going to do, pop down to the casino and shoot craps? I clamped my mouth shut, very aware it tasted like a baby dragon took a dump in there. I couldn’t wait to get back to my room, take a forty-minute scalding shower, and sleep until the next morning. I dreaded seeing how many messages Susie had left me on my phone.
What the heck would Lucas say?
I did the best I could with my hair without a brush. I couldn’t look at my reflection any longer, or I’d start to cry. I looked like crap, felt like crap, and foolish to boot. Feeling like an extra on The Walking Dead, I shambled out of the bathroom and into the suite.
Scott had pulled the curtain back, and the bright desert sunlight flooding the room made me cover my face with my hands. More like a vampire than a zombie, I guess. Scott looked like he wanted to say something, but apparently he’s not a complete idiot because he didn’t speak until his phone buzzed.
“Car’s here. Black stretch limo out back.”
“A limo?”
“You liked it last night.”
Yeah, there was a lot going on last night that I liked that I wasn’t so wild about now. I didn’t rise to his bait. I grabbed my purse, too afraid to deal with my phone, and headed for the door.
“Have dinner with me?”
“The thought of food makes me want to vomit.”
“Tomorrow.”
“Text me.”
“I don’t have your number.”
I sighed an over-dramatic sigh, complete with eye roll and shoulder slumping. Didn’t he care his driver was out there waiting? Of course he didn’t. Someone like Scott probably didn’t realize the driver wasn’t just an accessory that came with the car. I gave him my number.
“I’ll text you mine.”
I should have told him I had his number. Had his address. Had a floor plan of his New York penthouse, and had visibility into his taxes going back to when he turned fifteen and had to start paying taxes on the interest in his bank account.
I didn’t. I was in a foul mood, worried about puking again, and my head felt like someone was splitting it open with an axe. My manners didn’t escape me, though, and as I was leaving, incongruously, the words, “I had a great time last night” leaked out of my mouth.
I slammed the door behind me and was alone in the hallway. The swirls of the carpet were enou
gh to induce vertigo, even if you weren’t hungover. I marched to the bank of elevators and mashed as many of the down buttons as I could reach. Pushing more than one makes the elevator come faster, right?
I got in with a mother and her daughter, who looked about ten. They carried towels and beach bags, headed to the pool. Who brings a ten-year old to Vegas? I stared at the blue green shimmers of my dress. They got off one floor above the lobby, and I couldn’t hear all of what the kid said as they left, but I distinctly heard the word “mermaid.”
I groaned. People milled in the lobby, and I could hear the buzz of them all around. I was going to lose it. On the other hand, looking around, I sort of realized I wasn’t the only young woman in my predicament. Probably the only one who’d accidentally married a billionaire the night before, but there was a fair amount of evening wear and frazzled hair. So I wasn’t a total freak, which was nice. I didn’t even stop to check out the glass Chihuly ceiling—something I’d meant to visit. Must exit ASAP.
I hated the weight of Scott’s ring on my finger—why was I even still wearing it? Truth be told, I’d been lost with nothing there. I’d worn Lucas’ ring for a year and a half, and when I’d stripped it off, I felt like I’d removed a part of myself. I yanked Scott’s ring off and shoved it in my purse. The white stripe on my skin stood out like a neon sign. Failure at relationships.
The gleaming black limo waited for me in the carport. Wouldn’t it be awful to get in the wrong limo? The car was totally for me, because I saw the driver take in my stupid mermaid dress and open the door for me as he tossed me a weak smile. When the sun hit the sequins on my dress, man, it was like a disco ball exploded in green and blue.
He closed the door behind me, and I muttered a ‘thank you.’ As he walked around to the driver’s side, I slammed the partition between us. Was I supposed to tip him? I didn’t know how any of this worked. Everything loomed over me like black clouds. Lucas, Scott. My job. This terrible dress.
Safely shut away in the back of the limo, I finally let myself break down and cry.
It wasn’t far to Linq, though the limos and taxis don’t go to the front of the hotels. All the taxi stands and parking is hidden around the back. Before I knew it, I was standing in the Linq hotel lobby in my ridiculous dress, wiping away the remnants of my tears. At least this was Las Vegas. I was far from the most absurdly dressed hotel guest, not even the teariest guest. I trudged to the crummy Flamingo and took the elevator up to the sixth floor. When I got out I did take a moment to look down at the flamingo habitat—the real flamingos were the best part of this place, to be sure.
