I grab the ring, giving it a tug. But it’s stuck on my finger, probably because my hands are swollen from the heat and all the booze last night. Nobody warned me how sweaty and yucky hangovers would feel. I can’t decide if I want a cold shower or to drink a gallon of water or maybe just fall into a hot tub and drown myself.
“Whoa. I didn’t notice that last night.” Lea crawls over to my bed, and offers me a plate entirely consisting of bacon and eggs. I dig into the bacon, unable to stomach the site of the slightly congealing eggs, and crunch on it while she forcibly examines the diamond. “Is that real? Holy shit, girl. Maybe you should stay married to this guy. Who the hell did you say he was again?”
I groan. “No idea. John somebody?” I don’t even know my husband’s last name. What a mess.
“It’s probably on your marriage certificate,” Lea points out with a sly grin, and I want to smack her all over again. I kick her away with a grumble of annoyance, though not before stealing one last slice of her bacon first.
“It’s got to be fake,” I say. “He probably bought it at one of the zillion arcade-looking stores on the main street.”
“That thing is not plastic,” Lea disagrees, but I just stare at the ring, too stubborn to think about what it means if she’s right.
“Can we just not talk about it for a while?” I ask. “I’ll already have to start researching annulment procedures when we get home. I’d rather not ruin my whole day dwelling in the meantime. Especially when we need to get moving.”
Lea sighs. “Fun time is over, huh?”
I grimace at the clock next to my bed, all too aware that checkout is in less than an hour. After that, I’ll have to drive home, get cleaned up, and figure out how to start the rest of my life tomorrow. “I’m afraid so,” I mumble. “Time for the hard work to start.”
* * *
Monday morning rolls around all too soon. If I’m honest, I still feel a little fuzzy around the edges, but at least the blinding pain of the hangover has mostly faded, replaced by a vague gnawing hunger and even more nerves that I anticipated for my first day—which is saying something, since I already expected to be a mess of anxiety from the minute I walked through the studio doors.
Not to mention, I still can’t get this damn ring off. I tried everything. Coconut oil, running cold water over it… Nothing. It must be way too small for me. But it feels all right on my finger. It’s only when I try to tug it off that my finger swells up angrily and seems like it’s holding onto the damn thing to spite me.
Great. I can’t wait to try and explain that away to my new coworkers. “Oh, this? Just a joke ring from my not-husband, haha, yes…”
At least I found out how to annul this damn marriage. It didn’t take long last night, just a few google searches. The process is simple, but it does require both of our signatures. Which leaves me with my latest problem, one that only hit me, helpfully, in the car on my way in to my first day of work.
I have no way to contact my new husband. In fact, the only thing I really know about him is that he’s probably wealthy and his name is John. Not exactly a lot to go by. You can’t really search “rich John in Vegas”—believe me, I tried. The results are… not what you’d expect. Definitely not men like the one I slept with.
I hope, anyway.
But when I park out front of the theater and glance up at the big Pitfire Media sign out front, it feels like a weight is lifting off my shoulders, despite all my first-day jittery nerves. Because what matters is still on track. My career is in the right spot. This whole marriage thing is a blip, and a frustrating one, but I’ll solve it.
I’ll figure things out, and as long as after it’s done I never have to deal with my frustrating as hell one night stand again, I’ll be golden.
Yes, okay, so he was hot. And sexy. And he’s right, he did make me come more than I’d even realized was possible in a single night. And maybe I had a sexy dream about him last night, one that I couldn’t even tell if it was a hot memory or a creation of my dirty mind.
In it, he had me pinned across the bed, my hands above my head and clasped in his, while he teased me with his hand between my legs, toying with me right up to the edge of an orgasm, and then stopping, until I was bucking against the sheets, begging for his cock. When he finally slid into me, stretching my walls, stuffing me full of his fat cock, it was everything I’d begged for and more.
But I’m not ready to be a wife. Not to anybody, least of all to a cocksure asshole like him.
Right now, I am all about work. Work first, and everything else second.
That’s what I’m reciting in my head as I stride into the general meeting for new hires and find my seat at the back of the room, between a couple other interns who both flash smiles at me. I’m still reciting it as I take out my planner and organize myself on the table, ready to take notes.
But then the doors open, and he walks in.
And my stomach plummets all the way through the concrete floor of this bunkerlike office. Suddenly, I can’t breathe. I can’t focus on anything, least of all the carefully detailed notes I’d planned on taking.
Because there he is. My new boss, the CEO of Pitfire Media and head of the company I’ve wanted to work for ever since I moved to Los Angeles.
My new husband, John Walloway, I realize with a sinking sensation in the pit of my stomach. Youngest CEO of a major media company ever, a veritable genius and a workaholic to judge by the tabloid reports—or lack thereof—about him. But he certainly didn’t seem work-focused last weekend when he was fucking me six ways from Sunday.
He’s glancing around the room, a polite but disinterested smile on his face as he nods to each new hire in turn. Until he reaches me. Then he stops, stutters. It’s just for a second, but it’s a long enough pause to let me know that he sees me. He realizes what it means that I’m here.
And I’m gratified to realize that he didn’t expect this either, at least. He seems just as stunned as I am.
But it doesn’t stop the slow, self-satisfied grin that spreads across his face as he keeps his gaze locked onto mine. The sea of people around us seems to vanish, and for a split second, it’s just the two of us in this room. He looks like he’s just won a damn medal. Like his whole body is bursting with the need to tell me I knew you couldn’t stay away.
And the worst part is, as I watch him now, I’m afraid he’s right.
How the hell am I going to stay away from him now?
4
John
The moment I walk into the conference room on Monday morning, it’s like I can sense her. Like the rest of the room fades away and all I can focus on is Mara.
My new wife.
But why is she here, of all places? Sitting in the orientation session for Pitfire’s newest hires. I don’t remember hiring anyone named Mara Greene—I kept our marriage certificate close, so I’d be able to look her up and reach out to her if she stood me up for breakfast yesterday. Which she did. A predictable move.
This, on the other hand… This, I didn’t see coming. Which is probably why it makes me grin so much.
That, and it’s just a natural reaction to the sensation of my cock stiffening at the sight of her. It’s not my fault. One glimpse and I’m back in that hotel room, watching her on all fours in front of me, begging me to put my cock in her mouth, to fuck her from behind on the shag carpet, to spread-eagle her across the bed and have my way with her.
And oh, how I did. Every way I could think of, and yet here I am, still craving more. There aren’t many—no, correction, there are no women who have done this to me before. Not even my most recent ex, who I’d thought at the time was pretty decent in the sack.
She was nothing compared to Mara. Nobody has been. Which was why I was feeling pretty damn lucky that she’s the one who wound up with my mother’s vintage ring on her finger. I carry it for sentimental reasons mostly, after my mother foisted it on me years ago, insisting that I find someone to marry and carry on the family name. I’d
only really considered putting it on someone’s finger once, and every tabloid in America has reported on how well that idea turned out.
But Mara was different. With Mara, after one night I wanted to give her the world.
Then the next morning, she woke up a different person. Acting like I was dirt, some random nobody who tricked her into a marriage she didn’t want. As if it hadn’t been her idea in the first place.
But something about that reaction, her anger and even her annoyance that I wouldn’t just end the marriage after a single night, made me even more certain that I wanted her. Because it told me she wasn’t faking. Mara Greene had no idea who I was.
It’s written all over her face now too, as she watches me, stunned in shock. She didn’t know I was the CEO of the company she’d just joined. She didn’t know I’m worth billions. It’s not only refreshing, it’s reassuring, too. Because she couldn’t be a gold-digger, coming after me for my money, trying to drain away my hard-earned work, if she didn’t even know I had any money.
Well. The ring was probably a clue that I had some, but still.
One glance down, and my grin widens. Mara realizes her mistake and jerks her hand off the table a second later, flipping the diamond around under her palm, but it’s too late. I saw it.
She’s still wearing the ring.
That has to mean something, doesn’t it?
And now, as much as she hates me—as much as she clearly wanted nothing more to do with me after our night together—here she is. Forced to work under me. I already know from what I got to know of her last weekend that work for Mara is everything: it’s her first and last priority, and all the rest in between. She won’t quit this job. She’d see it as a point of pride to stick it out.
Which means I’ve got her at my whim. My smile turns possessive, eager.
Oh, I’ll have fun with this. I’ll make her wait until she’s the one begging me again. Just remembering the sound of her voice as she pleaded with me to let her come again is enough to make my cock inch toward dangerously hard while I’m standing at the front of a room full of employees.
With effort, I tear my gaze from Mara, pleased in the knowledge that I’ll have all the time in the world to win her over. And oh, how I intend to. Because she might have fuzzy memories of our wedding night, but I remember every single second. And I’m not about to let her slip through my fingers.
Just wait, little kitten, I think with a smile as I clap my hands for attention to get this meeting started. Just wait.
Her eyes lock on mine again, and I could almost swear she’s thinking similar thoughts based on the way her eyes widen and her lips part, her cheeks flush in that pink-tinged way they do whenever she’s nervous—or hot and eager for action. So probably a little bit of both right now.
“Thank you all for being here today,” I say with a broad smile. “If you’ve made it this far, then congratulations. You are the cream of the crop. Some of the best this industry has to offer—I should know, because I personally made sure our hiring process is the most rigorous out there.” It seems Mara’s talk about working hard and playing hard in the club was spot-on, if she’s here today. It still surprises me that I didn’t recognize her name from the applicant pool while we were dancing—normally I approve every new hire, but last week I was distracted, eager for the weekend and some release. And then when I met her, well… for once in a very, very long time, work was the last thing on my mind.
But it reassures me that we have more in common than she thinks we do, if she’s here at Pitfire. She must be determined and smart to have landed this position.
Determined, smart, hot, sexy as hell in bed… I sure chose my new wife well, didn’t I?
I force thoughts of her from my mind again while I focus on the new hires, all watching me with upturned faces and eager eyes. “I won’t bore you with any long lectures today, as I know you’re all eager to get started at your new positions. Your direct managers will explain your day-to-day schedule with you after this meeting, as well as orienting you and training you for any equipment and procedures you may need to learn. I just wanted to call you all in this morning to meet you each individually, face-to-face. As CEO, it can be easy to lose track of people, especially in a company this large.”
I look at Mara again, grinning. “So I make it a personal point of pride to get to know each and every one of my employees, from the top all the way on down to our newest hires. If you ever run up against anything you need help with, or any areas where you think the company can improve, my office is always open. I started this company from nothing, with nothing but my own ingenuity and creativity. So I always welcome new suggestions, no matter whether they’re from long-standing employees or new ones. All of your opinions and ideas matter here at Pitfire.”
The room bursts into applause, and I chuckle under my breath. Mara doesn’t clap, I notice. She has her hands tightly clasped together under the table, her right hand wrapped protectively around the left one, almost like she’s toying with the ring right now. Probably wondering what my game is.
Oh, she has no idea.
I make my way around the room slowly, introducing myself, as promised, to each new hire in turn. I start at the front, and as I go, after a short chat, I dismiss each person to their new gig individually.
Naturally, I save the best for last.
I take my time talking to Tyrone, our newest development lead. He has a lot on his plate, fixing up the websites for some of our media clients. We do have a lot to discuss, but I also draw out our conversation, enjoying the tension on Mara’s face. She’s the last employee left to talk to.
When Tyrone and I shake hands and say goodbye, I step over to Mara. I wait, in silence, smiling down at her, enjoying the even brighter red flush on her cheeks, until the door of the office clicks shut behind Tyrone.
We’re alone, at last.
“So,” I say, grinning down at her, unable to conceal my amusement, “still planning on getting that restraining order?”
She sets her jaw, firm and stubborn. “Be pretty hard to get one on my boss.”
My smile widens. “Indeed.” Without waiting for a response, I reach down to catch her left wrist, gently disentangling her hands so I can see the left one.
She flinches, and I can tell she wants to pull her hand away, but she’s too stubborn for that. I can see it written all over her face, the instant when she decides to just let me do this. That she’ll wait. She unclenches her fist, and I gently stretch out her fingers, trying to ignore the flash of memory, back to when these narrow, delicate hands of hers were wrapped around my thick cock.
I pry her left finger up, just an inch, just far enough to spin the ring around and see the diamond. My mother’s ring, until my father bought her a newer, bigger, gaudier one. Sometime after I earned my first billion and bailed them both out of debt.
Everyone thinks my family is old money rich. We used to be. But through a series of thieving relatives, gambling addictions and even worse alcoholism that my grandparents enjoyed, by the time my parents went on their own spending sprees, there was nothing left for my sister and me. Not even enough to pay for our college educations. So I put myself through school, hell bent on earning enough in whatever career I chose in order to pay for my sister’s college next.
I managed that and then some. I even got enough to help my parents out, though they’ve never thanked me for it.
Their only response has been to pressure me, constantly. Asking about when I’ll get engaged, when I’m bringing the lucky lady home, when I’ll have a baby to carry on their lineage. Their lineage, never mine.
I suppress a smile. My mother would have a heart attack if she knew how this ring got onto this sexy little kitten’s finger this weekend.
Then again, my mother would be revived from joy if she realized that I intend to stick this out. I intend to make this marriage work, if I can. Not for my family, or even to spite them by running off with a girl in Vegas of all places. But because of t
he way Mara tilts her chin to look at me now, her eyes alight with defiance, even in the face of all the upper hands I have now.
“You’re still wearing it,” I tell her, softly.
“I couldn’t get it off,” she replies coolly, gaze narrowed. “Trust me, it doesn’t mean anything except that I opted not to find some bolt cutters this morning.”
I chuckle, more at the mental image of my mother screaming, watching her ring snapped off by bolt cutters. “Well, it’s your ring now,” I tell her, not about to explain the complicated history behind it.
Besides, something tells me Mara won’t cut it off. Not yet. She’s stubborn in the same way that I am. And as much as she hates to admit it, she’s realizing now how much we truly have in common.
“So you don’t care if I keep this and pawn it?” She arches an eyebrow, considering the diamond anew. “It looks pretty expensive.”
“It was,” I reply simply. “So does this mean you still want the divorce?”
She snorts, as if I’m joking. When I don’t join in, she levels me with another suspicious stare. “Of course. Why wouldn’t I?”
“Well.” I tilt my head and gesture at the room around us, freshly emptied of employees, but still reeking of power, privilege. And this is the smallest office we have in the building, or any of our buildings. “As you’ve probably realized by now, I am massively wealthy.”
“I don’t care about that.” She rolls her eyes.
I furrow my brow. “Most people do. Think about it. With this kind of wealth, you’d never need to work a day in your life.”
At that, her hackles rise. She shoves out of her chair, even though standing she still barely comes up to chest height on me. Still, there’s something sexy about the way she’s trying to take charge, against me of all people. She holds up a finger. “One, I’ve wanted to work in this industry since childhood, and I have no plans to quit on the first damn day of it. No amount of money would make me just give up on my dreams because they’re not about money.” She pauses to swallow, her jaw still set, her gaze hard on mine. “And two.” She lifts a second finger. Now her fingertips tremble, ever so slightly, but just enough to give away the emotion she’s trying hard to contain. “I would never take advantage of someone like that. No matter who they were, or how much they irritated me,” she adds, probably to disguise the hint of fury sparking in the corners of her eyes.
Overnight Wife Page 3
