by Anne Marsh
I’d pointed out that I broke no laws—federal or state—and that I gave them money. They should have been grateful. Nope. They’d insisted that I “clean up my image” and “show the world that I’m a good guy.” I’m not a good guy. I’m a businessman and a billionaire.
In fact, they’d suggested I eschew additional sex scandals, and instead give monogamy and personal reformation a serious second look. Also, they thought I should give apologizing a shot, starting with Leda and then moving on to the board, the shareholders and Joe Public. I’d refused repeatedly and had instead thrown that sex party last weekend. The one where I’d accidentally ended up married. They’d have had a collective aneurysm if they’d found out about that.
I’d been about to tell them where to shove their ultimatums when I’d realized that last weekend’s challenge was the perfect solution to the board’s collective aneurysm about my personal life.
I’m married.
To a bona fide good girl.
Settled down, completely reformed, upstanding citizen.
Totally true story if I can convince Hana to play along. Since she told me to let her know when we were divorced and stormed off, however, my desire to play temporary house with her will come as a surprise.
By ten o’clock, I’ve successfully started the process of purchasing Hana’s mortgage and verified she has no other financial liabilities. Some guys send roses when they fuck up—and some of us just smooth the road of life a little with a judicious application of cash. She’s not in this marriage for money, but it can’t hurt to show her what I bring to the table. By noon I’ve cleared out my inbox and taken care of what can’t wait. So I’m genuinely 100 percent free when Jax texts at 12:10 that he’s outside my building and I should get my ass down there now.
The or I’ll beat the shit out of you part is just understood. Clearly, Hana’s told him about our marriage. She’s probably also told him that I’m a first-class dick (true), but that’s just one more thing I won’t apologize for. I’ll give her a bee farm instead.
When I get outside, Jax is slouched against a low retaining wall full of perky summer annuals, glaring at the flow of people headed to lunch. Most of them are wearing suits or business casual and when they catch sight of him, they adjust their course on the crowded sidewalk so they don’t have to get too close. It’s like watching a trail of ants detour around an unpleasant obstacle.
Jax wears blue jeans, a black leather jacket and motorcycle boots, so he must have ridden his bike into the city today. He looks tough, his arms crossed over a muscled chest. We’ve been friends since he moved in next door all those years ago in Berkeley, but that doesn’t mean he isn’t thinking about punching me. I deserve it, so the real question is: Will I let him? We’re evenly matched in size, but he’s always joked that I look like the angel Gabriel while he more closely resembles the dark side.
Those devil looks mean there’s little resemblance between him and Hana, on the outside at least. He’s a dark-haired, dark-eyed menace, his shoulder-length hair pulled back in a short ponytail. I was with him when he started the sleeves that decorate his arms, colorful swirls of ink that record each step he’s taken to get where he is today. Hana doesn’t know half of what he’s done to make sure she’s safe, and we’ve always just known we’d do whatever it takes to keep her that way. This is why he’s here, of course, because marrying her doesn’t seem as if it’s in her best interest.
He holds out a paper bag to me with a muttered curse and I take it.
“Is it poisoned?”
“Too quick,” he growls. “Eat. I have a start-up to go hammer into shape after I kick your ass.”
One of Jax’s particular talents is taking underperforming companies and cutting away the dross until they shine financially. It doesn’t make him the most popular guy in the room—people lose jobs when he takes over—but the ones who stay never regret it. Not financially, at any rate. I suspect he’s a bit of a bastard boss, but then again, hell will freeze over before I work for him.
I open the bag to find a hot dog with onions and sauerkraut. The combination all but guarantees kissing Hana will not be on my afternoon agenda. I hesitate, but I’m hungry. He nods when I start eating, and for a few minutes we both focus on eating with maximum efficiency.
“What are the chances you’re not married to my sister?” Jax crumples his now-empty bag and lobs it into a nearby trash can. It’s an impressive three-point shot and I hand him mine so he can do it again.
I appreciate that he starts with facts and not feelings.
“My lawyers double-checked everything.”
He hits the trash can again. “And?”
“And we’re married.”
“Hana deserves to be happy.” The look on Jax’s face warns that he doesn’t see any further association between me and Hana leading to that state.
“I won’t hurt her. We’re going to work out a deal.”
My phone goes nuts in the pocket of my suit jacket as Leda deluges me with a new flurry of texts. She hasn’t let up, her endless messaging making it clear she has plenty more to say about the end of our relationship. I, on the other hand, ran out of fucks to give weeks ago. My fuck-less state coinciding with her decision to share the alleged details of our relationship with a gossip website has caused me a world of unresolved problems. I’m finding it increasingly hard to resist the urge when Leda comes up to run around shouting liar, liar, pants on fire. Mostly this is because I cringe when I think about Hana reading these things and deciding they’re one more piece of evidence in the mountain of my dickishness.
While Jax considers what to say, I unlock my phone and inventory my messages. Nineteen angry texts from Leda demand, in increasingly hostile progression, that I repent of my sins, explain myself, text her back, don’t bother texting her back and drop dead. Shit. Delete. I also have new emails from multiple business and entertainment reporters requesting I comment on my starring role in Silicon Valley’s biggest start-up scandal. They don’t mention my marriage. Delete. My PR team has reached out with a plan to handle the fallout from said scandal. I scan it. Like their last two proposals, they strongly urge me to go down on bended knee and apologize. I fire off a one-word response—no—and delete their email as well.
Jax plucks the phone out of my hand. Since not having to sum up saves me time, I let him. He glances down at the screen, his eyes skimming over the messages.
He pins me with his hard-ass glare when he looks up. “Why haven’t you fixed this? Block Leda. Make her go away. You can’t be texting her and be married to my sister. It looks like you still have a thing for her.”
He’s probably not soliciting murder, so I go with the next logical assumption. “Are you asking me to pay her off?”
Jax curses but doesn’t deny the thought of money has crossed his mind. Instead, he hands me back my phone.
“Isn’t there another way to get her out of your life?”
This is dangerous ground. “Eventually there will be legal charges, but I don’t own that timeline and I can’t guarantee they’ll stick.”
“But you think they will.”
I hesitate for just a moment. Jax is one of the few people I trust with the truth. He’s also just about the only person I’d explain myself to. “This is about her business relationships, not something personal.” Not a revenge fuck in the literal sense. “She lied to a lot of people. She took their money knowing she didn’t actually have a product—and then she spent that money, but not on R&D. Or she moved it. Whatever happened to it, it’s gone, and since she was the CEO, she’s responsible.”
Jax’s frown deepens and a slim guy in a well-tailored summer suit veers hard left and almost stumbles off the curb. “Why don’t you just say that? Everyone thinks you’re an ass who is wrong and won’t apologize.”
“The ass part is true.”
When I stop there, he does some more
cursing. He’s known me for years, so you’d think he’d appreciate the whole no-apologies approach. My parents used to terrorize the neighborhood with their fights. They’d yell—or discuss at full volume—everything that had gone wrong since the last time my dad had come home, and then he’d “apologize,” my mom would call him on it and there would be more words. Nothing ever got fixed, he never stopped doing the stuff she hated, and it just made our family look like candidates for Dr. Phil’s show. I used to head over to Jax and Hana’s place whenever I heard my dad’s Dodge Charger pull into the driveway.
“So if it’s true, tell people it’s true.” Jax looks like he might want to throw his hands up in the air like a 1950s housewife and have a fit of the vapors. Whatever those are. “What does Hana think about all this?”
This one’s easy. “She knows Leda and I broke up.”
Usually I’d point out that Hana hadn’t asked for details, but she was pretty focused on our impulsive marriage. Any questions probably occurred to her later and were answered with Google.
“Are you crazy? Your ex is texting you constantly and the rest of the world believes, with some grounds, that you fucked up her business to teach her some kind of lesson. What if Hana thinks you’d do the same to her?”
“You’d kill me,” I point out. I think I sound quite reasonable.
“Yes, but she shouldn’t even have to think it.” He definitely looks like punching me has risen back to the top of his to-do list. I’d rather not be sporting a black eye when I go see Hana, so I just nod in agreement. I consider telling him I’m in the process of acquiring the mortgage on her bee farm, but it’s completely different, right? I’m not buying her note to shut her down or take the place away from her (okay, so the thought crossed my mind that it would be leverage, but Hana is nice—I won’t need to bribe her into compliance). I mostly did it to smooth things over, but it also makes a better thank-you present than flowers for helping me out. She’ll never have to worry about things like recessions or billing departments again.
“What happens next? Eventually Hana’s going to outgrow her crush on you, and then what?”
“Is this the twenty questions game? Am I supposed to drink if I don’t have an answer?”
Jax grunts something I don’t catch. “Are you staying married?”
Danger. “It would help with a work thing if we were a couple for the next few months.”
“And then?” Jax doesn’t look particularly happy, although I know he understands. Sometimes you have to do shitty things to get where you need to go—and I understand that he’ll stop me if he decides that’s what Hana needs. He’s my safety valve.
“And then I guess it’s up to Hana. I’m not calling all the shots here.”
“She doesn’t tell you that you work too much?” From his tone, I assume Hana’s been on his case, either about putting in too much time at the office or accumulating too much money. She’s idealistic, which can translate into her announcing that enough money is enough money and Jax should let someone else have a chance at the next billion dollars.
I throw him a bone. “Leda thought I put my work first. It made her mad.”
Jax just nods. “You did. We both do. Hana’s my one exception.”
He stops and then gets this weird look on his face. Possibly, his hot dog is talking back to him, but I’m not sure. Leda was right that she came second after my career. But Hana is different. A sense of rightness settles over me.
“So you have to think about what you’re going to do.” Jax stares at the sea of lunch-seeking businesspeople, but he clearly doesn’t see them. If I were a better person, I’d ask him who he does see. I’m not sure it’s my Hana. “Plan for the future and stuff.”
Generally, I see my future in terms of earning quarters. I’m only twenty-eight, which means I have some serious money-earning years left. And while I’m a risk-taker when it comes to work, I’ve already made sure that there’s plenty set aside and sewn up tight in case something unexpected happens. While I can’t envision myself failing, I’m also completely certain I never want to be broke again. This is probably the point at which Hana would tell me I’m an ass and suggest living off the land or some other granola-type approach to a wholesome life. I can feel my lips curving up in a smile.
“You need to tell her the truth. She’s going to hear stuff.”
“And she’ll believe what she believes.”
Jax heaves a pained sigh. “She had the biggest crush on you when she was a kid. She thought you were Jesus Christ walking on water, that there was nothing you couldn’t do. You have to ease her in to the actual you. Why did you really marry her? Not the crap business reasons story that makes your life sound like a movie plot, but the real reason.”
“She asked me.”
He doesn’t look surprised—Hana’s crush on me drives him nuts—but it doesn’t shut him up, either. “She couldn’t have forced you to say yes.”
“No guns were involved,” I say lightly.
I decide not to tell him that there’s every chance we could annul our marriage because both of us were drunk off our asses and that’s grounds enough in California.
“Just do your thing and fix it,” Jax orders. “Find out what she wants. Give it to her. Fucking apologize for once in your life.”
I look at him. “Right. Or else.”
“Or else,” Jax agrees.
He sounds as if he’s talking to himself.
CHAPTER FIVE
MAN ON A MISSION
Liam
A WEEK AGO, I was a bachelor billionaire and the host of a now-legendary sex party. Saturday morning: I woke up with a ring on my finger and a wife by my side. Sure, the point of getting drunk off my ass was to do things I’d regret the next morning, but marrying Hana is a whole different category of messed up. Worse, I can’t stop thinking about her, and my lunchtime conversation with Jax just feeds my inner beast.
Hana naked.
Wrapped in a sheet wearing just my rings.
Bending her hot body into a yoga pose.
Her hot naked body.
We had sex, but seven days later I still can’t remember all of the details, although not for lack of trying. I wanted to punish myself, but instead I think I ended up hurting Hana. She’s not forgettable and although my blacking out is entirely my fault, not hers, she may not see it that way.
An hour after Jax roars off on his bike to kick ass at an underperforming start-up, I give up pretending to be productive. Instead, I stare out the window of my office. I can see both the Bay and the Transamerica Pyramid from where I sit. Despite the sunshine, smog dims the colors of the sky. It’s probably hot and bright in Marin where Hana has that farm of hers. I haven’t been out there, although I know Jax is a frequent visitor. I’ve teased him more than once about his newfound hippie tendencies and asked if he had urges to swap out girl hugging for tree hugging. A quick inbox check tells me that the investment bank in which I own a significant if private stake has done as I asked and acquired Hana’s mortgage. I know she won’t let me pay it off if I ask—Jax tried to gift her the money for the original purchase and she refused—but this way no one will ever foreclose on her or sell her loan. I just won’t tell her until it’s a done deal.
Leaning back in my chair, I stare out at the soaring buildings of the San Francisco Financial District. I’m only here in our city office today because I had a meeting. I jiggle my knee, trying to force myself to think like I normally do, but I don’t want to make more money or start another company.
Hana occupies the prime real estate in my brain as she has all week.
Since she’s not here, I fall back on my phone, firing up the video of our wedding. I’ve watched it so many times that I know exactly what will happen and when. Hana and I join hands and repeat our vows after the ringmaster. He’s included the standard stuff about love and honor, sickness and health,
riches and poverty. While I’m not sentimental, the way Hana beams at me feels special. And then the cheesy circus music starts up, almost but not quite drowning out the ringmaster’s invitation to kiss my bride.
There’s a pause and then Hana throws her arms around my neck, hauling my face down to hers because she’s a tiny bit of a thing and I’m a big brute. She kisses me enthusiastically and I pull her up for a decidedly X-rated kiss. My hands thread through her hair, angling her mouth as I devour her onscreen. I sort of want a do-over because she’d been smiling up at me with wide brown eyes, looking happy and dazed, and then I’d fucked her mouth with my tongue like a barbarian, bending her backward over one arm because we had an audience that I was clearly playing to.
Usually she wears faded blue jeans or Bohemian dresses that are big on fabric, tassels and flowered prints. The dress she wore to our wedding looked vintage. One of my groundskeepers had found the black-and-white dress and I’d had it dry-cleaned and returned to her, along with the red fuck-me shoes that had turned up in my kitchen.
The video stops and I promptly restart it.
At some point, I have to delete it because I’m turning into a fucking creeper.
What started out as an impulsive bad idea is now an opportunity. I need to get her attention and fast. She drove away from my Napa Valley place as if her gorgeous ass was on fire. Normally I don’t give a shit what my hookups say or do after we’ve had sex, but Hana is different and not just because she didn’t sign an NDA. I promised her that I’d take care of her. Twice. First in our vows and then the morning after.
Mortgage security aside, an unexpected way to achieve this goal has come up and I need her to consider it. I’m thinking of her. Not me.
Mostly.
I cringe. Okay, so a quick annulment is still the easiest option for Hana and at first I thought it was what I wanted, too. Except I’ve already spent an hour today being berated by the board of Galaxtix about the circus sex party and how bad it looked. Apparently, we’d lost another potential private investor and it was all my fault. I’d looked from one suit to the next, calmly meeting their judgmental gazes, and had come perilously close to telling them to stay out of my personal life. I could fund a dozen science education foundations. I could buy another space project.
