I wasn’t marrying the man!
“Weston—”
“Yes,” he barked. “You and me. Married. Today.”
He set off, pacing back and forth in front of my desk—one of his stress reactions—as a humorless laugh escaped my lips. “Okay, Mr. CEO of Insane Ideas, I know you didn’t just phrase that like an order.”
“It all needs to be in order before the funeral,” he continued. “I don’t have time to be chasing down marriage certificates in Scotland, so we need to move quickly.”
I stared at Weston like he’d sprouted three heads. There was nowein this equation.
“How soon will the helicopter be here?” he asked, checking his watch.
“Thirty minutes,” I answered.
“Right then, can you get a hold of city hall and see what hoops we need to jump through to make the wedding happen today?” He set off for his office.
I jumped to my feet, chasing him into the glass-walled corner space that looked over downtown Houston. This was his problem: he walked too fast, talked too fast, made decisions too damn fast—without bothering to actuallytalkto the people who were affected by them. “Hang on a second,” I said, stumbling as Milo, his adorably mischievous golden retriever, nudged me in the knees. Weston brought Milo into the office today so they could leave directly for the airport. I patted Milo’s head and nudged him away. “We need to discuss this.”
“Discuss what?” Weston asked, standing behind his desk, eyes glued to his phone.
Seriously? The man expected me tomarryhim—with zero warning—and he didn’t think that merited a little discussion? Ormaybe, I don’t know, starting with an actual proposal instead of skipping past all that and taking my consent for granted?
I resisted the urge to groan out loud and released a steadying breath, as I so often did when dealing with Weston’s more ridiculous demands. Because Ineededthe paycheck if I ever had a hope in hell of being able to afford grad school one day. For that, I was prepared to do a lot. But there was nothing in my contract about marrying my boss, and I planned to keep it that way.
“Milo!” Weston snapped as the dog started gnawing on a stack of files I’d left on his desk for him to sign. “Get off of that, you wee menace!”
Milo darted back to my side for head rubs.
My phone pinged suddenly with a new task:Wedding Prep. A spark of irritation crawled up the back of my neck as I glared at Weston. “You can’t be serious right now.”
“I need this done today, and you’re the logical choice,” he insisted, scrolling through his phone like he was ordering lunch instead of upending my entire life. “Six months, max. Once the estate clears probate, we’ll file for divorce.” He held up his phone. “The website says something about needing a waiver if we want this to happen today,” he said. “Can you sort that? License this morning, ceremony this afternoon.”
I rolled my eyes, staring down at Milo, wondering at what point today we’d stepped into the twilight zone. “Sure, let me just update my email signature to temporary wife,” I snarked. “Do you want that above or below personal assistant?”
Weston frowned at my expression. “This isn’t a joke.”
“Good, I’m glad we’re in agreement on that,” I bit out, still trying to process the fact that my boss, the same man who made me pick up his dry cleaning, had just added nuptials to my list of daily tasks, as if it mattered just as little as that. Okay, so maybe he didn’t know the idea of marriage was a sensitive subject with me, but that was still no excuse to be so damn cavalier about the whole thing.
“Do you even realize what you’re saying?” I had to fight the urge to grab him and shake some sense into his ridiculously handsome head. “This is like actual marriage. A legally binding agreement with?—”
“Temporary marriage,” he corrected, as if that somehow made it all okay. He grabbed some of the files on his desk and started stuffing them into his briefcase. “We’ll say it falls under theadditional tasks and responsibilitiespart of the contract.”
I wanted to lean over his desk and whack him with those files. “Um, no, that’s for things like picking up Milo’s dog food.”
He waved me off, back to scrolling his phone. “I’ll obviously compensate you for the inconvenience. We can discuss terms?—”
I dropped my hands to my hips. “I don’t need to discuss the terms, Weston. My answer is no.”
He huffed, still barely bothering to look my way. “Why are you being so difficult?”
“Do you hear yourself?” I said, my voice starting to climb. “You justtoldme to marry you. Not ask. Told. TO MARRY YOU, Weston!”
He stared at me, perplexed. “I’m failing to see the issue here.”
I scoffed. “Trust me, I can tell.”
“You’re the most convenient option,” he said like he was rhyming off what kind of dog food to get Milo. “We both know that. You’re here, you’re single, and you spend all your time with me anyway.”
