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LOGAN
Hitched to a blue-eyed billionaire . . .
It was supposed to be a simple, easy marriage of convenience arrangement.
A few months being married to my grumpy boss so he’d gain control of his company, and I’d walk away with enough money to take care of myself and my mother well into the future.
After two years of lusting after my hot boss, the deal seemed like a no-brainer.
Except for the part about falling into his bed when I swore I’d keep things platonic.
Or finding out that there was a kind, caring side to him beneath that gruff exterior.
Or allowing my heart and emotions to muddle the situation.
I wasn’t supposed to fall in love with my fake husband, especially knowing that he was a man who avoided real commitment like the plague.
But here I was, setting myself up for heartache . . .
Maybe it was time to re-negotiate the terms of our agreement.
CHAPTERONE
Logan
My mouth watered as my grandfather’s maid set a plate of braised short ribs in front of me. Lately, this had been the highlight of my week. My brothers and I had been gathering at our grandfather’s home for a family dinner every Sunday for the past month, and the food was excellent every time. It was something we should have been doing for years, but it took a devastating medical diagnosis to make happen.
That was the way it went sometimes.
“This looks amazing,” my brother, Dylan, said from the other side of the long dining room table. “I swear, Hilda, you know the way to my heart.”
Hilda rolled her eyes with a small smile on her face. She’d been working for my grandfather since before I was born, so she was used to Dylan’s endless charm. Few people knew the Reid boys better than she did.
“You know I don’t prepare the food,” she pointed out. “I just serve it. But I’ll tell the chef how you feel.”
“I’m sure Harold will appreciate knowing that he has access to your heart by way of short ribs,” our other brother, Hayden, chimed in from his seat next to Dylan.
Dylan elbowed Hayden in the ribs, and our grandpa chuckled from his spot at the head of the table.
“Do I have to separate you boys like when you were little?”
Dylan and Hayden grumbled in response while I dug into my food. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the slightest tremble in my grandpa’s hand when he reached for his own fork. Concern flooded me. Was this another symptom of his condition?
It was possible. It was hard to know exactly how the tumor in his brain would affect him. All we knew for sure was the end result.
He’d be gone within six months.
And that was the doctor’s most optimistic prognosis. It could be sooner.
They called it glioblastoma, and there wasn’t much that could be done. The location of the tumor made it impossible to remove surgically. Still, when we found out about his diagnosis, I pushed for grandpa to look into all the experimental treatments, insisting that he try anything he could to prolong his life.
I was met with resistance. Instead of spending his last days being poked and prodded and sickened by radiation that would probably only give him a few extra months anyway, he decided to manage his pain and get his affairs in order. He wanted to spend the end of his life doing things that made him happy. Anything that brought him joy.
That included spending as much time with me and my brothers. Hence, the weekly dinners.
I wasn’t happy about his decision not to seek other treatment, but I respected the man too much to argue with him. I couldn’t change what was going to happen, no matter how hard that was to accept, and the last thing I wanted was a bunch of negative memories because of fighting that wouldn’t do anything.
“Have you heard from mom?” Dylan asked Hayden as we ate.
