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“I love my job!” Her eyes blazed as the full impact of what she had fallen into albeit inadvertently, hit her like a ton of bricks. “I am not giving it up and he cannot make me.
You cannot make me.”
“Relax.” He held up a hand. “I would never ask you to give up your job. But it is not up to me, is it?”
“Then talk to him.” She unconsciously reached out to grip his hand. “Convince him to allow me to stay on. I am very good at what I do and it would take time to train someone else.”
“And no one is indispensable," he pointed out.
Dropping her hand, she stepped back, her expression cold and formal.
“I should know better than to expect anything from you.” She turned to leave.
“Anika—”
“Go to hell and stay away from me.” She stepped into the adjoining suite and slammed the door shut behind her.
Jaylen stood where he was and leaned against the door, shoulders hunched. She hated him, that much was obvious. Yes, he had read the report of her being brought up in a group home after her mother had left her when she was five. And he didn’t have the heart to tell her that the reporters were going to dig into her story and splash it all over the papers.
As soon as they reached the US, they were going to be greeted by that. The more salacious the story, the more the hungry and greedy public would want to read.
Henry and Meghan Markle were perfect examples.
And his face sells magazines and ratings. He was now attached to her. They were going to romanticize it and follow them around. Her privacy was going to be invaded in the worst possible way.
She had gone from anonymity to the wife of a celebrity in a matter of days and her life was going to be changed irrevocably.
He was accustomed to the lack of privacy. He could not go for a cup of coffee without being recognized. Another element had been added.
For years, he had been paired up with one beautiful woman after another, with the press hinting as to the status of the relationship. Now he was married, and there would be something new to write about. The public would find it hard to believe that they had been secretly involved and yet there had been no hint of said relationship.
An enterprising and nosy reporter or two would want to dig deeper. Sighing softly, he eased off the door and made his way into the bedroom. She was going to make a hell of a lot of adjustments.
Inside her suite, Anika was far from relaxed. She was wearing a path on the carpeted floor. Usually, she would have admired the bold red and gold decor, the splash of colors, and the thickness of the cream carpet, but her mind was racing a mile a minute. She was married.
Lifting her left hand, she stared at the square-cut diamond he had given her. It was stunning of course, exquisite even. It would not do for Mrs. Jaylen Monteith to be wearing anything less.
Clothing—glamorous and elegant clothing from Romano’s Milan had been ordered and sent to her suite, packed away by the efficient maid. She had not taken time to admire them either. They were just props, she thought angrily. She was the wife of a multi-billionaire who was also a celebrity. A personal maid would be assigned to her.
A personal assistant who was going to ensure that she did not wear the same outfit twice, at least whenever she was attending a function with her husband.
Some woman was going to pick out her clothes and she was going to have to worry about wearing makeup in case a reporter was following her around and taking pictures.
She was going to be shadowed because she was married to someone as visible as Jaylen Monteith and that pissed her off.
But she was the one who had gone into that fricking bar and gotten drunk. She was the one who had dragged them into that chapel and suggested the marriage thing. She did not have a head for liquor or not much of one, but he should have stopped them.
He should have dragged them out of that chapel and walked her back to the hotel instead of falling in line. Now they were part of a mess they could not get out of for a year.
Now she was going to have to pretend to love a man she could barely stand.
He was too… everything. Too handsome, with those luxurious tresses of honey-blonde hair. She had seen him naked and his body was lean and magnificent, the muscles toned and the golden complexion was all over, telling her that he either used a tanning machine or he sunbathed in the nude.
She had seen the long powerful legs, the taut butt and recalled the stroke of his impressive penis inside her.
He was beautiful and people like that tend to be vain as hell. He was not only beautiful; he was famous and he had loads of money.
He could have anything he wanted, any woman he wanted and he was a playboy. She had seen him photographed with hundreds of women. He would be unfaithful, not that she gives a damn.
