“I have to stick with you! I’m going to be your wife tomorrow!”
“Tomorrow seems so far away.”
God, I can’t remember the last time I laughed as much as I did with her in that limo. The clerk didn’t want to give us a license because we were both drunk. I asked Mackenzie to step aside, and I leaned in close to the poor woman who probably just wanted to wrap up for the day and go to bed. “It’s not a bribe because those are illegal,” I whispered. “But I’ll give you ten thousand dollars right now if you sign the slip.”
“Sir, you don’t have ten thousand dollars.”
I showed it to her, and I saw her eyes turn to dollar signs. My signature and Mackenzie’s were sloppy but legally binding. We kissed right there in the clerk’s office, running our hands all over one another. The clerk let us do whatever we wanted. She was a happy camper.
“I want to be a mermaid for my wedding. Can I do that?”
“Whatever you want, baby.”
We swung by the mall in Caesar’s Palace, and she found a dress that made her look like a mermaid, green and shimmering. The strapless top barely held her breasts in place, and I couldn’t wait to get back to my room to take it off her and make love to my new wife. The back cut so low she had to stick the underwear she’d worn in her purse. I ran my hand over her bare flesh. This was the best idea I’d ever had.
As we waited for the ceremony to begin, my phone buzzed. Ryan. What the hell are you doing! Stop! Now!
He called me, and I hit ignore. Elvis asked me if I would take this beautiful mermaid to be my wife, and I enthusiastically said yes.
“You may now kiss the bride.”
Mackenzie
Sucking in a deep breath, I slipped into the suite and retrieved the dress. Seriously, Mackenzie? What the hell was I thinking? I’d already bought the dress for my wedding with Lucas… five thousand dollars down the drain for white silk and a gazillion iridescent beads. I’d left the dress hanging in our bedroom when I left. Have fun with that, Lucas.
I scurried back into the bathroom and struggled to pull the dress on.
I studied myself in the mirror. Holy crap. I was a hot mess. My hair was matted and frizzy, raccoon circles darkened the skin under my eyes. And the dress. Oh God, the dress. I dimly remembered seeing it on a mannequin, squealing with delight, and insisting I be married in it. If nothing else, thirteen-year-old Mackenzie would have thought sparkly mermaid the coolest thing ever to wear to the eighth grade prom.
So work sent me here to get close to Scott Creed, to see what I could learn about him in reference to the upcoming merger. I guess I’d accomplished that mission…
Of course, as soon as he woke up, we’d have the marriage annulled. I was way too young to be a divorcee. The thought bolstered me. Of course he’d want this handled, and soon. It was…I racked my brain, in a city like Las Vegas, days lose all meaning. Friday. I didn’t know exactly how a marriage could be annulled, but it seemed like something a playboy like Scott would know.
I heard a sound from the bedroom, someone stirring on the bed. Had I lost my chance to slip out quietly? My firm had his contact information on file. I could look him up and give him a buzz when we both got back to New York.
“Mackenzie?”
I froze. Actually looked around for a place to hide before I remembered I was an adult, and even if I’d been drunk as a skunk when I made my bad choices, I was still responsible for them. I opened my mouth to answer, then shut it again. God, my hands were actually shaking.
“Mackenzie?”
“In here,” I squeaked. I was gasping in tight little breaths, and my head spun. I forced myself to draw in a long, measured lungful of air.
“Are you all right?”
“Little hungover,” I said.
I heard the groan of the bedsprings. Some soft sounds. Please let it be Scott putting on pants. I didn’t think I could handle full frontal Scott—though my blurry memory of him was quite pleasant. It wouldn’t do for me to dry heave at the sight of my new husband’s genitals.
Just making the joke in my head almost sent me dashing, in my mermaid dress, to the toilet bowl.
Scott appeared in the doorway. Let me tell you a bit about Scott Creed based on what I knew from the prep work my company did with me before sending me into this lion’s den. He’s new money: His dad came over from Ireland in his twenties, and married a Southern woman who had land but no money. His father got in on the beginning of the dot-com boom and hit it big when Scott was in his teens. His parents lived in a modest house on Long Island, but Scott and his sister, Serena, fully embraced their new lifestyle. Scott had taken over the company, and Serena was one of those people who’d become famous for being famous. She had a Twitter account and a lot of money, which meant she was a well-recognized personality. Sometimes she screamed at the paparazzi, and one time she made a sex tape. So controversial.
All this thinking about Scott and his money made me think about my own problems. I had nothing now that Lucas was gone. I’d taken my stuff and moved out, the car was in his name, and I had a mountain of student loans. My credit card debt made me want to throw up even though I’d done that more than once this morning and had nothing left inside me. My job was good, sure, but living alone costs a lot. I bet Scott had pocket change that could make me debt free.
He’d pulled on a pair of shorts, which left his exquisitely muscled chest deliciously exposed. On his back a tattooed phoenix rose from flames starting at his waist and extending to the edge of where a dress shirt would cover it. The tattoo surprised me last night. I wondered what else about Scott I didn’t know.
He obviously spent a lot of time at the gym, and his physique showed it. Glorious six pack, bulging biceps, shapely legs. His frame was a little on the slender side, but he stood at least six feet, which made him almost a full head taller than I was.
He lingered for a moment, scrutinizing me. I told you, I looked a mess. He pushed past me, poured me a glass of water, and got some aspirin from a bottle. He held them out to me with big, strong hands. “Here, take these. Drink this.”
Of course I know that’s how you counter a hangover, but his assertions set me off. “I’m good, thanks,” I snapped. Bitchier than I should be, I know, but I hate being told what to do. Lucas used to talk to me in the same way, like he knew better than I did what was good for me or not. I could feel the same old rage bubbling up in me. I took it from Lucas for how long? I wasn’t going to take it from a guy I barely knew. Even if he was my husband.
“You’ll feel better.”
“I’ll feel better when I get back to my room and get out of this dress.”
“You look beautiful.”
I glared at him for patronizing me. I could feel the color rising in my cheeks. What kind of a fool did he think I was?
“I can call my personal assistant and have some clothes brought for you. I mean, if you don’t want to go out like that. I can also do room service, get something in your stomach?”
“I’m fine.” My stomach, the traitor, growled loudly. Scott affected this faux sympathetic look. I didn’t want his pity.
“At least let me get you a car. Where are you staying?”
“Linq,” I lied. I didn’t want him knowing where I was staying. I didn’t want his car, but I couldn’t find my shoes, and it was already going to be embarrassing enough going back to my room at God knew what time wearing this ridiculous dress. What was I going to do with the thing? Jesus, would he try to bill me for it?