“Are you sure you can’t talk to your dad or any of his friends to help get you out of this? You’re surrounded by billionaires, for Christ’s sake!”
“No!” I blurt out, more panicked than I mean to sound. “They can’t know. Don’t you get it? I promised all of them I could handle this job without drama. Without bringing any personal mess to the team. And now I’m married to Declan after a drunken night in Vegas. Thatisthe mess. I just need to fix it before they find out.”
“Oh damn, girl, that’s awful!” Eslin winces.
Tatum lifts a finger. “Umm...awful for who? Did youseethe way that man’s eyes burn for her?” she says, turning to Eslin before shifting her gaze to me. “Girl, he is going torearrangeyour entire reproductive system and you better let him.”
“Ew! Tatum!” I groan. “That’s not the point of any of this.”
“Says who?” she counters, deadpan.
“Me! The person trying not to destroy both our reputations while cohabiting and not screwing up his shot at a million dollars.”
Eslin leans forward, confused. “Wait—why living together?”
“Because the show doesrandomcheck-ins and Declan, in all his genius, announced we’d be moving in together so they could start filming from there.”
Tatum clasps her hands together like she’s just been gifted a rom-com plot. “I love this for you. Call me delusional, but what if all of this is happening for a reason?”
I snatch the bottle of tequila and take another swig straight from the neck. “And what would that reason be?”
Eslin reaches over, softening her voice. “Maybe to show you something you’ve never let yourself have before. And maybe you could be something for him, too.”
I narrow my eyes. “Too? Did he say something?”
She freezes for a beat—professionalism kicking in—but doesn’t take the bait.
“I’m just saying, maybe this isn’t a total mistake,” she shrugs.
I scoff. “Right. He did it on purpose for a million dollars.”
“It’s not nothing,” Eslin says gently. “Especially considering where he comes from.”
That makes me pause. “And how exactly do you know where he comes from?”
Her head snaps toward me. “First of all, that’s literally Google-level intel. Second and third—how the hell have younotlooked up the man you accidentally married?”
“Because I was too busynotgetting attached. I didn’t want to know anything that would make me like him—or worse—want him!”
“Well,” Tatum says with a wicked grin, “sounds like that plan is goinggreat.There’s no way you’re resisting that man once you move in.”
I stand tall, arms crossed. “I absolutely can. You clearly don’t know who you’re dealing with. I am the queen of stubborn.Headstrongis my love language.”
Tatum cackles. “Yeah, and I have a strong feeling you’re about to redefine the wordheadstrongwithin forty-eight hours.”
“Wanna bet?” I challenge, chin high.
“Oh, I’ll take a piece of that,” Eslin jumps in. “I got a hundred on Marlow losing the battle,and the panties, before day two.”
“Count me in,” Tatum adds, raising her glass.
I glare, then burp like a lady. “Game. On.”
Declan
I love Sunday mornings. The birds are chirping, coffee’s brewing, and the steady rhythm of movers hauling boxes echoes down the hall. Not just any boxes—my wife’s things. Into my house. I paid the movers extra to make sure they came early, early enough that her father wouldn’t notice, and used the service entrance so no one else in the building could catch on. Every precaution, every penny, worth it. Because today, finally, my wife is coming home.
I’m on my third cup of espresso, standing at the edge of the kitchen counter as they carry Marlow’s designer luggage through the front door. I’ve even commissioned one of the guest bedrooms to be converted into a full walk-in closet. Not because she asked, but because I’ve seen her off-duty wardrobe. The heels, the tailored suits, the polished accessories. She looks like she just stepped off a runway in Milan half the time. And I’ve dated enough high-fashion women to know they don’t travel light.