Page 25 of One Billion Reasons

“Against my better judgment.”

His mouth curves up on one side. Just a ghost of a smile, as if he won’t permit himself to be happy.

“There’s a lot at stake here. Amanda’s father is trying to ruin our business. His friend Mark is going to outbid me on that property.”

“If they’re so terrible, why would you want to get involved with these people even more than you already are?”

“Convenience,” he says nonchalantly. “You probably can’t imagine coldly arranging a marriage like a business deal. But it would have been good for business. Good for investors.” He shrugs, but his shoulders are tense. Miles is so alone. I shake the thought away.

“I just can’t believe you did it.” That you’re doing it again. The parallels between his engagement to Amanda and this farce we’ve got going are not lost on me.

“It wasn’t hard to set up.”

I stare at him, mouth parted in shock. “’It wasn’t hard to set up.’ That’s not what I meant at all. I meant more so that you were willing to go through with it. I mean, weren’t you?”

“I was.” He nods. “We’re different, Lane. You’re wired to want love, and I’m not. I would have been fine with a marriage of convenience. Amanda too. Plenty of people in our world go through with it. Celebrities do it. Business associates. It’s not uncommon.” Another elegant shrug. “I know I’m never going to marry for love, so I figured why not?”

That’s depressing as hell. I don’t say that, though. Miles was ready to give up his chance at happiness for a sham of a marriage. I will never understand, but I can help him. For Liam, you softhearted idiot. He most definitely does not deserve this, but my brother would want me to help him.

I slip my hand into his, and he glances down, surprised.

“Did you just voluntarily touch me? Am I being punked?” He looks around for cameras, and I roll my eyes.

“I’m your adoring date, remember?”

“Try not to look so ill when we touch.” He winks, and the breath catches in my throat. I do feel ill, like my hand is on fire where his palm is making contact with mine. His thumb grazes over the inside of my palm, and my stomach bottoms out.

“Lane. Your smile looks like you’re starring in the second-grade play and you just accidentally wet your pants. My reputation can’t take any more hits. Try to look happier to be on my arm.” He smirks and scans the room, still idly stroking my hand.

“Just what every woman wants to hear,” I respond tartly. I curve my lips up more. “How’s that?”

He frowns down at me, but his grey eyes are dancing. “Hmm, a little rigor mortis, but it will do.”

“Did you just compare my facial expression to a corpse?”

“Well, I’ve seen you in the winter without makeup. It’s not so far from the truth.” He shrugs and tucks me under his arm.

I jab a finger into his side. He flinches. Before I can be thrilled at having the last word, he presses his mouth to my hair and murmurs, “Don’t play with me, Lane. I bite back.”

And damn if those words don’t send a full-body shiver through me that I feel to my toes.

Miles gets us drinks from a passing tray, and we make our way over to who I assume is Amanda’s father. With every step his muscles tighten and his jaw clenches, until it feels like I’m being dragged to my doom by a sexy block of granite.

The older man sees us coming, flicks Miles a dismissive look, and gives a single eyebrow raise to my presence.

“Nice,” I murmur. I already see why Miles dislikes him.

He squeezes my hand, a warning, or a comfort. Hard to say. “Henry Richardson.”

“Miles Becker. So unexpected. I thought for months it would be you up there.” Henry’s smile is fake, and his words are shocking. Who makes a joke about that?

“I’m sure Amanda is very happy,” Miles says smoothly, but his face is tight and his hand is clenched on mine. “This is Lane Overton, by the way.” He leans in, and I nearly flinch. And then I feel the barest brush of his lips on my hair. Oh, no. Tingles spread from the contact.

Henry’s beady eyes rake over my dress once more, and it’s all I can do not to cover my breasts with my hands. Scumbag. I stand a little straighter and try to stare him down.

“Lane, eh?” Henry savors my name, and his look is calculating. “You really wanted to be a date to a guy who jilted the most beautiful woman in New York?” I assume he means his daughter. Blech.

“Miles and I have known each other for a long time.” I paste on what I hope is a charming smile. I have years of practice making nice with awkward family members at weddings. This is just another gig. The thought eases the tension in my shoulders. I’ve done this a hundred times, at least. “It’s nice to meet you. This is a lovely wedding.”

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