Page 71 of Accidental Vegas Vows

I needed to text him back.

Me: Where did you find that?

Me: It was a joke. Office initiation for the new hires.

Me: James.

Me: JAMES.

Three little dots finally appeared after what felt like hours but must have only been seconds — the time on the top of my screen hadn’t even changed.

James: It came up on Instagram.

A second later, a link to a post on Instagram from an obscure news site popped up. I made the horrible mistake of clicking on it.

Everyone’s favorite SanFran multi-millionaire seems to have tied the knot in a drunken Vegas escapade… but who is the far younger woman he’s holding? Visit the link in our bio to see more!

Oh my God.

Me: Don’t tell Mom and Dad. It’s not what it looks like.

James: Liv. You do realize that it’s weird to do photo-ops with new hires like THAT, right?

I grabbed my purse and stood from my desk before I could throw up again, sending the wheeled office chair careening back into the bookshelves. I didn’t dare meet the eyes of anyone from my team as I stepped out my door, didn’t dare to question who had seen it and who hadn’t. I needed to breathe, needed a ginger ale, but more than either of those, I needed to speak to Damien.

————

That idea went up in flames the moment I found his office empty.

I shot him a text as I hurriedly made my way back to the elevator, just sending a quick “need to talk to you ASAP. Not about Noah.” It was far too cold in the little metal box, and from the smell alone, I could tell someone had brought a banana to work before riding the elevator. The scent permeated the space, invading my nostrils, making my stomach churn all over again.

I stepped out into the less banana-heavy air of the Human Resources department. Across the wide open space filled with cubicles and hanging plants, Sophie sat at her desk, headphones in, blonde hair up in a tiny bun on top of her head. Her teeth were sinking into a fucking banana.

Instead of walking through the sea of cubicles, I shot her a text.

Me: Come here. Leave the banana.

Her brows furrowed as she glanced down at her desk.

Sophie: How do you know I have a banana?

Me: Because I’m staring at you.

Her head whipped in my direction before locking eyes with me, her grin spreading across her cheeks. She pushed back from her chair and got up, left the banana behind on a napkin, and squeezed between cubicles and desk chairs as she made her way across the space.

“What’s up? You couldn’t wait until lunch to see me?” she asked, leaning against one of the structural beams that cut through the edges of the room. The happiness that sharpened her features fell as she noticed my frantic, panicked state, rounding out her face and her lips popping open. “What’s wrong?”

“Some discount TMZ got ahold of a photo of us,” I said, my voice far shakier than I thought it would be as I flipped my phone around to show her. “I don’t know how, or why it took this long for something to come out. I don’t even remember it being taken.”

“Oh, fuck,” she mumbled, slipping the phone from my grasp and zooming in. “I mean, AI has gotten really good. You could probably claim it was that.”

“I don’t think my parents have a fucking clue what AI is.”

“Shit, I didn’t think about that.” She zoomed in on our faces, right where his lips met my temple, the crinkle of my eye as I was lost in the excitement of it all just there on the edge of the screen. “You look really cute. Really drunk, but really cute.”

“That’s so nice to hear when I’m panicking, Sophie,” I grumbled, snatching the phone back from her.

“You don’t even know if they’ll see it.”

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