Page 5 of If You Give a Billionaire a Bride

An idea strikes me, and I decide to run with it, fully committed to this ludicrous, yet oddly inevitable agreement.

“Yeah, sure.” She nods, grabbing her bag from the other side of the blanket. She pulls out a black ballpoint pen and hands it to me.

“Thanks.” I take a napkin from the pile that came with our food order, set it on the discarded fry box, and hunch over to write.

“What are you doing?” Everly cranes her neck to get a better view.

“You’ll see.” I cover the napkin with my hand so she can’t see what I’m writing.

Midway through, I look up to find her gaze locked on mine. It’s as if time stands still and we’re the only two people in the universe sharing a connection deeper than words. A silent agreement, connecting us in the moment.

She’s the first to look away, and I quickly return my attention to the note.

“There, that should do it,” I announce triumphantly when I’ve finished.

“I don’t know if a napkin would hold up in court.” Everly giggles when I hold it out for her to read.

Cash Stafford & Everly Townstead promise to marry each other if they’re both single when they turn thirty. This agreement is legally binding.

“Well, we better sign it then.” I scribble my name at the bottom and pass it to her along with the pen.

She uses her book as a hard surface beneath the napkin, sticking the tip of her tongue out in concentration as she signs her name neatly next to mine. I’m mesmerized by the details of her heart-shaped face, the smattering of freckles across her nose, her long eyelashes still damp with tears.

What was Jacob thinking, letting her go? She’s so damn beautiful.

And off-limits, I remind myself. Theo has made that crystal clear.

“There, all done,” Everly declares with her signature smile.

Someday a lucky son of a bitch will give Everly everything she deserves—but it won’t be me. The consolation prize is knowing that I did something today to ease her heartache, even if just a little, and her smile makes it well worth the effort.

1

EVERLY

FOURTEEN YEARS LATER

I SWIRL THE TOOTHPICK INmy cocktail, frowning at the lone green olive floating in the watered-down vodka and vermouth. With a resigned sigh, I pluck the olive from the glass and pop it into my mouth, the briny taste doing little to improve my mood.

I expected to be served a top-shelf liquor and a more generous garnish, considering the exorbitant cost of a drink. But I suppose that’s the price you pay for hiding out in a hotel bar on the Strip.

If my father were here, he would demand a refund and bring every bartender and server in the place to tears on his way outthe door. He’s a ruthless businessman, willing to do whatever it takes to come out on top, even at the expense of those closest to him.

My phone buzzes, interrupting my pity party for one. A small smile tugs at my lips when I see who’s calling.

“Hey, August,” I answer.

“Aren’t you supposed to be schmoozing with clients right now?” he asks with a hint of amusement.

“Aren’tyousupposed to be in bed? It’s past midnight in London,” I quip.

He chuckles. “It’s the weekend. I just left the club, and was hoping my call would go straight to voicemail so I could leave you a message about how lucky I am that Dick sent you to Vegas instead of me.”

My lips curve into a sly grin at his comment. My father’s name is Richard, but August has a bad habit of calling him Dick, especially when he’s in one of his moods, which is almost always. It would be a disaster if August ever slipped up and called him that to his face. Thank god my dad moved back to New York a few years ago and spends most of his time in the States, so we don’t have to see him in person very often.

“My last meeting ended early, so I stopped by the hotel bar for a quick drink.” I frown at my unimpressive cocktail. “At least I stuck around until the end. If I remember correctly, you skipped out a full day early the last time my dad sent you to meet with a client.”

“What did he expect, sending me to Louisiana during Mardi Gras? My clients wanted to party, and who was I to deny them? I closed the deal, so he has nothing to complain about,” he grumbles. “You’re the responsible one, which is why he sent you this time.”

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