Page 29 of Billionaire's Accidental Marriage
He sat me back down onto the edge of his bed. “Like I said, I really think you should take the morning to yourself, and then you can come by after lunch to help break down.”
And as much as I hated to admit it, he was right. “Okay, but there are a few things you need to know before going.”
“Do you have any of these things written down somewhere?”
I paused. “Actually, yes. My clipboard. Find my clipboard and take it with you. I jotted down some notes from yesterday on how to generally improve things for the few hours you’ll be open today. Try to correct them before a crowd starts coming.”
He kissed my temple. “Done and done.”
“A-a-and make sure to pay the magistrate a little something. I know he’s taking donations and stuff, but I also want to give him something for just standing there all of this time and helping us.”
“Don’t worry, I already have something planned.”
I held up my finger. “Oh! Also, one of the parking lots needs to be—”
He peered over his shoulder. “Maggie?”
“Yeah?”
“Is all of this on your clipboard?”
I swallowed hard. “Yeah.”
He winked at me. “Then, I’ve got it. I promise.”
It was torture watching him go to work without me, but when he left me alone in our Vegas penthouse, I actually breathed a sigh of relief. It had been a very long time since I had been instructed to take some time to myself, so I started with the hottest shower I could stand. I made use of all the luxurious “hair and face condiments” the hotel staff had left behind for us to use, and after I was done, I wrapped myself up in the softest robe I’d ever felt that was hanging up behind the bathroom door. Then, I flopped my ass down onto the couch with the breakfast food I had yet to eat and turned on the television.
For a while, I found a channel withThree’s Companyreruns, and I settled in for a leisurely morning. However, that easiness didn’t last for long. During one of the commercial breaks, I started scrolling through channels like an absolute idiot. And instead of pausing on the Home Shopping Network or one of the many channels boasting reruns of crime television shows, I happened upon a “Breaking News” report. My face was plastered all over it.
“It seems as if love is in the air in Vegas this year. Over forty couples have reportedly tied the knot at one of Michael Gainsley’s infamous events. But this time? Mr. Gainsley is the groom!”
My jaw slowly dropped open as pictures of the two of us holding hands in front of the magistrate scrolled through like someone’s phone reel on the television. The reporter’s voice faded into the background as I studied the images, watching as snippets of camera phone videos rolled for the entire country to witness. I felt sick to my stomach as I turned off the television, unable to relax any longer. But, when my phone started vibrating off the charts on the other side of the couch, I wanted to vomit all over myself.
“This can’t be happening,” I whispered as I reached for my cell.
It didn’t take a long time to figure out why the hell my phone was vibrating like a sex toy, either. The new trending hashtag on Twitter was “#MikeAndMag,” and I had friends from all sorts of walks in my life sending me everything from congratulatory messages to words of warning all the way down to blog articles that detailed every step of the “marriage ceremony” people thought they had witnessed.
“Jesus,” I said breathlessly.
Then, a text that came through from Margo caught my eye and caused me to turn on the television again. And when I did, tears rushed to my eyes as I stood to my feet.
“Mr. Gainsley! How do you feel now that you’re no longer Florida’s most eligible bachelor?”
“Mr. Gainsley! Where’s your newly-wedded wife? Did you wear her out last night?”
“Mr. Gainsley! Are you two planning a romantic honeymoon somewhere?”
“Mr. Gainsley! Is your wife really happy with a split-second wedding when you have all of this money to give her something proper?”
I watched as Michael ignored their questions. I watched as he talked about his small-town event instead of answering the lewd and crass bullshit they threw his way. But, one particular reporter crawled underneath his skin and asked the one question I knew would catch his attention—because it certainly caught mine.
“Mr. Gainsley, do you believe you’re taking advantage of someone during their time of grief since her father died less than three months ago? Do you think that your being friends with her father played a role in why your wife married you?”
I held my breath as Mike’s eyes grew angry. “Take a breath for me, handsome. Don’t make this worse.”
And as if he had heard my pleas, I watched his chest rise with the intake of a massive breath before he cleared his throat.
“What my wife and I do behind closed doors—or with our personal lives—is no one’s business but ours. Her father’s death has been hard on every single one of us, and it’s still hard. So, if you could keep your prying questions to yourself and give her the respect she deserves, I’d enjoy that. You can take shots at me all day if you wish, but you leave Maggie out of this unless you want your passes for the event taken away. Understood?”
