Page 39 of The Billionaire's Wife

I poured her some coffee and shoved it into her hands. "He's got some control issues. And I think we're on a first name basis now. You know, since we're married and all."

"Yeah. Which reminds me, you might not want to go on the internet today."

I blinked. "What?" I hadn't even thought to check my email yet. My phone was almost out of battery life and I'd left my charger in my apartment, which was way out of reach now. I'd had to turn it on and write down Sadie's number and call her from the landline—Landline! How quaint!—in the living room.

"You're all over it." She sat down at the kitchen table—a gorgeous wrought iron and glass affair—and sipped her coffee. I stood in the middle of the kitchen and stared at her.

"What?" I said again.

"Don't worry," she told me. "I hacked into your Facebook account and made it private, and then I sent a really flattering photo of you to a couple of celebrity gossip blogs."

My mind was blown. "What?" I said a third time. "I mean... What?"

Sadie gave me an irritated look. "Well, I didn't want anyone getting their hands on that photo of you where you're on the beach and wearing your wet swimsuit under your jeans and it looks like you've wet yourself."

"Yeah..." I said slowly. "And you don't think you'd be a good personal assistant... why?"

"I didn't say I wouldn't be a good one," she said. "I'd be great. But I don't come cheap."

I groaned. "Anyway. I don't want to talk about the internet."

"That's probably a good thing."

I bit my lip and sat down across from her. "How bad is it?"

"It's great," she told me. "Just a bunch of celeb gossip sites talking about the marriage of the worlds hottest, most eligible billionaire to some no-name girl. Men think you're hot, and women hate you."

"What about gay men?"

"I think Perez Hilton likes your hair."

I stared out at the garden from the faceted glass of the window. "Well, that's something, right?"

"You'd better look fabulous the next time you leave this house," Sadie told me, "but other than that, yeah, that's not bad."

I took a deep breath. "Okay. Right. Not that bad."

She took another sip of her coffee. "Now, what's this about you trying to find out what makes him tick?" she asked me. "I thought you just wanted to marry him for his money."

"He won't tell me why he wanted an arranged marriage," I said. "I mean, he kind of did, but it can't be the whole story."

"So why?"

"He says it was the best way to get a companion."

Sadie barked a laugh. "He should get a dog."

I nodded. "He should get a dog. He likes dogs. I read that in one of his interviews. But you can't fuck a dog."

"Weeeell..." Sadie said.

"Ew!" If we'd been back at my apartment, I would have thrown a pillow at her, coffee or no coffee. But we were in Anton's immaculate house. And I didn't have a pillow. "Don't be gross."

"I'm just saying. You said he had control issues. Sit. Down. Stay. Seems like it'd be perfect for him."

I shot her a glare. "Don't ever tell anyone I said that."

"Relax." Sadie gave me a smirk. "You pay me well for my silence. And my expertise in the field of Felicia Studies, which I will be charging extra for."

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