Accidentally Yours

When Shay lost her father at 16 years old she became the sole provider for her mother and brother. This meant giving up on her dreams of becoming an architect and working day and night to help support her mother. After many unsuccessful job interviews, Shay lands a job as the executive assistant to the CEO of one of the world's most renowned architectural firms in the world. Just when she believes her life is on the right track she meets a mysterious stranger while she's out celebrating her new job with her two best friends. One night passion led Shay down a path she never expected. Waking up next to the handsome stranger, in Las Vegas with a hangover from hell, a diamond engagement ring on her finger and a marriage certificate with her name scrawled next to another...Tristan Hoult. (Accidentally Yours: 151 Chapters & The sequel Love Me Again: 131 Chapters) Chapter 1 Shayla Authors note: This book was previously titled, 'The Accidental Wife' as the author and the rightful owner of this book I have made the decision to change the title to Accidentally Yours. The story in its entirety remains the same and the only changes will be the cover and the title of the book. Thank you! Happy reading. **** “MISS HART?” I blink and lift my gaze to the older man sitting in front of me, staring at me, patiently waiting for me to answer his question. I study his appearance, grey hair, but not completely white. He has streaks of a darker shade running through the strands—his eyes a startling green, cool and glorious. For an older gentleman, he was handsome. He’s sporting stubble of a greying beard. He is a silver fox in every sense of the word. I shift in my seat and cross my legs, sitting upright, hopeful this will give him the impression that I am confident and accomplished. “I believe my greatest quality is that I’m headstrong. While some may consider this a flaw, it just means I never give up. However difficult the task at hand may be. Once I put my mind to something, I won’t stop until I achieve it.” I say confidently, looking him directly in the eyes. He nods slowly, holding my gaze for a beat before he leans forward, and his full lips quirk ever so slightly. “I like that answer. All I have heard all day is that they are confident, ambitious, and trustworthy.” He says and leans back in his chair, dropping his pen on his desk. “I like you, Miss Hart. Are you able to start Monday?” I resist the urge to squeal and press my lips together. I smile politely. You can freak out when you leave Shay. Keep it together! “Yes, sir.” “Excellent. Come in on Monday morning at nine o’clock sharp, and Heather will show you around and get you on the system.” He says, rising from his chair and holding out his hand. I stand and take his offered hand, squeezing it gently. “Thank you so much. I appreciate this opportunity, Mr Hoult.” I tell him, picking up my handbag. He escorts me to the glass door to his office. “Welcome to the team, Miss Hart.” I smile up at him politely, thank him and leave his office. Once outside, I heave a sigh of relief. I got the job. I will be working for one of the most prestigious architectural firms in the world. Granted, as an executive assistant to the CEO, but still. I will work my arse off, learn everything I can from him, and finish my degree. One day, I can show them I have the talent and skill to be an architect at one of their firms. After a crappy couple of months, things are finally starting to look up for me. Having to drop out of university, unable to afford the tuition fees and provide for my brother and mother has been challenging. I had to put my career on the back burner and take care of my family. We lost my father to a traffic accident eleven years ago now, just after my sixteenth birthday, and I have been the sole provider for them since. I have an older brother, Sam, but he’s unable to hold down a job for longer than a couple of months due to his ADHD and anger management. He does try, but he’s unable to concentrate for long, which often results in poor performance. My mother hasn’t left the house since my father died. He was the love of her life, and when we lost him, we lost a massive part of my mother too. She’s terrified to leave the house and hasn’t been able to face the world without him. I have a good feeling. My life is finally about to get a little easier. I rush up the stairs to the apartment that I share with my two best friends Jo Sinclair and Aimee O’Connor. They’re my lifeline, and I’m so happy I have them in my life. The moment I slide the key into the lock, the door is practically ripped open, and they both stand there, hair in messy buns on top of their heads, both in oversized sweatshirts staring at me expectantly with wide eyes. “Well?” They say in unison. “What?” I question, looking between them. I know they’ve been dying to find out how my interview went if the fifteen voicemails and fifty texts I got earlier was any indication. “Bitch, how did the interview go?” Aimee utters after she swallows her mouthful of lucky charms. “It went well,” I reply, trying to walk in, but they both block my way. “More…” Jo drawls, narrowing her honey-coloured orbs at me in scrutiny. I huff and shrug my shoulders. “Well, he seemed interested, but there were so many more suitable applicants there with more experience, so…” I watch as both their faces fall, and I fight the urge to smile. “Oh, well, it’s their loss because you’re amazing, bish,” Jo says, wrap- ping an arm around my shoulder and guiding me into our apartment. “Something else will come up. I know it.” She adds positively, like the good friend she is. I look around our cosy apartment. Three decent sized bedrooms. An open plan lounge, with a small kitchen to the left, and a decent-sized bathroom with a walk-in shower. Our apartment, conveniently based in the city of London, isn’t flashy by any means, but near enough everywhere was ten-fifteen minutes away by train. I loved it, and I love living with my girls. If I didn’t get this job, I would have had to move back home with my mother and brother, and I didn’t want that. They are the only family I have. My parents brought me up in a strict household. They were very proud people, they valued traditions, respect, and culture above anything else, and they instilled those qualities into Sammy and me growing up. “Yeah. I guess you won’t have to find another tenant to move into my room after all.” I tell them as I take my jacket off and drop it on the sofa. “Don’t talk like that. Something will come—wait, did you say won’t have to?” Aimee mumbles, setting her bowl down. I smile, and their eyes go wide like saucers. “You got it. You got—YOU GOT THE JOB?!” I nod, they both scream and launch themselves at me, and we all tumble onto the sofa in a heap of arms and legs. “I got the job! You’re stuck with me bitches!” I laugh when they both poke my sides tickling me until I’m crying with laughter. Jo hops up onto her feet, “We’re going out tonight to celebrate. I don’t want to hear excuses. We’re going!” She says, running down the corridor toward her bedroom with her sock-clad feet sliding along the wooden floor. Aimee follows her, and I stay lying on the sofa, staring up at the plain white ceiling. The knot I have had in my stomach for months finally vanished. “Bish, get your juicy arse off that sofa. We’re going to get smashed!” I hear Jo call out from her bedroom. Laughing, I get up from the sofa and come face to face with Aimee, who steps out of her bedroom. We both look at the bathroom door and back at each other before we make a run to it. I bump Aimee out of my way with my hip before I slide into the bathroom and close the door swiftly. I laugh when I hear her curse on the other side of the door. “Every fucking time!” “I do have longer legs than you, Aimes.” I tease while I strip off for the shower. “Yes, and I hate you for it. Hurry up, and don’t forget to shave your hooch. You never know what the night might bring.” She sniggers, and I roll my eyes and grin as I step in the shower. “It’s about time you dust off those cobwebs and get some action, girl.” “You know damn well that my hooch is waxed clean, and I’m quite content with my ‘cobwebs’ thank you very much.” I pick up an empty shampoo bottle and throw it against the door when I hear her cackling on the other side. “Get lost. Let me shower in peace.” Many hours and too many bottles of prosecco later, we roll into a bar called ‘Luxe’ in central London. The girls forced me into wearing a red mini dress that hugs my natural curves nicely. My long dark hair curled loosely and left out. Jo and Aimee were also in dresses. Aimee chose a silver sequin dress that showed off her natural d-cup breasts, while Jo was in a strapless white bodycon dress. The atmosphere was something else, music playing at a loud volume, the bass of the song playing was vibrating through my entire body. We head over to the bar and order a round of tequila shots, and then another, followed by four more rounds of pornstar martinis. Jo kept her promise of getting us smashed for sure. While I’m dancing with Jo, my eyes catch a pair of attractive yet startlingly vivid green eyes watching me. Damn. He is the most beautiful man I have ever seen. His gaze on me is intense while he sips the amber liquid in his glass. He and his friends have girls swarming around them. I see a leggy blonde sitting beside him lean over and whisper something in his ear, his eyes narrow however they were still on me. Tearing my eyes away from his, I turn and continue dancing with Jo. Aimee comes over to us with three shots of green apple sours. “Drink up, Bish!” We clink our glasses and take the shots. I wince when the liquid burns my insides. ‘Despacito’ starts thundering through the speakers. I’m laughing hard at Jo whispering something in my ear when I back up against something warm and firm. Jo’s eyes go wide when she sees whoever it is behind me. I give her a wary look, and she presses her lips together and smiles, backing away. Chapter 2 “Dance with me.” I hear a deep voice purr in my ear. I look back and see the guy that was watching me from the VIP section. My god, he’s even more beautiful up close, and his eyes are so green, clever and curious, glittering like two emeralds, like every hue of the forest. Their brightness reminds me of summertime. I turn and face him, craning my neck to look up at him. He’s tall, well over six-foot, light brown hair, cut short on the sides and longer on the top, styled perfectly. My fingers itch to reach out and touch it to see if it’s as soft as it seems. His features are strong, chiselled, and so very masculine. “Was that a demand or a request?” I reply, narrowing my eyes at him. His soft, full lips curl up into a smirk. He licks his lips slowly, “Whichever one gets you to dance with me.” He drawls confidently. Someone tries to pass by him, so he takes a step closer to me. I lift my eyes and smile at the handsome stranger whose strong arms lock around my waist, drawing me against him. We sway together to the music. His movement matches mine, and we move together smoothly. He can dance. I like that. He bows his head, and his lips brush against the shell of my ear as he speaks lowly, and I visibly quiver at the roguish tone of his voice. “What’s your name, sweetheart?” “Shayla. Yours?” I ask, and I could swear a look of surprise flashes across his handsome face before he grins sexily, and two deep dimples form on his cheeks making me swoon. He has dimples! Two of them! “Cole.” I smile up at him, and he drags his tongue along his bottom lip and squints his eyes a little while he looks over my face. We dance together, heatedly, for a while. Grinding, hands exploring. The heat between us is immense, the way his hands wander over my body, squeezing, caressing. Everything else fizzles away like it’s just the two of us. His eyes staring into mine fixedly. “Hungry?” I laugh and nod, “Starving.” He smiles and brushes a strand of my hair stuck to my sweaty face and tucks it delicately behind my ear. “How about we go someplace and get something to eat?” I nod without hesitation, and he grins, taking my hand in his larger one, he pulls me through the crowd of people. I manage to catch Jo on my way out and gesture to her that I was leaving. She waves me off with a thumbs up. The girl is more smashed than I am. We finally walk outside, and my head spins when fresh air hits me. Cole wraps his arm around my waist, steadying me. I follow him as we both stumble toward a silver Rolls Royce Phantom. The driver, an older gentleman, opens the door, and Cole places his hand on the small of my back and guides me in. I sink into the plush white leather seats once I slide over as Cole gets in beside me. “Wow. This car is bigger than my apartment.” I state with a drunken giggle as Cole pours us two glasses of champagne. “What’s your stance on sushi? I know a great place.” I blink up at him, and he smiles at me charmingly. “Sushi?” I wrinkle my nose in distaste. “Who in their right mind eats sushi when they’re drunk?” Cole laughs heartily. “Listen, I love sushi as much as the next person, but I’m not one of those girls who eat pretentious crap like caviar and sips Cristal. I can’t think of anything worse, especially right now.” I lean over and tap the driver on his shoulder. He glances back at me through his rear-view mirror. “Take us to Old Street, please, good sir.” He chuckles and nods his head. “Yes, ma’am.” I giggle, “Ma’am?” What am I fifty? Cole tugs me back and shifts so he could face me properly. “What’s in Old Street?” I grin at him impishly and finish off my drink. “The best food ever! No offence, but you strike me as one of those stuffy rich kids that think a good night out is sipping on Don Perignon and chewing on fish babies. I’m going to show you a night you’ll remember when you’re sitting in your rocking chair at eighty years old, Mr Cole.” Cole chuckles and bites his lip, his green eyes alight with glee. “Oh? And will you be sitting beside me in that rocking chair?” He drawls, brushing his thumb along my jaw. “That depends...” I whisper, smiling as he runs his fingers through my hair. “On what?” He whispers back, his eyes flickering down to my lips before they meet mine again. “You’ll have to marry me to find out.” I tease, and he laughs before he draws my lips to his and kisses me softly. I moan when his tongue runs along my bottom lip silently requesting access, which I joyfully grant him; parting my lips, he seeks out my tongue and expertly deepens the kiss. If my mind was hazy before, it’s turned to complete mush after his kiss. As far as first kisses go, this makes the top of my list. We spent the better half of the car journey kissing until his driver alerted us that we had arrived at our destination. “What is this place?” He asks as I pull him to the entrance of ‘The Breakfast Bar.’ “Oh, you poor, poor child. You haven’t lived until you’ve had their pancakes.” I say as we sit down, and he looks at the menu. I pluck the menu out of his hands, and he looks at me bemused. “You don’t need that,” I tell him, and he smiles and shakes his head. “We’ll have the sharers stack of pancakes, please, and two salted caramel lattes,” I order, and the girl smiles before taking the menus and disappearing. Twenty minutes later, Cole licks his fork clean and slumps back in his chair with a delightful groan. “My god, that was heaven on a plate.” I nod triumphally, chewing on my last bite of pancakes. “Mm, I know, right.” I moan, licking the cream off my finger. “You can thank me later,” I say with a wink, and Cole grins, reaching over and taking my right hand in his, gazing into my eyes for a long moment. “You are the polar opposite to what I’m used to, but I don’t remember having this much fun with someone I just met. Ever.” He affirms, stroking his fingers over my knuckles gently. I feel my cheeks burn under his gaze and avert my eyes to my cup of coffee. The rest of the night went by in a blur. We had a couple more cocktails with shots before we somehow wound up on a private airstrip. We clamber out of a private jet, laughing hard. We’d been playing a drinking game the entire flight, which wasn’t a good idea. “Vegas, baby!” I slur, throwing my hands up in the air and almost toppling over. I look around the dark airstrip and pout. “Wait. There’s no chapel here?” I hear Cole laugh behind me before he wraps his arm around my neck from behind and kisses my cheek. “We can’t land in the middle of the Vegas strip, sweetheart,” He murmurs drunkenly. “We need to drive there.” I giggle, “Hokay! Driver! Take us to Evlis to be wed.” I slur drunkenly. Cole and I stumble into the back of the black limo, and we head to the Las Vegas strip. I think we gambled for a while, drank delicious cocktails, and the last thing I remember was Cole carrying me out of a chapel, kissing like two lust- crazed adolescents. Many hours later, I stir in my sleep with the blinding sunlight shining in my face. I groan and roll over, burying my face in the plush pillows. “Mm so soft,” I snuggle into the pillows further until I suddenly remember I don’t have plush soft pillows. My pillow is hard and lumpy. I peel my eyes open and groan at the sudden ache in my head. Ow, water…I need water and possibly a new brain. I force my eyes open and blink, looking up to the ceiling, I frown when I see a reflection of myself staring back at me in the bed, naked, wrapped in the sheets. What on God’s green earth… I sit up in the bed, and when I take in my surroundings it finally hits me. I’m not in my bedroom. I’m naked in a strange place with a hangover I’m sure is about to put me into an early grave. I lift the bedsheet and stare down at my very naked body under it. Yep, definitely naked. I groan and cover my face with my hand, freezing when I feel something cold and hard pressed against my nose. I pull my hand back slowly and stare at the enormous diamond ring sitting on my finger. What the fuck… I wrap the sheet around my body as I clamber out of bed and take in the clothes scattered haphazardly all over the room. My heads whirls. “Oh my god, where the hell am I?” I pick up the black shirt off the floor and look at it before dropping it again. I walk over to the window and look out at the view, shielding my eyes from the brightness of the early sun. “This isn’t London.” “Good morning,” I squeal and spin around when I hear a deep voice behind me. I look at the half-naked man standing before me in a pair of Dior boxers. I wrap the sheet around me tighter as I throw myself back up against the window. “You’re finally up.” “Oh, good God.” I mutter stunned, and he winces, rubbing his forehead gingerly. He looks as rough as I feel, although a very beautiful man. Amidst my mini panic attack, I try desperately not to think about how God awful I must look to him right now. My hair is a tousled mess, and my make up from the night before is smeared, eyes rimmed red, lips still tinted red from the lipstick I wore. “Actually, it’s just Cole.” “Cole. Where the hell are we?” “Vegas, I believe...” Chapter 3 Cole Oh, sweet Jesus. The ache in my head rouses me from my very peaceful slumber: that and the distinct smell of coconut and passionfruit. I shift to roll onto my side and frown when I feel a heaviness on my chest. I force my eyes open and wince from the sheer brightness of the sun beaming on my face. I glance down at the head of silky brown hair and get another waft of the coconut, passionfruit concoction. It’s her. I shift my head to the side and study the face of the girl currently sprawled across my chest. Not bad. I’ve woken up with worse. Her lips soft and pink, long dark lashes, perfectly shaped eyebrows. What the hell happened last night? I can’t remember a damn thing. Who is this girl? I peel her arm away from my chest gently, detangle our legs, and she moans as I roll her off me, and she snuggles into the pillow with a sigh. I let my eyes wander over her naked body, half wrapped in the sheets while she’s sprawled out on her front, her long dark hair splayed out on the pillow. I take a closer look at her face and frown. Nope, don’t remember a fucking thing. Complete blackout. I look around the room. Our clothes littered haphazardly on the marble floor. Where the fuck are we? I pull my boxers on and walk over to the window. Why does the view look so familiar? Wait. Am I in fucking Vegas? I rub my hands over my face and look at the scenery ahead once again. Oh yeah, I'm in Vegas all right. I pick up my jeans off the floor and stuff my hands in the pockets hoping I’ll find some clue of what the hell went down. I pull out a piece of paper from my back pocket along with my passport and unfold it. It’s damp— come to think of it, so are my jeans. ‘Marriage Certificate.’ I stare at the words blankly for a long moment. No fucking way. I did not go and get married to a random girl. I read the rest of the document and curse. Oh fuck. ‘Marriage of Tristan Cole Hoult and Shayla Hart.’ If the certificate wasn’t enough proof, I had a gold wedding band on my finger. I lean closer and look at the girl in the bed, and she’s also wearing a diamond ring on her finger. We got married. We flew to Vegas and got married. “Fuck.” I find my phone on the table by the bed and walk out of the room. I have to call my lawyer. I’m hoping— no praying this marriage isn't legal. “Mr Hoult?” Franc—my lawyer's sleepy voice came from the other end. Of course, the time difference, it’s probably early hours there. "Everything okay?" “Franc, apologies for waking you. Is marriage in Vegas legally binding?” “Do you have a marriage certificate?” He responds. I snap a photo of the certificate and send it to him. “I have something that looks like a marriage certificate. I’ve just sent you a photo. Take a look.” I hear him fumble with his phone on the other end. “Well, yes, that's a formal document, so it’s legal, Mr Hoult.” He tells me and my heart sinks to the pit of my stomach. I stare at the certificate in my hand and sigh. “Jesus Christ. I can't remember a damn thing after we left the club. It's completely blank. Surely there's a legal loophole to get me out of this? Please find it.” “I’ll look into it. We’ll get the marriage annulled on the grounds of you both being intoxicated.” He says, and I nod pacing back and forth. “Great. Keep me updated.” I say and end the call. What the fuck were you thinking marrying a girl you don’t even know, you absolute idiot. This is so unlike me. I don’t drink this much. Ever. Hell, I don’t even go out. My life is all about work, and when I do have time to blow off some steam, I have a couple of scotch’s then leave with whatever girl catches my attention that night. No, this is reckless and irresponsible, two things I most definitely am not. I’ve never gotten so drunk that I blackout and have no memory. I turn around when I hear footsteps in the other room. I see Shayla wandering around the dining area of the penthouse, with a sheet wrapped around her body. A look of horror on her face as she tries to work out her surroundings. The first thing I notice about her was her eyes—a darker shade than my own. Almost olive green, lined with long dark lashes, not the fake kind girls wear, hers were natural. Her hair shiny and long cascading down her back in loose beach waves, albeit tousled from a night of wild sex. I come up behind her and lean against the doorframe as she looks out the floor to ceiling window. “Good Morning.” I greet, and she jumps startled, lets out a little squeak, and turns to face me. Her eyes wide and confused, they rake over my topless torso and back up to my face again. “You’re finally awake.” “Who are you?” She asks, backing up against the window. I sip my coffee and lick my lips. My head was still thumping unpleasantly and judging by the way she was rubbing her head. I’m going to assume she wasn’t feeling much better. “I’m Cole.” I introduce myself, and she blinks up at me when I walk over to her. She averts her gaze from mine and wraps her arms around herself as if to shield herself away from my prying eyes, her fingers gripping the sheet tight. “Um, where are we?” She questions glancing around the penthouse. “Vegas, I believe.” Shayla’s eyes go wide as she stares at me, unblinking for a good minute. She shakes her head and frowns deeply. “Vegas?” She intones incredulously and I nod my head in response. “What the hell are we doing in Vegas?” I shrug, “Beats me. I don’t remember a damn thing about last night. The only thing I recall was leaving the club with a girl. After that, it’s a blank. Do you remember anything?” She shakes her head, “No, I-I don’t, I don't remember a thing. I was ludicrously drunk. I don’t even recall meeting you.” She explains chewing on her lip nervously. She drops her gaze from mine and brushes her slender fingers through her soft hair. “Um, why am I wearing a ring?” I rub the back of my neck, and I hold up my hand and show her the wedding band on my finger. Her face falls. She looks down at the ring on her finger and then up at me again. “No, tell me we didn’t. Did we get married?" I nod and she blanches. "How the hell did this happen? How did we go from a club in London to getting married in Las Vegas?!” I groan when an ache shoots through my skull at the volume of her tone. “Fuck, dial down the volume sweetheart; my brain is about to fall through my arse.” I sigh, rubbing my temples. “Honestly, I don’t know how this happened or how we would up here, okay? I didn’t exactly plan to get in a drunken stupor and marry some stranger I met in a club.” Shayla scowls at me, “Oh, well, it's a good thing you didn't. Imagine what would have happened if you did! Also, you’re not exactly my type.” It was my turn to glare at her. Is this girl for real? She doesn’t have any idea who I am. I’ve not met a girl whose type I’ve not been. “Oh, is that right? I sure as hell seemed like your type last night.” I point out and her eyes narrow to slits, and she takes a step toward me. Chapter 4 “Wait. You said you didn’t remember anything.” She says, pointing a finger in my face. I look at her finger and back at her again and roll my eyes. “I don’t. But the state of the room, when I woke up this morning, was a very clear indication of a good night,” I take a step closer to her, and she cranes her neck to look up at me. “There was a trail of clothes from the door to the bed, which means we were too engrossed in our passion to give a damn about who was whom's type,” I state matter-of-factly and wink at her. “Not to mention you’re sporting my signature ‘fucked out’ look.” Shayla’s green eyes grow wide, she huffs and takes a big step back putting some space between us. Raking her fingers through her hair, clearly frustrated. “Wow. I’m not even going to dignify that remark with a response.” She stops pacing and looks at me again. “What are we going to do? Is this marriage even legal?” “I’m afraid so.” Her shoulders slump, and she shakes her head. “How? How did they even marry us while we were drunk? This makes no sense. Don't you need to apply for a marriage licence or something?” She questions, glaring at me. I shrug and set my cup of coffee down and take the marriage certificate off the table. “That's the magic of this city. Anything can happen in Vegas. Here, I found this in my pocket this morning.” She takes the paper from me and unfolds it. “What is this?” “Our marriage certificate. Signed by us both, haphazardly.” I tell her, and she reads through the document before she looks at me. “Oh my God, we’re actually married.” She mumbles, leaning against the dining table. I sigh and rub the back of my neck awkwardly. She looks upset, just staring at the floor and I don’t do well with consoling girls who are upset. I get uncomfortable and clam up. “Hey, look, it’s not the end of the world. I'm sure we're not the first couple to drunkenly get married in Vegas. We’ll get an annulment and we’ll go on with our lives like it never happened.” I tell her, and she lifts her gaze to look at me, and I swear the sadness in her eyes sent a tremor through me. She nods eventually and straightens, “Yeah, I suppose you’re right,” She sighs and looks around the room in bewilderment, then frowns a little, scratching her head awkwardly. “Uh,” She chews her bottom lip a little. “I can’t find my dress…” I let my eyes roam around the room. “I also need to figure out how the hell I’m going to get back home. ” “Oh, I’ve sorted that. Our flight to London leaves in two hours.” I inform her, and she nods. “I’ve also arranged some clothes to be delivered for both of us. You look about a size ten. Coffee?” I ask, she stares at me, her mouth agape and nods before she sits on a chair at the dining table. I pour her a black coffee and set it down on the table in front of her. She continues to stare at me, her brows knitted together. “Thank you. You didn’t have to do that. Please let me know how much I owe you, and I’ll pay you back.” She lifts the mug to her lips and takes a long sip, closes her eyes, and sighs Yeah, that first sip of coffee when you’re hungover is like heaven. I hadn’t noticed I was staring at her until she looks up at me and frowns. I shake my head and shrug. “Don’t worry about it. It’s no problem. I’m sure you’d like to shower and refreshen up. I didn’t order breakfast, because I wasn’t sure what you would like to eat.” I tell her and disappear into the bathroom. “Why don’t you go ahead and order us some room service?” I suggest, and she blinks at me and nods hesitantly. After a long, well-needed shower and a couple of business calls, Shayla and I ate breakfast to soak up the alcohol we consumed the night before. My stomach felt queasy, and the avocado toast I had helped settle it. Shayla showered and dressed in the clothes I had arranged for her. She came out of the bathroom looking refreshed in a pair of tight-fit light blue jeans, and a low-cut black tee. We left the hotel and made our way to the airport. Shayla gets out of the car as we pull up at my private jet and stares up at it. “Whoa, this is yours?” She asks as we walk over to it. “Sure is, sweetheart,” I tell her and gesture for her to walk up the steps. I honestly cannot wait to get back home. I feel rough, and I have so much work I need to catch up on. I slide into a seat on the plane and watch as Shayla wanders around. She seems apprehensive, and I find myself wondering if she’s a nervous flyer. “You plan on standing there the entire ten hours of the flight? Take a seat. I won’t bite unless you ask.” I tease, and she shakes her head mumbles something under her breath and slides into a seat next to me, staring out of the window, her fingers fumbling in her lap while she nervously chews on her bottom lip. I wish I could read her mind right now. There is something about this woman. I couldn’t put my finger on it, but she’s different compared to the women I go for usually, and this is by far the longest I have spent with any girl I’ve slept with ever. I don’t even stay the night with them. I usually leave right after we get done doing the deed. Like my best friend Josh says, ‘You fuck and duck out.’ Sounds awful, I know, but I don’t have time for relationships, between my workload and the travelling I do, there is simply no time for a girlfriend or a social life of any sort. After my last relationship of three years crashed and burned a year ago, I’ve made work my priority. I stir out of my sleep when I hear the captain's voice over the intercom. I must have fallen asleep while reading. Shayla was asleep with her head resting on my shoulder, her arm wrapped around my bicep. I can smell her shampoo again and it’s becoming my favourite smell. I brush a strand of her hair out of her face gently. She’s stunning, even without makeup. As the wheels of the plane touch down on the tarmac, Shayla jolts awake and lifts those olive eyes, and looks up at me. It takes her a moment to realise her head was resting on my shoulder and she pulls away and sits upright brushing her fingers through her hair, and she clears her throat, looking around uneasily. “How long have I been sleeping?” “A couple of hours.” She looks at me and frowns a little before leaning over and pulling her shoes on. “I’m so sorry. You should have woken me.” I smile and shake my head, watching her as she straightens her top. “Don’t sweat it. I was asleep too. We must have been more tired than we realised.” Shayla nods and rubs her neck as she walks through the plane toward the exit. “Tell me about it. It’s been a hell of a weekend. Oh god, I've got work in the morning.” She says as we make our way down the steps of the plane. She stops suddenly and looks at the car and then back at me. “Did we use this car last night?” I nod, and she blinks and looks at the car again. “We left the club in this last night.” “Huh, I remember the car but nothing else.” She replies and looks at the driver and frowns. “Actually. I remember him, too.” Gerald smiles and nods curtly at her before he opens the door for her to get in. “Evening Miss.” Shayla eyes him sceptically before she gets in the car. An hour later we pull up at the address she gave Gerald. She steps out of the car, and I follow her out and walk around the vehicle. “Well, this is me.” She says, looking up at her building and back at me again. "Thank you for getting me back home." “Don't mention it. Here, this is my card. My lawyer has already started drawing up the divorce papers. We’ll meet up in a few days, and you can sign it. Sound good?” Shayla takes my card and looks at it, she looks at me and frowns. “Tristan? I thought your name was Cole?” She questions. “It is. I prefer to be called Cole outside of work,” She nods satisfied with my answer, and tucks the card in her pocket. Wow, she genuinely doesn’t know who I am. That actually makes a nice change. “Well. I guess I’ll wait to hear from you. I will text you my number,” I nod, and we look at each other awkwardly for a moment unsure of what to say or how to act. Do we shake hands or hug? She turns to walk away but stops suddenly, takes the ring off her finger, and hands it to me. “We’ve never met before, right?” She questions looking at my face, her eyes narrowed. I shake my head and shrug. “I don’t think so. I would have definitely remembered meeting you.” I answer with a smirk, and she blinks up at me surprised, her cheeks turning pink. Oh fuck. If that isn’t the sexiest thing ever. Shayla clears her throat and nods, "Thanks again." I smile at her, “Thank you for an eventful weekend, Shayla Hart.” Shayla nods, mumbles a goodbye, and turns to walk away. “I guess I’ll be seeing you in a few days…wifey.” She stops, turns, and glares at me unamused. “Don’t call me that.” I chuckle and watch her disappear into her apartment building. What an eventful forty-two hours. Chapter 5 Shayla I jump awake when I hear my alarm chirping away on the bedside table next to me. I reach over and feel around for my phone; eyes still closed, I managed to find it and snooze the alarm. Ahh silence. Just as I’m about to doze off again, I remember it's my first day at my new job, and I jump out of bed excited. It was seven-forty-five, and I had to be there at nine o’clock. Satisfied I had enough time I drag myself to the bathroom to shower and get ready. I stare at my reflection in the mirror as I brush my teeth. Eyes bloodshot from lack of sleep and a weekend of heavy drinking had me looking like something out of the night of the living dead. After a steaming hot shower and two mugs of strong coffee, I was feeling a little better. I was trying to convince myself the fluttering around in my stomach wasn’t nerves. Why would I be nervous? I can do this job in my sleep. Ugh, butterflies explode in my stomach again at the thought of work. I was applying my mascara when my bedroom door bursts open, and Jo walks in with Aimee in tow. I jump at the intrusion and get mascara all over my eyelid ruining my eyeshadow I spent a good ten minutes blending. “Where in the seven kingdoms of HELL have you been?!” Jo hollers glaring at me, her eyes wide and hair tousled from sleep. “Shayla we were worried sick! We thought something awful happened to you!” Aimee chastises me. “Jesus Christ, you scared the bloody shit out of me. And you ruined my mascara!” I grumble annoyed, picking up a cue tip to remove the black blob on my eyelid. “Stuff the mascara! Where the fuck have you been all weekend? We thought you brought that hot guy you left with back to the apartment, but you weren’t home.” Aimee explains walking over to sit on my bed. “Then we figured maybe you went back to his, and you’d be back Saturday, but you didn’t show up, and your phone was off.” “Do you have any idea, how scared we were, that you were face down in a ditch somewhere,” Jo adds, placing her hands on her hips to illustrate her annoyance. “You should have thought about that before you let me go off with a stranger. What the hell were you thinking letting me go off with some rando?” “You seemed really into each other, and he was hot, so we thought you’d gone to get a little nookie,” Aimee says with a shrug and smirks. “Speaking of, how was the nookie? Must have been good if he didn’t let you leave all weekend.” “Oh my god!” I pick up a brush and throw it at her which she dodges skilfully, and grins quite pleased with herself. “You know why I wasn’t back Saturday. Let me tell you why— because I was in Vegas.” “Vegas?” They say in unison, and I nod. “As in Las Vegas…” “Yes! Vegas, as in Nevada, Las Vegas!” Jo looks over at Aimee, who stares at me, her mouth agape. “I can’t remember a damn thing. I was so drunk I somehow ended up on a private jet flying to the fucking states.” “With that guy?” Jo questions, a dumbfounded look on her face. “Yes, with that guy,” I say, pulling my lacy black top on. “That’s not even the worst part, oh no, it gets better. We got married by Elvis. Like legally married.” Silence. They gape at me. “You…you got married?” Jo sputters, shaking her head. I nod and apply my lipstick. “So, wait, let see if I got this right. You met a hot guy at a club, who flew you in his private jet to Las Vegas and married you?” I nod, and she chuckles in response and scratches her nose. “Tell me you at least putout?” “Aimee!” I exclaim, rolling my eyes and hurl a bottle of primer at her; she falls on the bed and laughs heartily. “Shayla. Who is this guy?” Jo asks, and I shrug. I pick up his card from the table and hand it to her. “I don’t know who he is. All I know is his name, Tristan Cole something.” Jo stares at the card, and her eyes grow wide. “Oh, my God. Shayla…” Jo gasps, staring at the card in her hand and looks at me. “Tristan Cole Hoult! That’s who you’re married to?” “No fucking way!” Aimee howls, jumping to her feet and snatches the card from Jo. “I knew I recognised him! Oh my god. Shay, do you have any idea who this guy is?” I shrug and shake my head, staring at the both of them in bemusement. “No, am I supposed to?” “Um, yes!” They both shout together startling me. “You of all people should know, Shayla! He’s a renowned architect and the man is also a billionaire! He’s the hottest and most sought after CEO in the country. Look, this is him, right?” She shows me a photo on her phone, and I nod. I frown and look between them. My head was starting to hurt again. That’s why he looked familiar to me. I’ve seen him in magazines. Oh shit. “Yes, that’s him.” “Oh my god, you lucky bitch!” Aimee hops up on my bed. “Not only did you sleep with him, but you’re also married to a billionaire, Shayla!” I roll my eyes and pick up my jacket. “I can’t believe it.” “Jesus. I can’t deal with you two. I have to go to work. I don’t want to be late on my first day.” “Don’t go. You’re rich now.” Aimee sings jumping on my bed and dancing. “Aimee, get the hell off my bed! I just made it up.” I grab her leg; pull it, and she tumbles over and rolls off the bed. “Ouch. I think you broke my arse.” She pouts, rubbing her behind gingerly. “I have to go. I’m already running late. Fix my damn bed.” I say throwing my pillow at her head and walking out of the bedroom. “Yes, Mrs Hoult,” Aimee calls out and giggles when I flip her off as I walk to the front door. I can’t even think about the whole Cole fiasco right now. My head was a scrambled mess, and I’m pretty sure I'm still a little drunk. I need to focus on my career if I ever want to make it as an architect. I can barely remember how to spell my name at the moment. I am never drinking again. I make it to work with five minutes to spare. Please don’t ask me how fast I was driving to make it on time because I’m expecting a fair few speeding tickets in the post. “Shayla.” I spin when I hear my name, and see the girl that greeted me the last time I came in. Heather, I think her name was. “I’m Heather. If you’re ready, let me show you around first and then we can go through Mr Hoult’s schedule for the day.” “Yes, of course. Sounds good.” I follow her through the glass doors, and we walk through an open plan office with several fancy cubicles, high-tech computers with two monitors that are for drawing your designs. “So, this is your desk, and you already know where Mr Hoult’s office is.” I nod, smiling, my eyes taking in the office, as she continues to go on and on about his schedule. “He’s very peculiar and likes things a certain way. For example, he has his coffee black, with skimmed milk on the side, ready on his desk at seven-forty-five. He has a sesame bagel with smoked salmon, and fat-free cream cheese at eight o’clock every morning, religiously.” “Got it.” “Excellent. A little helpful advice, he works a lot, like around the clock. So, he’s often quite grumpy because he’s tired. If you see him loosening his tie, and rub his temples, it means he’s angry steer clear unless he calls for you. If he does— do not speak. I found nodding helps. Do not enter his office without knocking; wait for him to gesture you in. Understand?” I look over at the empty office and gulp. Oh boy, this man sounds like a real headcase. It sure is going to be a hoot working for him. I follow Heather back to the open office. “Well, I think you’ve pretty much got the gist of the job. I’m sure you two will get along great. He should be out of his meeting shortly, and we can head over and introduce you to him.” Heather explains as we walk over to the kitchen area where the coffee machines and fridges stocked up with drinks and shelves stocked with snacks. At least they look after their employees. I was enjoying my caramel latte and people watching when Heather came bouncing along. “He is out of his meeting. Let’s go and get you acquainted.” I nod and follow her through the office toward the CEO’s office. I was real baffled every time she said the words ‘introduce you’ like I hadn’t met him at the interview. Maybe she forgot. We walk into the office I had my interview with the silver fox. The painting on the wall caught my eye, and I was admiring it when I just about noticed Heather say my name. “Mr Hoult, this your new executive assistant, Shayla.” I spin and look at him. Our eyes meet first. I let my gaze wander the length of him, and my heart sinks to the pit of my stomach. “You.” Chapter 6 “You?” I shake my head and look over at Heather and back at the six-foot-something man standing in front of me. “No. No, my boss was an older guy, you’re-” Cole nods slowly. “You must have met my Father. Tony Hoult. He was interviewing for me whilst I was out of town on business.” I stare at Cole and curse the fate that keeps screwing with me. “So, you’re my boss?” Cole nods and fiddles with his cufflinks, his brows fused tightly. “It sure looks that way.” “You’ve already met each other-” “Heather, leave us.” He commands, his eyes never leaving mine and Heather scampers out of the office leaving us alone. “This is a joke, right? Because this can’t be happening,” I mutter, pacing back and forth. “It can’t be.” Cole rubs the back of his neck, watching me pace frantically, mumbling incoherently to myself like a lunatic. “Shayla, why don’t we sit?” He offers, and I shake my head. “No. I can’t sit.” I reply, brushing my fingers through my hair in frustration. “I feel as though I’m inside a nightmare I can’t seem to wake up from.” I stop pacing and look at him. “Are you like …stalking me?” He laughs—and I don’t just mean a chuckle, I mean a full-on belly laugh. “Stalking you?” He says in between breaths as I stand there and watch him unimpressed. “I should be asking you that question, sweetheart. You’re the one that keeps showing up everywhere. It can’t be a coincidence.” I scowl at him and slap the folder in my hand on his desk somewhat hard. “Excuse me? Are you insinuating that I’m some psychotic fan girl or something?” I ask, taking a step toward him and he watches me closely. “I think you will find that it was you who approached me at the club,” I say poking his chest, and he smirks and arches a brow. “And it was also your idea to leave the club together,” I add, poking him again and his smile grows into a grin. “It was also you that kissed me, so please explain how I come off as the stalker here?” I finish, placing my hands at my hips and stare up at him expectantly. Cole licks his lips and shrugs, “I was just kidding, but it’s nice to see you have a feisty side, sweetheart. I adore that in a wife.” I sigh and roll my eyes. I’m going to kill this boy. “I’m not your wife.” I grouse heatedly. “Come to think of it; I’m not your assistant either. I quit.” I tell him and turn to leave, but Cole grabs my arm and stops me. “Shayla, come on. I’m only teasing you. We can work this out, come and sit for a minute, will you, please?” I tug my arm out of his hold, walk over to his desk, and sit on one of the cream chairs opposite. Cole comes and stands in front of me, leaning on his desk, he crosses his arms over his chest and regards me seriously. “You don’t have to quit. We’re both adults. We can still work together.” “How? How can we possibly work together after everything that has happened? We’re married, remember?” Cole shrugs. “Yeah, so? Who here knows we’re married beside us? You’re overreacting. Besides, my father hired you for a reason, so you must be good at what you do.” I sigh heavily and shake my head. “Overreacting? I married my damn boss. I went from being an assistant to the office slut who has slept with the CEO.” Cole straightens from his leaning position and runs his fingers through his hair. “Shayla, you’re overthinking it. No one will find out what happened between us, I promise you.” He assures me, he seems genuine, but the nagging feeling I have at the pit of my stomach is making me feel uneasy. “Fine,” I relented with a sigh. I narrow my eyes. “You must have thought I was a right dimwit for not knowing who you were. Why didn’t you say something?” “I thought no such thing,” He smiles warmly. “If anything, it felt good to be treated like a normal human being rather than a--” “Notorious playboy billionaire?” I finish, and he chuckles a little lowering his gaze to the black Louboutin leather shoes on his feet. “I go just a touch deeper than that, but yes. I may have liked that you didn’t seem fazed by the fact that I had money.” “Why would I be? Just because you have money doesn’t make you better than anyone else. When cut, you still bleed red like the rest of us mere mortals.” Our eyes meet; we stare at one another for a long moment. Cole smiles and shakes his head, seemingly pleased by my response. He walks around his desk and sits in his chair. “It’s almost lunchtime. Would you like to go out for lunch?” “Lunch?” I intone, and he nods leaning back in his chair. “Yeah, we can go to the breakfast bar.” I groan and stand up. “We can share some pancakes.” “I hate you,” I utter and turn to walk to the door. I hear Cole laugh behind me. “Hey, what happens in Vegas...” “Shut up.” I walk out of his office and look back to see him watching me with a grin on his face while shaking his head. The girls are going to have a fit when they hear about this. I walk to the bathroom and dial Aimee’s number. She answers after two rings. “Yo ho, what’s up?” “What’s up? Let me tell you what’s up. Remember that billionaire I accidentally married?” “The hot billionaire, yes.” “Well, that ‘hot billionaire’ is not only my dear husband…he’s also my new boss,” I tell her and hear her coughing and sputtering on the other end, clearly choking on something. “You dead?” “I’m good. I’m okay. What do you mean he’s your boss?” She questions, clearing her throat. “He’s my boss. The man that interviewed me was his Dad--Tony Hoult. How did I not connect the dots here Aimes? For fucksake. I’m a smart girl--at least I thought I was. I held his card in my hand, and it didn’t click. He probably thinks I’m a fucking idiot. Jesus, I’m mortified.” I mumble, closing the lid of the toilet and sitting on it. “A lot has happened in the space of four days. My mind can’t cope with all this; I don’t know how you’re dealing with everything so calmly.” She says in an attempt to make me feel better. “Calmly? I’m freaking out Aimee. I can’t work here. It’s too awkward working with him side by side day in, day out. I can’t do it. I’m going to quit.” “Shayla, no. Don’t forget; you need this job. Remember how excited you were to finally be in a job that is in a field you’re interested in. This job will open all sorts of doors for you in the future. Just focus on your work, and I promise you in the end when you’re a kick-arse architect, it will all be worth it.” I nod and sigh. She was right. As much as the situation sucks, I need to stick it out as long as possible. “So what if you slept with him, he’s slept with dozens of girls. He clearly doesn’t care, why should you?” “Yeah, you’re right. I mean, he did promise what happened will stay between us.” I tell her. “There you go. Just chill and enjoy your first day, it’s all going to be okay.” I sure hope she was right because I honestly can’t take much more. Knowing my luck, he’ll end up being my long-lost brother or something, on top of everything else. I shudder at the mere thought of it. Heaven forbid. Chapter 7 Cole “Tristan, we’ve had this conversation before. I’ve had it with your philandering ways. If you want me and your grandfather to take you seriously and pass on our shares to you, you need to prove you’re responsible enough to run a multi-million corporation. You’ll be thirty soon, the time for you to settle down has come. I let you have your fun and sow your wild oats so that you’ll get it out of your system before you settle down.” My father scolds me whilst cutting into his fillet mignon steak. “Hollie comes from a respectable family who has been our dearest friends for generations. She’s a beautiful young lady, and she shares the same passion for architecture as you do. What more could you ask for in a life partner?” He adds, lifting his green eyes to look at me. I clench and unclench my fist under the table. I feel my annoyance grow more by the minute. “Well, I would like to be attracted to my future wife for starters. I also want to marry someone I love, Dad. I have zero interest in Hollie. She’s not my type, and we have absolutely nothing in common other than our careers. Why would you want me to marry someone I don’t even love?” I ask, and he sets his fork down and wipes his mouth before speaking. “Son, love doesn’t just happen overnight. You need to work at it, and it grows as you get to know the other person. You loved Sophie and look how that turned out? She left you devastated. You’ve not been the same since she broke your heart.” I feel my insides recoil at the mention of my ex. “I don’t want to see you hurt like that again. Do you think your mother and I were in love when we married? No, we weren’t, but we grew to love each other, and now I couldn’t imagine my life with anyone else.” He explains, looking at my mother, who smiles at him lovingly and takes his hand when he holds it out for her. “Dad, I’ve known Hollie since we were kids and I don’t see myself loving her…ever,” I tell him earnestly, but he shakes his head and holds his hands up. “Enough Tristan. I’ve said my piece. If you want our shares, you’ll marry Hollie as planned, and that’s final. The arrangements are in place.” He says and goes back to eating his food. I look over at my mother who shrugs and smiles apologetically at me. This is ridiculous. This marriage fiasco started when Grandpop was diagnosed with motor neuron disease and was given less than a year to live. Guess what his dying wish was? To see his first-born, favourite grandson married before he dies. His shares will not transfer over to me until I am married, and if I don’t, it goes to my idiot cousin Harry who will run the company I have spent years building up into the ground quicker than I can blink. It’s times like these that I wish I had a sibling. My Dad wants to retire early but won’t give me full control of Cult Designs until I’m married. “Excuse me,” I mutter, dropping my napkin on the table and stand up. “Honey, you’ve not touched your food.” My mother says, looking up at me. I shake my head and rub the back of my neck tiredly. “I’m not hungry,” I tell her. “I’m going to take off; I have a ton of work to do for the presentation tomorrow.” “Hollie and her parents are coming over the day after tomorrow for dinner. I expect you to be here. We’ll discuss the details of your engagement.” My father states as I walk off out of the dining room. I wave them off without so much as a glance and leave the house. I feel like I’m suffocating. I jump in my Audi R8 and speed out of the gates. They’ve got me corned with this marriage bullshit, and I can’t seem to find a way out of it. I’ve been fighting them for weeks. I don’t want to be stuck marrying a girl I don’t love or even find the least bit interesting. She’s a beautiful girl, yes. She’s smart and accomplished. Any other guy would give their right leg to marry a girl like that, but not me. She’s not for me. If I get forced into marrying her, I know I’ll struggle to stay loyal, and I am not the kind of guy that cheats. After an hour of driving around mindlessly, I find myself at my best friend Josh’s house. I’m currently sprawled out on his sofa sipping on my fifth bottle of beer staring up at his plain white ceiling. “How the fuck am I going to get out of this?” Josh sighs and leans back on the sofa and sips his beer. “Well, you’re not. You’ll have to marry Hollie, my brother. We both know how stubborn your Dad is. He’s not letting this go.” I close my eyes and nod. Josh was right; my Dad will not let this go. Especially if it means losing the company, he has worked so hard to build to his brother-in-law's son. “Damn it. Please, tell me there’s a better solution, anything but this.” I frown when I feel my phone vibrate in my pocket. I pull it out and see a text from Shayla. I open the message and read it. Shayla: ‘I’m going to be late for the meeting tomorrow morning. Some idiot stole all four of the tires off my car.’ I sit up and frown, and despite my bad mood, I laugh. This girl has the worst luck in the world. I type a message back to her. Me: ‘Ouch. I’m sorry to hear that. I can have someone over within the hour to replace the tires for you.’ I send the text, and a reply comes right away. I open the message. Shayla: No. That’s okay. I’ll sort it. I can find somebody to fit new one's tomorrow. Just tell your lawyer I’ll be a little late.’ I smile and shake my head. She’s so stubborn it's infuriating. Me: ‘I’ll pick you up on my way. We can go to the office together after.” I set my phone down and look at Josh, who was watching me with a smile on his face. “What?” I ask cagily, sipping my beer. “Your mood just drastically changed. Who are you texting?” He asks and swipes my phone off the table when it vibrates. “Shayla?” I reach over and try to take my phone, but he moves it out of reach. “Hang on is that the hottie from the club you disappeared with.” I nod and grab my phone from him. “Yes, that’s her,” I say and read her text. Of course, she’s saying no. I text her back quickly telling her I will pick her up at nine and that I wouldn’t take no for an answer. “Why are you going to the lawyers with her?” Josh questions raising a curious brow at me. I was too distracted arguing with Shayla over text. “Uh, to sign some papers for a divorce,” I answer distractedly with a shrug and he kicks my knee. I scowl at him. “Divorce?” He sits upright and stares at me in bewilderment, and I realize I just let our secret slip out. “When did you fucking marry her to get a divorce?!” “When we flew to Vegas…” I trail off, and his eyes widen as he waits for me to continue explaining. I sigh, “This is all your fault. You forced me to go out and got me stinking drunk. After we left the club, we kept drinking and ended up on my private jet flying to Vegas to get married.” “Holy— you got married? Like legally married?” Josh questions getting to his feet, he throws his head back and laughs when I nod. “Yes, Josh. I’m legally married. And like that was bad enough she shows up at my office as my new executive assistant. My Dad hired her while I was in Paris. What are the fucking odds of that, tell me, please?” Josh covers his mouth with his hand and shakes his head. “Odds? Bro, this girl is either one psychotic stalker and planned this or fate’s just dropped a motherload of an opportunity in your lap.” I watch Josh as he moves around the room. “Josh, she didn’t even know who I was. And she tried to quit the moment she saw I was her boss. She’s not a stalker, and she certainly didn’t plan any of this.” I explain, running my fingers through my hair. “Cole, are you an idiot bro?” I scowl at him hard. “Do you not realize all your prayers have been answered. This whole Hollie debacle is solved.” I lean forward and rest my elbows on my knees and watch him closely. “How so?” Chapter 8 “You’re married, you idiot!” He shouts, throwing his hands up in the air. “You can’t marry Hollie if you’re already married. Take Shayla to your grandfather, introduce her as your wife, problem solved.” Oh. Why didn’t I think of this? I am married. I frown. “You mean, we stay married?” Josh nods, widening his blue eyes. “She wouldn’t agree, why would she want to stay married?” Josh throws a cushion at me. “Because you’re Tristan Cole Hoult, that’s why. You’re the most sought-after bachelor in the country—after me, of course.” He says in jest, and I throw the cushion back at him. I roll my eyes exasperated. “Fuck you, arsehole.” Josh catches the cushion and rests his elbow on it, grinning. “She doesn’t care about any of that. She’s nothing like the rest; my fame and money didn’t deter her one bit.” “Sound chick. Just tell her the truth, maybe you’ll appeal to her good nature, and she’ll pity you and agree to help. If that fails, offer her a pay-out, a couple of mill, like a bearding service.” I rub my hands over my face with a heavy sigh. “That sounds rather crude.” “Would you rather marry Hollie?” I shake my head and fall back against the sofa. “Fuck no.” I curse looking at the beer bottle in my had. “Least Shayla’s fun to be around, I'd much rather be stuck married to her.” “Just ask her.” He states taking a swig of his beer. “Worse case she’ll say no.” “Oh, she will absolutely say no. She’s feisty and stubborn as hell.” I mutter tapping the neck of the bottle thoughtfully. Can’t hurt to ask. Like Josh said, maybe she will feel sorry for me and help me. Perhaps I could give her a raise? And I’d prefer to be married to Shayla than Hollie, at least she’s amusing to be around. She cracks me up throughout the day. “Feisty, huh?” Josh intones, raising his brows with intrigue. “Good in the sack?” I bite my bottom lip recalling our passionate night together. “Oh, definitely,” I murmur. I sigh, feeling relieved. I hadn’t realized how much this marriage arrangement was weighing me down. I leave Josh’s place and head home. I had a big day ahead of me the following day, and I needed to get my shit together before the presentation. The next morning, I sat waiting for Shayla outside her apartment building. I’d been waiting fifteen minutes, and she’s yet to come down. Women. I will never understand why they take a year to get ready for everything. I honk my horn impatiently, just as she pushes the door open and walks toward the car. I let my eyes wander over as she approaches me. That tight, black, pencil skirt and red satin blouse she’s wearing are hugging her in all the right places. Her dark tresses cascading down her back in beach waves, just like the night we met. “Jesus, keep your hair on. You’ll wake the neighbours.” She grumbles as she gets into the car. I’m not proud of this, but my eyes instantly drift to her skirt which rides up to her mid-thigh when she sits, and I find myself checking out her shapely legs. I have a sudden flashback of our night together in Vegas, those legs wrapped around me as she drew me into her deeper. “Cole.” I blink snapping out of my thoughts and look at her through my shades. “Hm?” She looks at me with a frown, “Are we going or are we just going to sit here? You were just rushing me a moment ago?” “Yes, we’re going,” I say, pulling away into traffic. “How are you? Did you manage to sort out tires?” Shayla glances at me and shrugs, “Yes. Someone will be coming to fit new ones later this evening.” She explains, and I nod. “Thank you for offering to help. I was in a sour mood. I hope I didn’t come off rude.” She looks over at me, and I shake my head. “Not at all,” I wave off her apology. “Honestly it would have been pissed me off too if someone stole all the tires off my car. Did you report it?” Shayla shakes her head, and I frown, “Why not?” She sighs, looking out the window, “What’s the point? It’s hardly the crime of the year, is it? It’s inconvenient sure, but I think the police have much bigger cases that require their attention than my stolen tires.” I smile, shaking my head. “That’s one way to look at it.” Shayla sighs brushing her hair away from her pretty face, “Nothing seems to be going right for me at the moment, it truly is bizarre.” I smile and glance at her before I look at the road again. “Oh, I’ve been there. But you should always try and stay positive because you never know when your luck might change.” Shayla looks at me briefly and nods. “Might be sooner than you think.” “I doubt that.” She utters, her voice an octave over a whisper. The rest of the twenty-five-minute journey to the lawyer’s office, we spent reviewing my work schedule. “Your two-thirty meeting got pushed back by fifteen minutes. Mr Cohen’s flight got delayed from Belgium; his driver dropped me an email earlier.” I nod as we walk into the office and Franc— our lawyer greets us. “Morning, Mr Hoult, Mrs Hoult,” I observe Shayla’s reaction when Franc called her by her married name. She smiles tightly and takes his offered hand and sits at the table. “Okay, Mr Hoult I have drawn up the papers for the divorce. All I need are your signatures, and I can get it processed.” Shayla nods and picks up her pen and signs the papers. She holds the pen out to me, and I take it and stare at the paperwork in front of me. “Cole?” I lift my gaze and look at Shayla. “Sign the papers.” “Franc, will you leave us a moment, please?” Shayla watches as he stands up and leaves the room before she looks at me again. “What’s wrong?” She questions eyeing me warily. “Shayla. I have a proposition for you.” Her frown deepens, “A proposition?” I nod slowly and hold her gaze, “Yes, a proposition.” “Okay…” “What if we don’t get a divorce?” I suggest, and she stares at me blankly and then laughs suddenly. “Hilarious, Cole. Stop screwing around and sign the papers so we can get out of here.” When I make no move to sign the papers, her smile fades slowly. “You’re not—wait, are you serious?!” “Very.” “Very? Very what, Cole? We agreed to get a divorce. What are you talking about?” She exclaims, rising from her seat. I sigh and put the pen down and watch her as she glares daggers at me. “I’m only suggesting we stay married for a little while longer.” Shayla stops pacing and looks down at me angrily, “And I’m suggesting we get a divorce—right now.” “Shayla, just listen to me for a second. I’m stuck in an impossible situation, and I need your help.” I explain, and her gaze softens a little. “My Dad, he’s forcing me to marry someone I don’t love in exchange for his and my grandfather’s shares to the company.” I sigh and stand up. “My grandfather has a terminal illness and doesn’t have long to live. His dying wish is to see his firstborn grandchild married before he dies. If I don’t, he will give his shares to my cousin Harry who is an absolute goon and will fuck up everything I’ve worked so hard to achieve at the company.” Shayla shakes her head. “Cole, have you lost your mind? You’re talking about lying to your family. To a dying man. Absolutely not.” “I can’t marry Hollie. She’s just not the type of girl I see myself settling down with. She’s not for me.” I explain, and she shrugs indifferently. “How is that any different to what we did? We don’t exactly get along either. Just marry her, get your shares then divorce her.” I sigh and shake my head, frustrated. “Shayla, you don’t get it. This girl has been obsessed with me since we were ten years old, do you think she’s going to divorce me after waiting years to tie me down. No fucking chance,” “Cole, listen to what you’re asking of me? You’re asking me to stay married to you, to lie and scheme. I don’t even know you.” She declares pacing again. I grab hold of her arm and draw her toward me. “I’ll pay you.” I blurt out. Shayla’s green eyes grow wide, and if looks could kill, I’d be buried six feet under right about now. “You’ll what?” She grits annoyance evident in her tone. “If you think just because I slept with you, I now owe you something; you’re sorely mistaken. Screw you and your job, you arrogant pig.” She hisses vehemently and rips her arm from my hold. “No! Christ, Shayla, it's not like that. Think of it as a business arrangement. Name your price; money is no object.” Shayla steps back with an appalled look on her face. A glimpse of hurt flickers in her eyes before its replaced with anger again. “Who the hell do you think you are?! I’m sorry to disappoint you, Mr Hoult, but I am not for sale! Your money can get you a lot of things but not me.” She tries to sidestep me, but I block her path. “Get out of my way.” She spits furiously. “Jesus, Shayla, please just to listen to me. I’m not trying to buy you, and the last thing I’d ever want to do is insult you.” I explain and sigh dejectedly. “I wouldn’t ask if I wasn’t desperate. You’re my only hope out of this arranged marriage.” I say pleadingly, and she licks her lips and brushes her fingers through her hair, still fuming. “I know you need the money. You’ve got outstanding debts on your student loans.” She spins and glares at me. “It came up in your background check. You can pay those off and finish your degree. Let me help you.” “I don’t want your help! There are a million girls out there who would marry you without a second thought, go pick one of them.” She says snatching up her blazer and purse. “I don’t want them.” Shayla rolls her eyes and tries to push past me to leave, but I stop her. “I want you.” She lifts her gaze slowly, and our eyes meet. “Tristan?” We both jump apart when I hear my name. I turn and see my Dad standing there. Fuck. “Dad?” “What is going on here?” He asks looking between Shayla and me sceptically. “What's with the shouting?” Shayla looks at me and straightens her skirt. “What are you both doing here?” I look over at Shayla, and I’m not sure what came over me, but I wrap an arm around her waist and pull her up against me. “Dad, I’d like you to officially meet my wife…Shayla.”