railed as we walked outside. My driver jumped out and opened the town car door for us.
“Right?” I said. “They have no idea who we are.”
“Like we need marriage to be happy,” Grace added.
“Exactly!”
She returned to her phone. Mine buzzed with an incoming email message, a reminder from the Svenssons about the TechBiz event the next day and that Grace’s presence was expected.
I glanced at her as she typed out emails on her phone, the little device chiming with incoming messages. I smiled to myself. Forget bubble baths and living room picnics. Riding in a town car, managing our companies, and swapping snarky comments—this was the marriage I wanted.
You are not staying married to her, I reminded myself.
But Grace had promised we were divorcing, no muss, no fuss. Would a bubble bath really be the worst thing in the world? Her curvy body all slick and wet?
Focus.
Your company is the most important thing.
“Now I’m behind because of that stupid therapy session,” she said. “I have a million messages from brides about their photos.”
“Tell me about it,” I said as my own phone practically vibrated out of my hands with messages from the Svenssons demanding my confirmation that Grace would be in attendance at the evening’s TechBiz event.
“Speaking of wastes of time…”
Grace looked up and raised an eyebrow at me.
I gave her my best sexy grin.
“How would you like to attend a black-tie event?”
21
Grace
Damn him and his sexy smile. I could feel myself wavering.
“I’m behind…” I said.
“It will be fun,” Chris crooned.
“I need to work on my book; I have all these brides…”
“This event is going to have all of Manhattan’s rich and powerful,” he cajoled. “Networking is never a bad thing.”
He tipped his head forward slightly, gazing at me from under his lashes.
Damn him and his dimple.
“I don’t have anything to wear.”
“Already took care of it,” he assured me. “Outfits are waiting at the penthouse for your selection.”
I pursed my mouth and climbed on my high horse. “So you already just assumed that I have nothing better to do with my time, that I’m just waiting around at your beck and call? Let me remind you, Mr. Billionaire, that though we may be married, I am not your wife. I am not your arm candy. I am not your sex toy.”
“Whoa,” Chris said, “I just want you to come to a black-tie party with me, not dress up in a sexy ice-cream-girl outfit and make me a banana split.”
My brain helpfully supplied me a graphic image of his thick, erect cock under the sheets.
Not helping!
“Please come!” Chris begged, grabbing my hands. “This is an important event for me. Everyone knows I’m married. I cannot show up without my wife. People will talk. You know how these upper-class high-society types are. Any sign of weakness, and it’s like piranhas at the Golden Corral buffet.”
He was so attractive. I was a sucker for a pretty face.
“You’re really going to throw me to the wolves?”
“No,” I said, “but I want something out of it. I don’t work for free.”
“Anything,” Chris said. “What would you like?”
You.
No.
“You can have anything,” he promised. “Within reason.”
Unfortunately, I didn’t know what I wanted.
Yes, you do. You want his banana split.
I racked my brain. I just wanted the high ground. “You can owe me a favor.”
He smirked. “Like a sexual favor?”
“I hope you will have better manners at this event.”
Chris disappeared into his oversized master suite when we arrived back at the penthouse. I went into my bedroom, where a rack of obscenely skimpy dresses were waiting for me.
“That asshole!”
I snapped a photo and sent them to my friends.
Grace: Can you believe the nerve of this man!
Brea: OMG those are Kenzie Sky dresses! They’re like five thousand dollars each!
Sophie: Wear the blue one!
Elsie: Black. Nothing better than a little black dress.
Brea: Don’t listen to her, my pretties! You’re hurting the dresses’ feelings.
Ivy: Just pick the least revealing one.
Elsie: Not the gold one. That looks like you’re going to a swinger party.
I tried on the dresses one by one, each one making me more furious than the last. Not only were they ridiculously sexy, they were too small. One of them was so tight I wouldn’t be able to wear any underwear with it, or walk more than an inch or two at a time to avoid flashing people.
“He did this on purpose!” I said angrily to my reflection in the mirror. “He’s just trying to fuck with me.”