Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 76959 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 385(@200wpm)___ 308(@250wpm)___ 257(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76959 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 385(@200wpm)___ 308(@250wpm)___ 257(@300wpm)
I think the red blouse and black pencil skirt that I wore to work today will do the job just fine.
“Congratulations, sir!” I hold the gift bag in the air. My fingers are wrapped tightly around the twine handles because this is precious cargo.
“Right.”
Huh?
It’s his wedding day. The least he can do is crack open the smile vault and let one fly.
Someone needs to tell him that smiles don’t cost a penny.
I look around. “Where’s the bride? What’s her name?”
He drags a hand through his perfectly styled hair.
Uh oh.
That move only happens when the world, as he knows it, is about to collapse. It happened that time he tasted regular mustard and the day I spilled coffee in his lap.
The heel on my shoe broke. I lunged forward. Lukewarm coffee landed on his thousand dollar pants. It was a whole thing.
His gaze darts to the left and then the right, but it doesn’t seem as though he’s looking for someone.
If he got stood up, I’m taking this champagne back to my brother’s store for a refund.
Mr. Locke drops his hand and looks me in the eye. “You’re her.”
“Urher?” I repeat, not wanting to butcher his fiancée’s name. “Am I pronouncing that right? Or is it with an accented e, like Urhér?”
He looks at me like my head is about to fall off.
I continue rambling because I’m on a roll, “It’s a unique name. She must be lovely.”
“You. Are. Her,” he states each word slowly and with purpose. “You are marrying me.”
“What?” I blurt out through a stuttered laugh. “What did you just say?”
His expression shifts, and a slight smile ghosts his lips. “I need you to marry me, Miss Shaw.”
I feel my mouth fall open, but I do nothing to change that.
“I’ve called in a favor with a judge, so we’re skipping the mandatory twenty-four-hour waiting period after we get the license.” He glances down at the Abdons watch on his wrist. “The ceremony will happen as soon as we have the license in hand.”
“Marriage license? Ceremony? A judge?” I toss out random words that have no right to be in my vocabulary at this moment in time.
“I need us to be married by tomorrow afternoon.” He tilts his head. “There isn’t an opening in my schedule tomorrow morning, so we have to move it if we’re going to get this done before the City Clerk’s office closes for the day.”
I take a step back. “No.”
“No?” he repeats it like it’s a curse word.
“I’m not marrying you.” My voice is edged with a chuckle because this is as preposterous as it gets.
Did he fall and hit his head in his rush to get out of the office earlier?
“We need to get married,” he insists with another shove of his hand through his hair.
“We’re not getting married,” I argue. “Are you all right, sir? Are you feeling okay?”
“I’m frustrated,” he admits as if it’s not obvious.
A vein in his neck is pulsing. I catch sight of it every time I glance at his Adam’s apple.
“Let’s get you back to the office,” I say in as calm a tone as I can muster. “Is there someone I can call for you?”
“Miss Shaw,” he hisses my name out. “I need you to marry me now. That is non-negotiable so tell me what I need to do to make it happen in the next…” He drops his gaze to his watch. “Thirty-eight minutes.”
Steadying my feet on the pavement, I look him in the eye. “I’m not marrying you, sir.”
“Because of Kyle?”
I don’t know if I’m more stunned that Mr. Locke remembers the name of the guy I briefly dated or that he thinks that would be the only reason barring me from marrying him.
“No. We broke up.”
He rubs his jaw. “What’s the issue then?”
Is that a trick question? I could list a million reasons why I won’t plunge into the marriage pool with him.
“Give me one good reason why you won’t marry me,” he begins as he glances at his watch again. “And make it quick.”
“I don’t like you.”
No, no, no. I didn’t let that slip out, did I?
“I’m not asking you to like me,” he spits the last two words out with a smirk. “I’m asking you to marry me.”
“I can’t do that.”
He grabs hold of my forearm to shuffle me out of the way of an approaching group of people.
My gaze searches his face. “Why do you want to marry me?”
He lets out a heavy exhale. “Mr. Abdon is coming to New York tomorrow. He’s under the impression we’re married.”
I take in every word he just said. “Why would he be under that impression?”
His answer is quick and to the point. “I told him we got married.”
My gaze follows his hand as he reaches into the front pocket of his pants. He pulls out a small white box.