Total pages in book: 64
Estimated words: 63862 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 319(@200wpm)___ 255(@250wpm)___ 213(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 63862 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 319(@200wpm)___ 255(@250wpm)___ 213(@300wpm)
And this damn penthouse suite was also evident of that.
But still.
Six figures on a ring for a sham marriage?
“God,” I grumbled, shaking my head.
Marriage.
I was married.
Rings and vows and binding contracts.
Had he been wasted too?
Was he just as hungover, and I was too busy wallowing in my own misery to notice his? Had he just been up longer and able to pull himself together?
It was the only explanation.
No guy of his stature did something as reckless as getting married without lawyers and prenups and all that red tape.
I could use that to my advantage.
I took one last look at myself in the mirror.
The person staring back at me was slump-shouldered and pale with purple smudges under her eyes. But there was a determination there that I was going to need to get through this whole mess.
Exhaling hard, I grabbed the rings and opened the door.
My gaze did a sweep of the room, seeing it through slightly less headachy eyes for the first time.
It was a sprawling space full of floor-to-ceiling windows, a massive bed, a kitchenette, a living area, and an office space.
Weirder still, it seemed like Harrison had actually been using the office.
A laptop was set up, a tablet, even a notebook and a pen.
Who came to Vegas and worked?
My mind flashed back, remembering him saying something about not having a lot of time for leisure.
Maybe he was in town for business and indulged in a little pleasure on the side.
That had to work in my favor.
No serious businessman in town for work would be happy to wake up married to a woman he’d had a one-night stand with.
I glanced back at Harrison, seeing none of the misery on his face that I knew was on mine. No red eyes, swollen lids, sleepless bruises, no pain making him wince.
He looked just as put-together and—damn him—handsome, as the night before.
Every bit of me wanted to snap at him.
But I led with gratitude first.
“Thanks for the clothes,” I said.
His gaze swept over me, lingering for just a second where my wet hair had made the white tee a little more see-through, and where the cold dampness had made my unbound nipples pebble up through the material.
“I’m glad they fit.”
“I don’t really remember last night,” I admitted. “But I’m assuming these on my finger mean we made a very, very stupid mistake,” I told him, holding up the rings.
“We got married,” he said with a nod.
“Well, you can take these back and get your money back,” I said, holding the rings out until he had no choice but to take them.
I couldn’t read the look on his face.
And that was no wonder.
I barely knew the guy.
Okay, fine. I knew him very intimately. But that was it.
Still, I felt safe saying that he didn’t exactly look as horrified by this situation as I felt.
“How about I order some coffee? Breakfast?” he offered.
I needed both.
Just not with him.
“No,” I said, making his brows raise.
“You need something in your stomach.”
“I need a divorce,” I said, chin lifting.
“A divorce,” he repeated.
A muscle ticked in his jaw.
I chose to ignore that.
“Or an… annulment. Whatever it is. I need to find a lawyer and get us a divorce.”
He looked at me so long that I shifted my feet, a weird sensation starting to simmer in my belly.
Something wasn’t right here.
I knew it the second before he opened his mouth to speak.
“No.”
“No?” I repeated, brows pinching.
“No,” he confirmed.
“No, what?” I asked, mind still too tequila-soaked and sluggish.
“No, I don’t want a divorce.”
“You… what?”
“I don’t want a divorce.”
I couldn’t tell you how long I stared at him, but it felt like a good, long while.
Because… what?
What did he mean he didn’t want a divorce?
That didn’t even make sense.
Unless…
“Are you still drunk?” I blurted out.
“I am not.”
I narrowed my eyes at him, looking for signs that he was, in fact, wasted.
But he was clear-eyed, steady on his feet, and entirely too composed to be trashed.
So just… crazy then.
Great.
That was just great.
I married a lunatic.
“I… can’t do this,” I grumbled, looking around for my heels from the night before and slipping them on.
The immediate pain let me know that I’d worn them way, way longer than I’d intended the night before.
What the hell had happened after we got out of bed?
I didn’t know.
But I needed to piece it together.
“Layna…”
There was a soft plea in Harrison’s voice that I promptly ignored as I located my bag of chips that I must have been carrying around like a damn purse the night before, then made my way to the door.
“Don’t follow me,” I growled, throwing the door open, and walking into the hallway.
Did I slam the door?
Yeah, I did.
Then I stormed to the private elevator and took it down to my floor.
Only, when I got to my door, I didn’t have my damn keycard.
Or phone.