Hitched Volume 1 (Imperfect Love Book #1)

Noah

“Another beer?” my best friend Sterling asks.

“I better not.”Please check at N/ôvel(D)rama.Org.

He smirks. “So you’re really going to go through with it, huh, mate?”

“What’s the big deal? You took a fake date to prom.”

I chuckle to myself, remembering the year Sterling took his cousin to the dance. He thought it was genius at the time-no corsage to buy, no need to impress her with a fancy restaurant or limo ride. Until the end of the night, when all the rest of us were enjoying some skin-to-skin contact with our dates, and he realized what a horrible decision he’d made. The only skin-to-skin action he got was with his hand.

“A fake wife is a hell of a lot different. It’s a big fucking deal.” Sterling glares at me over the rim of his beer.

Looking out over the ocean from our spot on the porch of the beach cottage, I loosen my tie, which has grown too tight around my neck, and level him with a dark stare.

“Actually, it’s legally binding, so she’ll be my real wife. Until we got divorced, or got the marriage annulled or whatever.”

“Do you even hear yourself? This is insane. You can’t marry some chick you don’t even like.”

“Who says I don’t like her?”

His eyes widen. “I’m not talking about the unrequited lust-fueled crush you’ve had on her since you were a horny teenager.”

I rub the back of my neck, feeling the stirrings of a headache. “What do you expect me to do? It’s part of my father’s will. This is my-no, our condition for taking over the company. No marriage means no inheritance, period. For either of us.”

Some people may say that being thrust into such luxury from the start makes you immune to it all, but that’s not true. I’ve never taken a single day of it for granted, and there’s no way in hell I’m going to give it up without a fight.

Sterling releases a loud sigh, and his gaze follows mine out to the water beyond. “I just think you should really think this through, man. Marriage is a big deal. It’s not something to be entered into lightly.”

Between the two of us, Sterling’s always been the voice of reason. For every brazen and rash idea I’ve had, every time I’ve jumped into the deep end without thinking, he’s helped steer me back onto the straight-and-narrow path. He’s been my best friend since we were fourteen. As the two new kids at a prestigious boarding school in Connecticut, we became inseparable.

“Trust me when I tell you I understand the gravity of the situation.”

My father’s death last year was a huge wake-up call. The fate of his $100 billion company suddenly dropped straight into my hands. I had to be ready to take over. And I am-I’ll do whatever it takes. Of course, it doesn’t hurt that my bride-to-be is the woman I’ve always wanted.

“There has to be another way,” Sterling says after taking a sip of his beer. “Besides, with your wandering eye and perpetually hard dick, you’d make a terrible husband.”

Ouch. I’m not that bad, am I?

He’s lecturing me about something, but all I can focus on is the tumultuous waves and the uneasy feelings stirring inside me.

“Oh, one more thing,” I say, turning toward him. “I need to knock her up.”

Sterling spits out his drink.

**One Month Earlier**

I clench my teeth and check my Rolex for the third time. This entire thing is a huge waste of time.

“Where is she?” I cast a glance at Olivia’s father, Fred Cane, who’s seated at the head of the long conference room table.

“She’ll be here,” he assures me. Then, under his breath, he adds, “She’s got to.”

My sentiments exactly.

This meeting is a last-ditch effort to try to convince Olivia to sign the contract. But I’m worried today will just be a repeat of last week. She flat-out refused to sign anything that put the two of us together in the same sentence-and said hell no.

Actually, it might have been said with more gusto. I think there was even an f-bomb involved.

But we need to get hitched before ownership of Tate & Cane Enterprises can transfer to us. And with the board of directors’ deadline looming, we need to do it yesterday. I’m not losing the $100 billion company that my father built because the ice queen won’t play nice.

I make a fat six-figure income, enjoy the finest indulgences money can buy, and I know damn well I live the good life. Just because I don’t take it for granted doesn’t mean I don’t take advantage.

Free upgrades at all the best hotels? Absolutely. The finest champagne delivered to my table, courtesy of the sommelier? Why not? The lifeguard at our country club letting me bend her over in the locker room all summer? Sure. The pretty blond hostess at La Chample who wants to blow me in the bathroom before my business dinner? Hell yeah. Being wealthy and attractive has its perks.

But if Olivia doesn’t show up today, and if we can’t agree on the terms of this contract, my wealth stands to suffer immensely. As do the jobs and lives of the six thousand employees of Tate & Cane, including one of my favorite people on the planet, Rosita Hernandez. She’s a single mom to six kids. And if this deal goes south, I can only imagine what would happen to someone like Rosita. Christ, I’d probably end up moving her and the kids into my penthouse. Which would obviously put a huge cramp in the aforementioned blow jobs and champagne I regularly enjoy.

I shudder at the thought.

“I know it’s unconventional, that the contract is . . .” Fred pauses and frowns. He drums his fingers on the table, looking sheepish.

Unconventional? To say the fucking least. If the situation weren’t so grim, I might laugh.

He and my father drew up their wills years ago, outlining what would happen to their multibillion-dollar baby should they kick the bucket. The daunting stack of papers in front of me spells out in full legal jargon that Olivia and I are to inherit the company with joint fifty-fifty ownership . . . but only if we’re legally wed.

With Fred’s failing health and the company itself suffering six consecutive quarters in the red, an emergency meeting was called last week. Olivia and I were presented with our options.

In my view, there were no options. There was just the right thing to do. We had to marry to save not only our own jobs, but our fathers’ legacies and the jobs of six thousand people in offices in Manhattan, Chicago, San Diego, and Brussels.

Olivia felt differently. She didn’t relish the idea of being tied to me, and insisted there had to be another way.

Even if we do manage to persuade her to tie the knot, there’s no way Olivia would be getting anywhere near my bed. Damn shame.

We came close once . . . just once. Back when she was a drunk college co-ed on spring break.

Her family was staying with mine in a beach house on Puget Sound. We’d escaped the East Coast for the West that summer. Whale watching and hiking trips in the salty sea air and evenings spent eating lobster and drinking chardonnay like we were real adults and not nineteen-year-olds with stars in our eyes.

She snuck out of the bunk bed in the room she was sharing with her sister, Rachel, and into my bedroom that night. And when she crawled in beside me and laid her warm palm against my bare chest, I was a goner. I’ve always wanted Olivia. Always desired her, from before I even knew what those strange feelings were in my gut, my chest. We kissed in the darkness, our tongues exploring, hands groping, hearts beating wildly.

But then reality slammed into me. There were a lot of reasons I told her no that night. Her mom had recently been diagnosed with cancer, and I knew Olivia would regret using me to cope. Plus, I knew from a recent game of Truth or Dare that she was still a virgin.

So I kissed her a final time and then sent her away. It was the hardest thing I’ve ever done.

And now she treats me as if I were a piece of gum stuck to the bottom of those Louboutin heels she favors.

“I really think this is for the best,” Fred adds, pulling me back to the present.

“It’s what your father wanted, Noah,” Prescott says. Before my father’s death, Prescott was his most trusted advisor. He’s also a total fucking douche bag.

Just then, the conference room door flies open, and I know it’s her before I even look up from the contract.

A fresh floral scent with crisp notes of honeysuckle greets me. I have no idea where Olivia gets that shit, but it makes my mouth water. It always has. I once spent an entire Saturday at the fragrance counter of a department store trying to figure it out, trying to prove that it was just some manufactured, bottled version of attraction, that it wasn’t something special to her. I never found it.

“I’m here,” Olivia says, slightly breathless.

I look up just in time to be treated to the sight of her smoothing her dress shirt over her curves. Lush breasts and a flat stomach leading to full hips. Her jacket is slung over her arm, as is her tan leather briefcase, monogrammed with her initials in black cursive stitching.

“Miss Cane,” I say cheerfully. “You look exceptionally refreshed this morning.”

She likes to exercise in the morning before work, says it gives her the mental agility to stay focused on business for the sixteen-hour days she’s known to plow through. I like that it gives her cheeks a rosy glow . . . much like I’d guess sex would. Just the thought makes my cock twitch in my dress slacks.

“Save it, Noah. This is purely business,” she says, blinking at me with those lush, dark lashes.

No smile. No laughter. The opposite of the usual reaction I evoke from the fairer sex. And that annoys the shit out of me.

It’s as if Olivia Cane alone possesses an antidote to my charm. And that only makes me want to watch her surrender to me that much more. The idea of her on her knees, pink lips parted, taking my cock deep down her throat, begging for more even as she gags on my impressive length, is more than just a sexual turn-on. It’s practically a life goal. To me, sex is a competitive sport. I know the rules, I play hard, and I always win.

Realizing they’re all still watching me, I take a deep breath, trying to force my cock to behave himself, and hold up my hands. She’s never taken one ounce of my shit, and I respect the hell out of her for that.

“I’m just trying to do what’s best here.”

She lets out a soft sigh of exasperation and sets her bag on the table. “Let’s get on with this.”

Her father pats the back of her hand. “Sit down, honey.”

She obeys, poised even in defeat, lowering herself into the seat with the confidence that was bred into her from birth. Preston slides a copy of the contract over to her, and she leafs through it with disinterest.

“I just don’t see why there has to be a marriage clause in the will.”

The woman has a point. My guess? Because our fathers have always wanted to play matchmaker when it came to us. They’ve paired us together since we were in diapers. Hell, we even have an old photo of us in full wedding apparel at a fake wedding from some twenty years ago.

“I’ve explained this, darling. It’s the only way we keep the company in the family. I thought that’s what you wanted . . . a chance to run this place someday.”

“I do, Dad,” she says softly. Then her eyes lift to mine. “I just didn’t think I’d be forced into something like this.”

“No one’s forcing you,” I say, keeping my tone light as I lace my fingers behind my head. “The choice is yours, Olivia. I already told you, I’m game.”

She chews on her red lacquered thumbnail for just a second before folding her hands in her lap and shooting me an icy glare. “I’m quite aware of your position.”

Hell, at least she’s willing to hear us all out again. I know that deep down, she understands our fathers’ rationale. We’re stronger together. Our families built this company together. Neither of us can afford to buy the other out, so it needs to stay jointly fifty-fifty within the family. For now.

But for me, it’s about more than just money. Olivia and I grew up together; our parents always envisioned us ending up together. I always knew she’d be somewhere in my future, even if it was just working side by side, with her busting my balls every chance she got. It was something I looked forward to.

Fred continued. “Trust and loyalty are the most important things in business. We can’t go getting into bed with someone we don’t know. We have to keep all of this in this room. Just between family.”

Olivia sighs, giving him a skeptical look. “I’ll think about it.”

At least it wasn’t a flat no this time, even if her tone is still sour.

Prescott lets out an annoyed huff. “We’ll meet again on Thursday.”

She stuffs the contract in her bag and rises from the table, seemingly in a hurry to escape. “Until then.”

“Thank you for keeping an open mind,” her father says. “These things have a way of working themselves out in ways you can’t anticipate.”

I accept Fred and Prescott’s good-bye handshakes. When Olivia’s turn comes, she thrusts her hand at me, clearly wanting to just get this over with . . . and I have a flash of wicked inspiration. Maybe I should shake things up. Test how thick her icy shell really is.

Holding her gaze, I raise her hand to my mouth and kiss it. “A pleasure doing business with you . . . Mrs. Tate,” I tease in a husky voice, letting my lips graze her knuckles.

Her eyes widen and she sucks in her breath. Is it my imagination, or do her cheeks look a little pinker than before? But before I can be sure, her expression hardens into a death glare.

Snatching back her hand, she snaps, “Don’t get ahead of yourself. I haven’t agreed to marry you yet, and even if I do, I’m never taking your last name.”

And then she’s gone, leaving me standing there with a stupid grin on my face.

“I’ve seen that look before,” Fred says with a small smile. “You’re in trouble, son.”

I laugh off his warning. There’s no way Olivia Cane will ever have me wrapped around her finger.

Yet her unique sweetness lingers in my nostrils. She must have dabbed that intoxicating scent on her wrist, so close to my nose when I kissed her hand. I can still feel her soft, smooth skin on my lips. Such a small intimacy-just brushing her as I spoke-shouldn’t have spread this tingle over me. But there’s no denying that this room has become a few degrees too warm.

This is going to be interesting. Hell, it may even be fun.