I woke up in a Vegas hotel suite wearing my boss's tuxedo jacket and a marriage certificate I didn't remember signing.
Nathan Cross: CEO, control freak, the man who once sent me a calendar invite titled "Meeting About Your Meeting."
Now he's my husband.
His dead grandmother's will says we stay married for one year or he loses the company. One year. No feelings. Just a binder full of rules, a penthouse with separate bedrooms, and a board of directors who think we're in love.
Simple.
Except someone leaked our wedding video. Except his cousin is trying to steal the company. Except his grandmother left numbered letters, and every single one pulls me deeper into a family secret that's been buried for forty-six years. And except the man I married for a contract keeps looking at me like the contract stopped mattering a long time ago.
Eleven months and twenty-nine days. I was absolutely, definitely, one hundred percent not going to catch feelings.
God, even my inner monologue didn't believe me.