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The worst part wasn’t having abuse in her past. The worst part was when she woke up at 2:00 a.m. in a cold sweat because a small part of her might believe it was her fault Bryan had hit her. And she couldn’t exorcise that small part, no matter what she did.
She squared the tablet computer in her hands. “I’ve taken copious notes for my successor—”
“Not necessary.” Warren waved that off. “You’re not going anywhere.”
The wildest bloom of hope sprouted in her chest before she could stomp it flat. “You got Craig to agree to fix their screwup?”
Warren could sell hay to a farmer. Getting Tilda’s boss to admit he’d made a mistake had probably been child’s play.
But Warren waved that off, too. “No, of course not. You were right. Your boss is an ass who can’t be trusted with a box of animal crackers, let alone my campaign to expand in Australia. So I fired him and threatened to sic my lawyers on him if he so much as breathed the phrase cancellation clause.”
“Oh.” She’d have paid good money to be a fly on the wall during that conversation. “So, I’m at a loss on what to say next. Dare I hope you found a way to get my visa renewed in two days?”
If by some miracle he had, she wouldn’t have to go back to Melbourne. She could stay here and work, burying herself in this job that had come to mean so much to her—
“Not exactly.”
Of course not. Warren wasn’t here to make all of her dreams come true, especially not the ones where she imagined him riding to her rescue like a modern-day knight in a shining Tom Ford suit.
Deflated, she fought to keep her face blank. Wouldn’t do to communicate an iota of her emotional state. That was how men got the ammunition they needed to hurt you. “Please elaborate.”
Warren leaned into his steepled hands, a move he made often, which she’d come to recognize as his game stance. It meant he was ready to get serious.
“I spoke to an immigration lawyer. He assures me the best option here is to immediately file for an extension and renewal. But, as you may be aware, that can take months and you would have to travel to the nearest consulate to get the renewal, which would be either Canada or Mexico, depending on your preference, but that means—”
“I would be out of status when I went.” The reality of the legal ramifications swamped her and her shoulders slumped. Ruthlessly, she straightened them. “They wouldn’t let me back in the country if the extension wasn’t in place yet.”
“You see the problem, then.” Warren nodded once. “The project would be on hold again and you’d be stuck in whichever country you traveled to. It might as well be Australia, at that point. The key is that you can’t be out of status when you go to the consulate.”
She felt like Warren was leading her somewhere, but she couldn’t for the life of her figure out where.
“Then I would have to go before Saturday, and the renewal paperwork isn’t even filed yet.” Thanks to her employer’s snafu, she would be in a lot of trouble if she stayed long enough to let her paperwork expire. “That would be a wasted trip.”
As he’d said, she might as well go back to Australia. Maybe she could sweet-talk the firm into assigning her a job in Queensland instead of Victoria. Brisbane might be far enough away to escape Bryan’s insidious reach. Of course, if he had friends on the police force there, her precautions wouldn’t matter. He’d set up surveillance on her phone and house, like he had last time, and she’d have no recourse because he was too slippery to get caught.
She shuddered. The problem was that she didn’t want to go back to Australia. She felt safe here. Valued. As if her contributions mattered for the first time since she’d escaped a relationship where she constantly was made to feel less than. This job had saved her and giving it up was unfathomable.
But what other choice did she have? Warren wasn’t presenting any alternatives that justified his hope-inducing opening comment that she wasn’t going anywhere.
“Yes. Completely wasted. If you were out of status.” His gaze locked onto hers. “The lawyer suggested the easiest way to ensure you’re not out of status at that indeterminate point is if you already had a green card.”
“Green cards are even harder to get than visa renewals,” she blurted out. The rules were inconsistently applied, pending which way the immigration office interpreted them. And Warren was talking about a green card, the Holy Grail for someone in her circumstances. “I would never be able to file for a green card so quickly.”
Warren held up a finger. “There’s one way. If you marry a US citizen. It would be easy enough for us to go to the courthouse Friday morning and get this taken care of. The marriage would be in name only, of course. Our professional relationship would continue as is.”
The sound in her ears increased to a dull roar as she processed his meaning. He was offering to marry her in the most unromantic proposal she could have imagined. They’d be lawfully wed with no hope of any sort of physical relationship. Warren would be her husband, yet never even try to touch her.
Something was definitely wrong with her, because it sounded so perfect she feared the tears pricking the backs of her eyelids might actually fall.
But she’d fallen prey to the illusion of perfection in the past. The only way to ensure there were no repeats was to spell out every possible contingency she could think of.
“We’d be married in name only. That means no intimacy,” she said briskly. “None. Forgive me if I find it hard to believe a man of your stature would accept such a thing.”
At that, Warren actually smiled, a tilting of his lips that lanced her through the stomach as sharply as if he’d actually touched her.
“That sounds vaguely like it should be a compliment. Don’t worry about me. I can handle a few months of no intimacy.”
The way he caressed the term with his American accent did not settle the swirl still heating her core after being treated to his smile. One minute into their business discussion about resolving the issue with her visa her body had already betrayed her. She cleared her throat. “And when my visa is renewed, we will dissolve the marriage.”
He nodded. “An annulment. My lawyers will take care of everything. I’ve already laid out the pertinent points to them in an email. I just need your agreement before I hit Send.”
This was moving far too fast. She could feel the threads of control slipping from her fingers. If she married Warren, he could easily change his mind about the no-intimacy clause. They’d be legally married and she hadn’t a clue what kind of recourse she might have if he decided they would consummate the marriage whether she liked it or not.
If he knew she wore racy lingerie beneath her staid suits, would he change his mind?
She shook off those thoughts. Warren wasn’t offering this solution so he could take advantage of her. They’d worked together late into the night many times, long after the last of his employees had gone home. He’d never been anything but the soul of propriety, which was why she loved this job. He listened to her, valued her opinion. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have gone to these lengths to keep her on the project.
That alone went a long way. Her knees might be weak at the thought of putting herself at his mercy. But she was also continuing in a positive environment that was good for her battered psyche.
There wasn’t really a choice. She could never accept her employer’s mistake and take the offered job in Melbourne. She’d have to agree to become Warren’s bride by contract.
The thought unleashed a shiver she couldn’t control. They’d be living together. Wouldn’t they? How could they convince the authorities they were married unless she moved into his house? But that would make it so much harder to keep her normally vivacious personality under wraps, lest she accidentally give Warren the impression she welcomed his advances.
The complications rose up in her throat like a big black rock, cutting off her air.
“Tell me what you’re thinking, Tilda.” Warren’s quiet voice cut through her angst easily. “Do you want to keep this job or go back to Australia? If it’s the former, let’s work through this from the top and mitigate all of the potential landmines.”
As frequently as they’d been on the same wavelength over the course of this project, it shouldn’t be such a shock that he’d picked up on her reservations. Could he see the panic, too? Surely not.
She’d tried hard to hide what was really going on beneath the surface for the entire length of their acquaintance, adopting the granite-hard professionalism that she’d been convinced no one could crack.
Warren Garinger managed to crack it without breaking a sweat. Likely without even realizing it. This was her opportunity to retake control.
“All right.” Deep breath. “I want to keep this job.”
That meant she had to take the issue of her visa seriously and consider his offer. Marriage. It was a dizzying proposition, rife with pitfalls, both legal and personal.
But still viable, nonetheless.
“Good. I want you to keep it. What else concerns you about this plan?”
Oh, God, everything about this plan concerned her. One hurdle at a time. “No issues with your wife working for you?”
“None. This is a family company through and through. Thomas’s wife is head of accounting and all of the shareholders are named Garinger.” Warren flashed her another brief smile. “If you like, I would be happy to give you a block of shares as a wedding present.”
She swallowed as the black rock grew in her throat. The gesture had probably been an act of good faith, but no one had ever offered to make her a part of a family with such decisiveness. It felt...nice. She got to belong for no other reason than because Warren said so. She nodded, since speaking wasn’t possible.
“What else?” he prodded gently. “I have a master suite at my house that connects to a smaller bedroom via the bathroom. The door locks from the other side. You may have that one or one on the first floor if you like. My staff is paid well to exercise discretion, so we don’t need to worry about them tattling to the immigration bureau that the marriage is fake. Of course, we will need to put on some appearances as if we’re happily married.”
“I’m not sure I can do that.” She cut in before thinking better of it. How could she explain that she didn’t think she could let a man touch her without jumping out of her skin? She didn’t have to. Warren didn’t miss a beat.
“I don’t mean with public displays of affection.” His smile turned wry. “No one who knows me would be shocked if I never touched my wife in public. What would be shocking is if I put my cell phone down long enough to do so.”
That did it. Her lungs loosened, allowing her to breathe. Finally. Sweet air rushed into her system and she went a little lightheaded from relief. She found herself matching his smile without fully realizing he’d affected her enough for that. “I see your point. They would probably call the authorities much faster if you showered me with attention. Perhaps we’ll let them think of us as having an affair of the mind.”
They shared a moment of understanding that grew sharper the longer they stared at each other. The man was brilliant, sexy without being in your face about it and respectful of her boundaries. How much closer could they become if she lowered a few?
Warren cleared his throat first and looked away. “What I meant was that you might have to accompany me to family functions so as not to raise eyebrows. The last thing we need is immigration questioning whether we married strictly for the green card. The attorney I consulted said they do investigate red flags.”
She nodded. “I got you.”
“Also, you should know that I’m not warm and fuzzy in a relationship. Acting like I’m in love is frankly outside my skill set. I wouldn’t know what that looks like, nor do I intend to learn.”
“That’s fine with me.” Perfect, actually. She didn’t know what love looked like, either, and trying to fake it would only bring up issues she’d rather leave in the dark. Boundaries were her friends. Always. “In that case, I accept your proposal.”
“Great. I’ll have some papers for you to sign tomorrow, a standard prenuptial agreement and the marriage license application. We’ll go to the justice of the peace on Friday, as mentioned, and then it will be done.”
Warren reached out a hand and she clasped it. A handshake to seal the deal. Should have been innocuous enough and seemed appropriate under the circumstances.
But the moment their flesh connected, a jolt of electricity shot up her arm and her awareness of him as a man settled deep inside. Not just a man. One who would be her husband.
Her little crush might be wholly inadvisable, but as Warren held her hand, she didn’t for a moment believe she had the will to stop finding him inconveniently and enormously attractive.
Two (#uec5d5d29-710c-54ea-8c8c-6e8202d01643)
Jonas Kim and Hendrix Harris met Warren at the courthouse on Friday. Predictably, his best friends since college didn’t miss the opportunity to give him a hard time about his impending marriage. Warren had fully expected it after the equally hard time he’d given both of them when they’d gotten married.
The difference here was that Warren wasn’t breaking the pact the three of them had made their senior year at Duke University. Jonas and Hendrix had. They’d broken the pact seven ways to Sunday and without shame, no less. After Marcus had committed suicide over his irreparably broken heart, the three surviving friends had shaken hands and vowed to never fall in love.
Warren would stick to that until the day he died. His friends might have found ways to excuse their faithlessness to themselves, but Warren was still working on forgiving them for putting their hearts at risk in their own marriages.
“Well, well, well.” Jonas crossed his arms and gave Warren a once-over that held a wealth of meaning as his two friends cleared the metal detector at the entrance to the Wake County Courthouse in downtown Raleigh. “I do believe this is what eating crow looks like. Don’t you agree, Hendrix?”
“I do.” His other friend shot Warren a grin that sharpened his already ridiculous cheekbones. “It also looks like I should have put money on whether Warren would eventually get that mouth full of feathers when I had a chance.”
“Ha, ha. It’s not like that,” Warren growled.
It wasn’t. His marriage did not compare to his friends’ situations; both of them had married women they already had relationships with. Jonas had married his friend Viv to avoid an arranged marriage with a stranger, and Hendrix had married Roz to end a scandal caused by risqué photographs of the two of them. They’d both sworn they weren’t going to cross any lines, but it had only been a matter of time before things started getting mushy.
Mushy was not even remotely in the realm of possibility for Warren.
“What’s it like, then?” Jonas asked. “Tell us how it’s even possible that you’re getting married after being so high and mighty about it when me and Hendrix came to you with our plans.”
“I’m marrying Tilda because I can’t trash Down Under Thunder without her. This is a Hail Mary designed to keep her in the country. No other reason. End of story.”
“Oh, so she’s a hag you would never look at twice on the street. I get it,” Jonas said with a smart-ass nod.
Hendrix shook his head. “That’s just sad, if so.”
“Shut up. She’s not a hag. Tilda is gorgeous.” The headache brewing between Warren’s eyes stabbed a little harder as his friends gave each other knowing glances laden with a side of I told you so. “This marriage is strictly business. I would never be anything less than professional with an employee.”
“Except you are,” Jonas countered. “You’re moving her into your house tomorrow. Trust me when I say that leads to all sorts of things you might swear on your mother’s life you would never contemplate, but it happens, man. First you’re having a drink together after work and next thing you know, you’re giving your in-name-only bride diamonds and orgasms in the foyer.”
“Or in the linen closet at your wedding reception,” Hendrix threw in helpfully with a gleam in his eye. He and his new wife had pulled just such a disappearing at the social event of the season.
“There are no linen closets here,” Warren pointed out unnecessarily, not that he had to explain himself to his friends. But he was going to anyway, because they needed to be clear that he was the lone holdout in their pact.
Marcus’s suicide was not something Warren had ever taken lightly, and neither was the vow he’d made to honor his roommate’s death. Love had stolen a young man’s life. Warren would never let that be his fate. “I’ve never done anything more than shake Tilda’s hand as a form of sealing our arrangement. She’s working on my project, not working her way into my bed. This is not about my sex life. Period.”
“We’ll see about that.” Hendrix jerked his chin over Warren’s shoulder. “Would that lovely lady be your intended bride? She looks like your type.”
Warren turned to see Tilda striding toward him, her sensible heels clacking on the marble floor of the courthouse, hair swept up in the no-nonsense bun he’d dreamed about again last night and a serene expression on her face that didn’t change when she caught his gaze.
Good. She’d been edgy in his office the other day and he’d half expected her to back out at some point. After all, he hadn’t really had to sell her on the idea of a marriage to keep her in the country. It had been remarkably easy to talk her into it, and for some reason, he’d become convinced that she’d change her mind after she had a chance to think about it. Marriage was a big thing to some women and maybe she’d dreamed of falling in love with a capital L.
But she was here. His shoulders relaxed a bit, releasing tension he’d been carrying since Wednesday. This was going to work. Down Under Thunder was toast. And if he had the opportunity to develop a few more harmless fantasies starring his wife, no one had to know.
Tilda halted in front of him smelling fresh and citrusy. Funny, he’d never noticed her scent before and his imagination galloped toward the conclusion that she’d wanted to do something special for the occasion.
“We have a conference call at one o’clock with Wheatner and Ross,” she said by way of greeting.
A timely reminder. That’s why she was worth every dime of her paycheck. But he couldn’t seem to stop looking at the thin strand of hair that fell from her forehead down across her temple.
It wasn’t more than a millimeter wide, but it followed the line of her face to hit just under her jaw, and he had the strongest urge to slide it along his fingertips as he tucked it behind her ear. What madness was this, that she’d missed that miniscule bit of hair when she’d gotten dressed this morning?
New perfume. Defiant hair. Was it possible she was affected by the gravity of what they were about to do? Because he was. He’d lain awake last night, unable to close his eyes as he thought about the realities of having Tilda under his roof, how he’d see her in the morning before they left for work, have a cup of coffee together, even. Maybe he’d give her a ride. It only made sense that they’d go to the office together since they were coming from the same place. They could talk about things and—
Jonas might have a point about the inherent lack of professionalism that would come with having an easily accessible woman in his house. Too late now. He’d have to bank on the fact that he and Tilda had already discussed the necessary lack of intimacy.
Warren cleared his throat. “Then we should get on with it.”
She nodded with a slight smile. “It helps when we’re on the same wavelength.”
They always were. They were cut from the same cloth, which was what made her so easy to work with. Conversely, it also made it easier to imagine slipping in deeper with her, loosening her up, finding ways to make her laugh more. They’d be good together, if he ever did find himself unable to resist crossing that line.
No.
There would be no line crossing. The project was too important to take those kinds of risks. His vows were too important. He gestured to Jonas and Hendrix as he doled out the introductions.
“Mr. Kim.” Tilda shook Jonas’s hand briskly. “I worked on the campaign for your hybrid printer during the global rollout two years ago.”
Jonas’s brows lifted as he nodded. “That was a great product launch for Kim Electronics. I didn’t realize you were on that team. It was very impressive.”
Crossing his arms, Warren tried not to smile too smugly, failed—and then decided there was no shame in letting it be known that he only hired the best. Which shouldn’t be a surprise to anyone.
Hendrix slid right into the space Jonas had vacated, charm in full force as he shook Tilda’s hand for about fifteen beats too long, which wasn’t a surprise to anyone. The man would probably flirt with a nun, given the chance. Regardless, Warren did not like the way Tilda smiled back, never mind that Hendrix was happily married to a woman who could command a cover spot on a men’s magazine.
“We have a marriage to conduct,” Warren reminded everyone briskly before he had to punch his friend for taking liberties with his wife-to-be.
