MARRIED TO MR. RICH ASS

CHAPTER ONE- WORST WEDNESDAY

The glass walls of Callahan Enterprises' executive boardroom reflected the cold, ruthless skyline of Manhattan. The city sparkled beyond the tinted windows, but inside, the temperature felt subarctic.

Adrian Callahan sat at the head of the mahogany table, posture impeccable, tailored suit unwrinkled, gaze fixed. His eyes, the color of winter storms, were unreadable as the board members murmured among themselves.

"You're jeopardizing our reputation, Adrian," Eleanor Callahan's voice sliced through the murmurs like a blade. Despite her silver hair and the elegance of age, she commanded the room with the strength of a hurricane bottled in Chanel No. 5.

Adrian didn't flinch. "The company's profits have increased by fourteen percent this quarter. I fail to see how my personal life is relevant."

Eleanor leaned forward, knuckles tapping the table in a rhythm of war. "Investors don't trust instability. And an unmarried CEO at thirty-four? With no heir? The vultures are circling."

"Let them circle. I'm not a reality show contestant; I'm a businessman."

"You're also a Callahan," she snapped. "And a Callahan leads by example. Not with tabloid scandals and revolving gay relationships."

A few board members coughed awkwardly. One pretended to check his watch. Adrian remained stoic.

Eleanor's tone softened, but only slightly. "You have six months. Find someone. Marry her. Or I call an emergency vote and you lose the chair."

Silence reigned. Adrian's jaw clenched, but he said nothing.

---

Across town, Anna Morgan was having the worst Wednesday of her life - which, considering her track record, was saying a lot.

"Miss Morgan, I'm sorry, but the landlord said first of the month, not first-ish," the balding super mumbled, refusing to meet her eyes as she struggled to carry a box filled with worn paperbacks and her brother's inhaler.

"I told him I'd pay by Friday," she groaned. "I have a new job starting today."

He shrugged. "Tell that to the lock I changed this morning."

Anna kicked the box. It split, a paperback flying open like a surrender flag. "Perfect! I always wanted to live on the sidewalk. Very rustic."

Her phone buzzed. It was her younger brother, Liam. Don't worry about me. Focus on the job today. We'll be okay.

She blinked hard, wiped her face, tucked her curls under a cap, and straightened her thrifted blazer. One charity gala, one night of pretending she belonged among the rich and heartless. She could do this. She had to.

–

The ballroom at Callahan Grand Hotel gleamed like a diamond carved into gold - chandeliers dripping crystal, champagne bubbling in flutes, and too many conversations about offshore accounts and investment portfolios.

In a dim corner near the staff entrance, Pamela, the head usher, leaned against the wall, checking her clipboard. A soft cough interrupted her.

Tianna Whitmore stood there, draped in a show-stopping emerald gown, a glass of champagne dangling between two manicured fingers. "Pamela," she purred. "Do me a tiny favor, would you?"

Pamela sighed. "Depends."

"I need a little... attention. Stir things up around my table. Nothing dramatic. Just enough to shift the spotlight. Maybe a rookie server in the wrong place?" Her lips curled into a sweet, venomous smile.

Pamela arched her brow. "You don't care who?"

Tianna waved a hand. "Whoever. Just don't pick someone too polished. The more awkward, the better."

A beat. Then a quiet click as something slipped into Pamela's pocket.

Pamela smirked. "Consider it done."

–

Anna stood stiffly behind the catering line, a silver tray in hand and a blister forming from where it kissed her palm. She wore the standard server attire: crisp white shirt, black vest, bow tie. She felt like a penguin with anxiety.

"Table seventeen," barked the head usher, a woman named Pamela whose smile had more Botox than warmth. "Don't spill anything. And for God's sake, don't talk unless you're dying."

Anna gave a mock salute behind her back. "Yes, ma'am, dying in silence. Got it."

She weaved through the tables with practiced grace, past silk gowns and suits worth more than her entire student debt. Her tray held sparkling rosé and a few stuffed canapés she couldn't pronounce.

And that's when she saw her.

Tianna Whitmore.

Draped in emerald silk, diamonds dancing on her collarbone, Tianna looked like every bad decision ever made by inherited wealth. She stood at the center of attention, laughing too loudly, flipping her hair as though she were auditioning to be the next shampoo heiress.

Anna's gut instinct told her to take another route.

But the usher had locked eyes with her and gestured-forward.

As Anna neared, Tianna glanced her way and stiffened. A flicker of recognition in her eyes. Suspicion. Then-a smirk.

"Oh my God," Tianna gasped with fake shock, stepping dramatically sideways-right into Anna's path.

Anna tried to pivot, but her foot snagged on the slippery floor.

The tray wobbled.

One flute toppled.

A single splash of rosé landed on Tianna's silk dress.

Silence.

Gasps.

Then Tianna's voice, shrill and echoing: "Are you kidding me?!"

Anna froze. "I-I didn't-"

"You absolute disaster," Tianna snapped. "Do you even have eyes? Are you legally blind or just incompetent?"

People were watching now. A cluster of VIPs nearby turned their heads. Whispers buzzed like flies.

Anna felt the fire rise in her. She wasn't some doormat with a tray.

She smiled sweetly. "Oh no, how could I? I mean, between dodging your ego and your hair extensions, visibility is a challenge."

Scattered laughter.

Tianna's eyes flared. "Do you know who I am?!"

"Unfortunately," Anna said, adjusting her tray. "But don't worry, that stain on your dress might help people forget."

A choked laugh came from someone nearby. Even a server behind her snorted.

Tianna took a step forward. "You're fired."

"You don't have the authority," Anna said, tilting her head. "Unless your family bought the hotel too."

"I will make sure you never work here again!"

"Great," Anna said, smiling wider. "One less overpriced building I have to pretend rich people matter in."

Someone dropped a fork.

-

Upstairs in the VIP viewing lounge, Eleanor Callahan sipped her champagne with the elegance of a queen watching her kingdom.

Until the disturbance broke through the ballroom's polished surface like a jagged crack.

"What on earth is that noise?" she snapped, eyeing the crowd below.

A young coordinator rushed to her side. "Just a minor situation on the floor, ma'am. One of the ushers-"

"Fix it," Eleanor barked, then paused. Her gaze swept over the crowd and narrowed on the ripple forming near Tianna, her least favorite socialite.

She turned to her grandson with steely calm. "Adrian. Handle it. Discreetly. If this ends up on Page Six, I'll personally handcuff you to a minister."

Adrian arched an eyebrow. "You want me to intervene in an usher spat?"

"I want you to protect the Callahan name," she replied coolly. "Now go."

With the weight of dynasty on his shoulders and exasperation in his steps, Adrian adjusted his cufflinks and strode toward the elevator, unaware that a firecracker named Anna Morgan was about to disrupt his entire world.

And then-

"Enough."

The voice was cool, sharp, and commanding.

Everyone turned.

Anna blinked.

The man standing at the edge of the crowd wore black like it was woven for him personally. Cold, elegant, and impossibly calm, Adrian Callahan surveyed the scene like a lion assessing disorder in his jungle.

Anna didn't know who he was, but everything about him screamed power. The kind you didn't touch. The kind that didn't need to raise its voice to control a room.

"Anna Morgan," he said. His voice didn't rise, but it made her freeze.

She narrowed her eyes. "Do I know you?"

"I suggest," he said, stepping closer, "you lower your voice, Miss Morgan. This is not the place for theatrics."

She blinked, stunned. "Excuse me-do you even know what happened here, or are you just another rich guy who assumes the help is always wrong?"

A hushed gasp from the crowd.

Adrian's gaze didn't flinch. "Your name tag. It's visible." He pointed to her badge pinned slightly off-center.

Anna glanced down, cheeks warming.

Adrian continued, eyes never leaving hers. "I'd recommend composure. It's far more powerful than retaliation."

She lifted her chin. "And I'd recommend not defending someone just because they glitter."

His mouth curved - slightly. Almost amused. But he said nothing else. I just turned and walked away, the crowd parting like water.

Anna exhaled. "Who was that?"

She was so fired.

---

After Anna storms off with her head held high - muttering something about "rich people's egos needing a diet" - the room falls into stunned silence. Tianna, fuming, tries to laugh it off, but no one joins her.

From across the room, Eleanor Callahan narrows her eyes at the spectacle. "That girl," she mutters. "Interesting."

Adrian, still near the doorway, watches Anna's retreating figure with quiet intensity. No smile, no comment - just a flicker of something unreadable in his stormy eyes.

-

Back in the VIP viewing lounge, Adrian sat in silence.

"Would you like me to handle her termination file, sir?" his assistant, Jeremy, asked quietly.

Adrian tapped his fingers against his knee, once.

Then paused.

"I suggest so".