Accidentally Married to the Billionaire

The pounding in my head feels like someone is using my skull as a drum set. I squeeze my eyes shut tighter, hoping the pain will disappear, but it only gets worse. The sunlight streaming through what should be my cheap apartment blinds is way too bright and coming from the wrong direction.

Wait. My apartment doesn't get morning sun.

I force one eye open and immediately regret it. This isn't my tiny studio with the broken air conditioner and the neighbor who plays music too loud. This is... expensive. Really expensive. The ceiling above me is at least twelve feet high with fancy molding that probably costs more than my rent. The sheets beneath me feel like silk, and they smell like money and some kind of masculine cologne that makes my stomach flutter in a way that has nothing to do with my hangover.

"What the hell?" I whisper, my voice cracking like I haven't used it in days.

I sit up slowly, and the room spins like I'm on a carnival ride. The headache gets worse, but I can see more now. Floor-to-ceiling windows show a view of the Las Vegas Strip that you definitely can't get from a regular hotel room. This is a penthouse suite. The kind of place I've only seen in movies.

My clothes from last night are scattered across the marble floor like someone threw them there in a hurry. My cheap black dress that I bought on sale at Target, my discount store heels that gave me blisters, my purse that's seen better days. They look even more out of place in this fancy room than I feel.

But it's what's on my left hand that makes me stop breathing.

A wedding ring.

Not just any wedding ring. This thing is huge. The diamond catches the morning light and throws rainbows across the silk sheets. It's the kind of ring that belongs in a jewelry store window with a security guard standing next to it.

"No, no, no, no, no." I shake my hand like that will make the ring disappear. It doesn't budge. "This isn't real. This can't be real."

I look around desperately for some clue about what happened. There's a champagne bottle on the nightstand, empty. Two glasses, both with lipstick stains. A receipt from something called the Chapel of Eternal Love with yesterday's date.

Yesterday. What happened yesterday?

I remember going to that conference for recent graduates. I remember feeling like a fraud in my cheap interview outfit while everyone else looked like they belonged in the business world. I remember the networking mixer where I nursed one drink all night because I couldn't afford more. I remember the guy next to me at the bar ordering top-shelf whiskey like it was water.

The guy with the intense blue eyes and the expensive suit who looked at me like I was the only person in the room. The one who bought me a drink when he saw me counting quarters. The one who made me laugh for the first time in months.

Oh God. Where is he?

I scramble out of bed, clutching the sheet around me like armor. The bathroom door is closed, and I can hear water running. Someone is in there. Someone is in the shower, and based on the deep humming coming through the door, it's definitely a man.

My heart pounds so hard I'm surprised it doesn't wake up the entire hotel. I need to get out of here. I need to leave before whoever is in that bathroom comes out and I have to face what I've done. I start grabbing my clothes, shoving them on as fast as my shaking hands will let me.

But as I'm pulling on my dress, I catch sight of myself in the massive mirror across from the bed. My hair looks like I stuck my finger in an electrical socket. My makeup is smeared all over my face. And that ring... it's so big I can barely make a fist.

The shower turns off.

I freeze like a deer in headlights. The humming stops. I hear footsteps on marble, and I know I have about thirty seconds before my mystery husband walks out of that bathroom and my life gets even more complicated than it already is.

I grab my purse and run for the door, my heels clicking on the marble floor like tiny hammers. My hands shake so badly I can barely work the electronic lock. Come on, come on, come on.