Married to the billionaire for revenge
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of my heels before
of voices and rolling suitcases. My carry-on kept slipping from my shoulder, my suitcase drag
ause I o
. not e
n. Words breathed so close they were more felt than heard. I'd falle
business. His business. Chicago, a meeting with one of the company's top marketing teams. Eve
me with the minutes I was running out of. I pic
ng my voice to sound steady. "Please tell me you
nicured nails tapped against the keyboard in an unhurried rhy
ded, leaning forward slightly. "I
and impersonal. "One seat lef
it was better than missing
curity, my bag bouncing against my hip. My phone buzzed from inside it, and I reached for the zipper.
se was al
itcase slipping from my grasp. The bitter scent of coffee hit me before the heat did. It
, clutching at
ice was deep, smooth, an
dressed in a navy suit that fit like it had been made for him. He stood there as if the termina
brushing at my soaked blouse. My skin stung, but my tempe
and assessing, before the faintest curl t
ing through a terminal like a bulldozer," he sai
ell open. "
wed, their eyes flicking between us like they were watching
e-slinging stranger who stands in the
amusement in his eyes. "You're the one who bounced off me like a tennis
ly what the terminal owed me w
e a probl
s, her sharp gaze moving from my soak
elf," he said, as if even explai
sure you standing in the middle of a
idn't
ening. "Ma'am, are you alright? We can get y
ng my voice to stay ev
he hum of the terminal washing over me.
followed, low enough to feel l
ll on me next ti
as a private joke, made my fingers tighten around my suitcase handle. I turned, but he w
bad luck,"
Airports are full of them. You'd be surprised
, trying to push him from my mind. I told