“That would explain the tassels.” Leaning in, Stella asks, “Did you strip in front of a crowd?”
Unable to answer, I look at my phone again, and this time, I unlock the screen and read the text.
Husband: Good morning, wife. About to board my plane back to Chicago. After I arrive, I’m going to pack some things and then head to our place. See you at home . . . snookums.
Wife?
Packing things?
Our place?
SNOOKUMS??
Oh . . . fuuuuuck.
I swallow hard, nerves bristling through me as I look at my friends. Fear and anxiety creep up the back of my neck as I say, “I think I made a huge mistake last night.”
“What kind of mistake?” Greer asks. “Worse than stripping in front of a crowd?”
I nod. “Way worse.”
“What could be worse than that?” Stella asks.
Stunned, I stare off into the suite and say, “I married Pike Greyson last night.”
Chapter One
PIKE
“Did you land?”
“Yeah,” I mutter, as I make my way through the Las Vegas airport. Slot machines ding and bling as I weave toward the baggage claim. Weary travelers, hungover visitors, and clingy couples filter through the hallways, bumping into me or cutting me off as they spot an open slot machine—just one more chance to win before they leave. “Where the hell did you book me, again?”
“Aria. There should be a car attendant ready to pick you up at baggage claim,” Killian, my oldest brother, says on the phone.
“Does Pa know I’m here?”
“No,” Killian answers. “He’s completely unaware.”
The nerves building inside me from the thought of my father knowing where I am start to ease. Thank fuck.
“And you swear on your cock, I won’t run into him?”
“Swear. You’re staying in different hotels, running in different circles, teeing off at different tee times. There’s no chance. Just go out there, kick arse, and then go home. Simple.”
I hop onto the airport shuttle and stand next to the door, my hand tightly gripping the handle of my carry-on. “I don’t know why I allowed you to convince me to do this.”
“Because you can’t say no when it comes to our foundation.”
He’s right. When it comes to our foundation, Rabid Readers, I can’t say no. Many years ago, Killian and I started a foundation to provide an equal opportunity to every child to not only learn to read, but to have the resources to do so, and to keep them invested in literature.
With my recent move to the States, I stepped away from the foundation—and from my old life—but Killian begged me to do the golf tournament, knowing I could win a good chunk of change for the Rabid Readers. It took a lot of convincing, but I agreed.
Now I’m regretting it.
“And I booked you a flight out early Sunday morning. You’ll be back in your flat before you know it.”
“Apartment,” I say absently. “Americans call them apartments.” Can you see my eye roll?
“Might not hurt you to loosen up while you’re in Vegas, you know.”
I stare out the window of the shuttle as it picks up speed. “The last thing I should do is loosen up,” I say, finally having a tight grasp on my life.
“Pike, you’re free now. Isn’t this what you wanted? A life of your own?”
I chew on the bottom of my lip.
“I don’t know what the hell I want.” The shuttle stops and I allow a few people to get off before I do. Rolling my bag behind me, I head toward baggage claim, where I see a row of drivers lined up with signs in their hands.
“Maybe this mini holiday will help you figure it out.”
I sarcastically laugh. “I doubt thirty-six hours in Vegas is going to change my life.”
“You never know.”
I spot a driver holding a sign with my last name on it. “I have to go.”
“You better beat Pa’s score.”
“Trust me, that won’t be an issue. Just know, this is the last time I’m doing this shit for you, got it? I’m a silent partner. No more of this public appearance bullshit.”
“Last one.”
“Good. I’ll call you later.”
We hang up and I stick my mobile in my pocket as I approach the driver. When he makes eye contact with me, he asks, “Pike Greyson?”
I nod. “That would be me.”
“Pike Greyson, didn’t expect to see your peevish ass out here.”
My back tenses from the sound of that familiar American accent—it’s my pa’s business partner. Fuck.