Alpha Billionaire’s Bride, Part One (BWWM Romance Serial) (2 page)

Everyone, literally everyone in the crowd, answered her at
once. Jada was finished with it. She shoved hard on the door but couldn’t close
it because a man had wedged his foot in the crack.

Jada didn’t think about it, just turned slightly and stomped
down hard on his toes with the heel of her foot. He howled, pulled back, and in
a split second, Jada slammed the door shut and flipped the deadbolt. She bet he
was sorry he’d worn flimsy sneakers.

JADA REALIZED HER HEART WAS pounding and she was breathing
hard.

“What the hell?” she asked out loud to the empty room.

Somewhere, under the exterior roar, she heard her phone
ringing. Great. They were trying to get at her that way, too. She trudged into
her bedroom and picked up her phone off the nightstand. At least it was quieter
in her room now that everyone was wailing at her front door.

It wasn’t more reporters, after all. It was Marina. Wait,
Marina was a reporter, too. Oh well, Jada thought, feeling like she was in a
stupor, some kind of bizarre dream where nothing made sense. Marina wasn’t one
of the bad reporters.

She answered the call.

Marina’s voice was practically a squeal. “Turn on the TV!
Turn on the TV! CGTV channel.”

The Celebrity Gossip channel? Jada would have said that this
was no time for spying on the A list, except that nothing made sense anymore,
so what the hell?

She grabbed up the remote, sat on the edge of her mattress
and turned on the small TV that hung on the wall across from her bed. She
flipped until she found CGTV.

Well, that was odd. It was showing a crowd of people in
front of someone’s house. It looked like reporters with cameras and other
equipment. It was a cute little house, painted blue, neatly kept with a
newly-shingled roof and recently-trimmed hedges. It had a lovely carved front
door and white shutt—

Hey!

“Oh my God,” she said softly. “That’s my house.”

“I know!” Marina shrieked.

Jada jumped, having forgotten she was still holding the
phone. “What’s going on? I just woke up and the world’s gone crazy. Why is my
house on TV?”

“It’s not just your house, Jada. A bit ago, it was you on
TV, too. They showed you standing in the doorway.”

“What? Oh. This is ...” Jada glowered at the screen when she
saw a woman in a short skirt and high heels step on Jada’s just-planted pampas
grass, “...making me kind of mad.”

“Look,” Marina said, “if you’re going to open your front
door again, you should brush your hair or something. Maybe change out of your
pajamas. Not that you don’t look good; you do, kind of, but, I mean, I’m just
saying ...”

Jada glanced down at herself. She was wearing her favorite
sleeping shirt and leggings, which were actually an ancient pair of long johns,
thermal underwear, top and bottom. The waffled cotton fabric had once been
printed with cute blue flowers, but those had long since faded into vague blurs
which, now that she was examining them, alarmingly resembled food stains. The
knees and elbows were threadbare and had small holes. Plus, she wasn’t wearing
a bra.

Well, wasn’t that just great? She touched her hair. She
didn’t need a mirror to tell her, it was a rat’s nest.

This day just kept getting better.

“So,” Jada said, “I was just on television looking like a
crazy cat lady. That’s what you’re telling me, isn’t it?”

“It wasn’t that bad. But, you really might think about
cleaning up before—”

“I’m not going back out there!” Now, who was sounding
shrill? Jada glanced around the room, leaned over and tried to see under the bed.
Mentioning a cat lady made her think of ... “Ms. Kitty. I don’t see her. You
don’t think she got out when I opened the front door, do you?”

Marina snorted. “She’s hiding somewhere. No way she’d go out
with all those people.”

“You’re right. Thank God she’s so anti-social. Ms. Kitty!
Here, Ms. Kitty! It’s okay, girl. You can come out.”

“She’s fine,” Marina insisted. “Anyway, you’ve got other,
bigger things going on.”

“I know I do. It’s just that none of that stuff makes any
sense. A missing cat makes sense. I think I’ll stick to finding Ms. Kitty, if
you don’t mind.” She slipped off the mattress and looked under the bed.

“Oh, Jada. I’m so, so sorry. This is terrible. You’ve
obviously lost your mind and we’ll have to put you in a home for—”

“That’s not funny.” Jada stood up, took a deep breath and
forced herself to watch TV.

Text scrolled along the bottom of the screen and there were
insets that changed every minute or so. She tried to read and listen to the
broadcaster at once, but she was so rattled she could only focus on one thing
at a time.

The female broadcaster rambled. “The woman presumed to be
Jada Howarth has yet to reappear. The front door remains locked and no can hear
anything inside the house. Wait. I’m getting new information. Uh-huh. Mm-hmm. Official
sources are now saying that the frazzled-looking woman we saw moments ago
couldn’t possibly be Jada Howarth. Jada would most definitely not be in the
little house. She’d be on her honeymoon, of course. Yeah. That makes sense.
Whew! I don’t know about you, but I was a little worried there for a minute. I
don’t mean anything against the lady inside there but Ian’s really hot and—”

Jada frowned and muted the TV. She read the screen,
expecting to see, “Jada Howarth much less attractive, more frowsy than
anticipated.” What she read instead, was far more disconcerting:

“Billionaire Ian Buckley and mystery woman wed in secret
ceremony.”

“Marriage license names bride as Jada Howarth of Springer’s
Glen.”

“Family and friends of Buckley claim no knowledge of marriage
or Jada Howarth.”

“Unnamed sources say Sasha threatened to jump off bridge
when given news of Ian’s nuptials.”

“No statements from Ian Buckley or his people.”

Jada gawped at the screen. So THAT was why there were so
many people outside. They thought she’d married superman billionaire Ian
Buckley. It made perfect sense.

“Okay, Marina,” she said. “Someone’s pranking me. Is it you?
If it’s you, I’m going to kill you.”

“It’s not a prank. It’s for real. You’re trending on Twitter
and are all over Google and YouTube. Don’t go to YouTube, by the way. The video
of you at your front door is going viral as we speak.”

“This is the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard. How in the
world would anyone think I’d married Ian Buckley? Or that
he
would marry
me? Someone’s made a huge mistake and—wait a minute. Phone’s buzzing. I’ve got
another call coming in.” She glanced at the screen and didn’t recognize the
number. “I’m putting you on hold, Marina.”

“Okay, but—”

Jada cut her off and accepted the other call. “Hello?”

“Hello.” It was a pleasant-sounding female voice. “Am I
speaking to Jada Howarth?”

“You are.”

“My name is Cathy Johnson. I’m one of Ian Buckley’s
executive assistants. He asked me to call you to arrange a meeting.”

“Oh, you all are a laugh riot today, aren’t you? Are you
with CGTV? How’d you get my number? Isn’t it enough that you’re outside
crushing my grass?”

“I’m sorry, Ms. Howarth. I’m sure you aren’t accustomed to
this kind of attention. I assure you I am who I say I am. And none of us in Mr.
Buckley’s employ are in your yard at this moment.”

“Prove it.”

“Please, Ms. Howarth. That’s impossible.”

“Maybe.”

“I’m calling to set up a meeting between you and Mr.
Buckley, ma’am. Can you be ready to leave for the city in say, ten minutes?”

Jada barked a laugh. “You’re kidding, right?”

“No. We sent a car to pick you up already and it’s nearly
there now. How about fifteen minutes? Can you leave in fifteen?”

“Hold on. I’ll be back.”

“But I—”

Jada cut her off and put Marina back on the line. “You’ll
never guess who I’m talking to.”

“If you say Ian Buckley I’m going to pee my pants.”

“Gross. No. It’s Ian Buckley’s assistant. She says they’re
sending a car for me, that Ian wants to meet with me.”

Marina squealed, again. There were far too many squeals
going on of late. It was like they’d reverted to tween-hood.

“Oh my God, Jada. This is so ... so ...”

“Ridiculous? Stupid?”

“I was thinking more like miraculous and predestined.”

“Listen,” Jada said, “I need to know what you think. If a
car actually shows up, should I go? How do I know it’s really Buckley’s
assistant I’m talking to?”

“Of course it’s really her. It makes perfect sense that he’d
want to meet you. How else will you make sense of everything? Oh my God. You’re
going to go, aren’t you? If you don’t want to go, I will. I can’t promise you
not to try for Ian, though. I mean, I know he’s your husband, but if you aren’t
going to nail down your man, you can’t blame me for giving it a try.”

“The entire world has gone crazy, and you’re the whacko
leader, Marina. Fine. I’ll go. Hold on again.”

She switched back to Cathy. “Okay. I’ll go. But I’ll need at
least forty-five minutes. I’ve got to shower and do my hair and stuff.”

“Can you make it thirty? I wouldn’t ask, but Mr. Buckley is
anxious to speak with you and it’s almost an hour’s drive from there into the
city. You could really help me out if you hurried.”

Jada didn’t know why she should care about helping someone
she’d just met. Nonetheless, she found herself agreeing to hurry.

“Thank you so much, Ms. Howarth,” Cathy said in her perkiest
voice yet. “And don’t worry about those reporters outside your house. You’ll be
escorted safely to the car, okay?”

That was the first bit of good news Jada had heard all
morning. “Okay.”

“The driver will call in thirty minutes. Wait inside for him
and the others. He’ll tell you what you need to do.”

“Er, all right, I guess. Others?”

“That’s right. Thanks again, Ms. Howarth. Mr. Buckley will
be pleased that you’re on your way. See you soon.”

She hung up before Jada could say anything else. She flipped
back to Marina.

“I told her I’d go,” Jada said.

“I can’t believe this is happening. It’s like a dream.”

“More like a nightmare. Who knows what that man thinks is
going on here? I sure don’t know what to think about it.”

“Well, I don’t know, either.”

“Of course you don’t. How could you?”

“Exactly.”

“Listen,” Jada said, “I’ve got to go. I’ve only got thirty
minutes to pull myself together. I’ll call you when I’m in the car.”

“I love you, Jada.”

“I love you, too. Why did you say that? Am I dying?”

“Shut up and take a shower.”

Jada smiled and ended the call. Movement in the corner of
the room caught her eye. Ms. Kitty poked her fuzzy, tabby head out from under
the big wardrobe. Well, at least Jada didn’t have to worry about that anymore.

It would have been impossible to be a crazy cat lady without
a cat. Jada headed off to the bathroom.

IAN BUCKLEY STOOD BEFORE THE wall of floor-to-ceiling
windows and gazed out over the city. Here, on the top floor of the Buckley
tower, he had an unbroken view of the city’s eastern vista stretching as far as
the hazy smog layering the horizon. Thousands of buildings, commercial,
residential, industrial, both jumbled and orderly style, lined the crisscrossed
narrow streets and wide avenues.

He sighed. It wasn’t long ago that this view filled him with
energy, flexed his ambition muscles, reminding him of what he’d conquered and
of what remained to be seized. Of late, inspiration had waned.

Ian missed that sensation of surety, the burst of purpose
that suffused him when faced with a seemingly impossible task. It was the
challenge that drove him, pushed him toward certain victory.

He’d been wondering these days, in moments that shook him
and made him doubt his direction: was this it? A simple question. Was this
everything? Meaning, was there nothing more to be done? And then it was
followed by an even more disconcerting question: why did Ian suddenly need
there to be more?

On this particular day, Ian stood in front of his
billion-dollar view and was glad, in a strange way, that he’d been knocked back
with the news that he was supposedly married to a woman he’d never met. It was
as if the universe had gone haywire and Ian welcomed the cosmic distraction
from the personal issues that had been plaguing him.

And boy, was this situation distracting. Sullivan Collins,
Ian’s lead counsel and friend, had burst into Ian’s office earlier than usual
for a Saturday and demanded to know if Ian had gotten married without telling
anyone. Ian had laughed, accused Sullivan of drinking his breakfast. By the
time Ian knew the whole story behind Sullivan’s question, he wasn’t laughing
anymore. He was still amused, though.

Speaking of amused, his thoughts returned to the video of
his so-called wife standing in the doorway of her charming little house, the
tiny lawn swarming with rabid press. He smiled at the memory.

“Oh, what the hell. Why not watch it again?” he mumbled, and
turned away from the windows and toward the bank of televisions on the other
wall. He pulled a remote control from his pocket and cued up the recorded video
on the largest flat screen.

Ian sank down into one of the soft leather chairs, eyes
glued to the TV and pressed play. A crowd of reporters churned around the
doorstep of a small house. He could almost hear their collective intake of
breath, their greedy anticipation when the front door opened.

And there she stood. Jada Howarth. Or would that be Jada
Buckley now? His wife, they said. He couldn’t stop looking at her.

She had obviously just woken up, undoubtedly roused by the
reporters pounding on her house. On the ultra-high-def screen, even from a
distance, he could see a slight imprint on her cheek, undoubtedly from pressing
against her pillow. She slept on her side, he was certain.

Jada had beautiful eyes. Big and wide, dark almost to the
point of blackness, with a lively glimmer even though she’d just woken. Smart
eyes. There was something in the way she stared at the crowd, even though she
was clearly surprised, he could almost see her mind working, her intelligence
on display. And there was a gentleness there, too, a softness that beckoned to
him as much as her beauty and brains.

He shook his head. It was absurd, making so much of a single
view of a single pair of fine eyes.

Someone briefly rapped on his office door. Not waiting for
an answer, Sullivan strolled inside, waving a folder in the air.

“We’ve got some info on our little digger now,” Sullivan
said, coming over to the seating area and plopping down on the tufted couch. He
eyed the television. “You watching that again? Don’t worry about it. She’s
clearly a mess, but we’ll get this settled. It’s not like you’re actually
married to her.”

“Aren’t I?” Ian asked. He paused the video on a close-up of
Jada’s face.

“Of course not. We still haven’t gotten a copy of the
license, but when we do, we’ll be able to prove your signature’s a forgery.
This will be yesterday’s news before tomorrow.”

“Hmm.” Ian studied Jada, noted how even makeup-free she was
a strikingly lovely woman, with high cheekbones and full lips, an oval face,
delicate jawline. “I don’t think she’s part of this scam, Sullivan.”

Sullivan leaned back on the couch and studied the frozen
screen. “Well, I’m sure she doesn’t think she’s going to stay married to you,
but you know how people are about fame. They don’t care how they get it, as
long as they do get it. And look at all the attention she’s garnered for
herself.”

Ian scoffed. “Look at her. If I’m a scheming
celebrity-seeker who wants a shot of fame, when I do get it, do I answer the
door looking like I just rolled out of bed?” Part of him physically responded
to the idea of Jada, warm and soft, just rolling out of bed. He imagined
reaching for her, wrapping an arm around her waist and pulling her back against
him, nuzzling her neck.

“Yeah, she does look pretty rough,” Sullivan said. “That
hair. Good God. And those clothes. Do you think she might be hard-up,
financially? The information I have here says she has a good job with decent
pay, but who knows. Maybe she’s a gambler, or has a secret addiction to buying
jewelry or dog toys.”

“You should have been a writer instead of becoming a lawyer.
The stories you make up, seriously. And I don’t think she looks rough. She
looks ... sleepy, and ... overwhelmed. Which is exactly how someone would look
if they had no part in pulling off a marriage scam.”

A light knock sounded on the open door. Cathy stuck her head
inside.

“Can I come in?” she asked.

Ian waved her inside and over to one of the chairs. Cathy,
an efficient, attractive young woman in her early-thirties, closed the door
behind herself, quick-footed it to the seat and sat down. She eyed Ian through
thick spectacles.

Her tone was ominous. “She’s here.”

Oddly, Ian’s heart thudded once, hard, in his chest. “What’s
she like?”

“Well,” Cathy said, “at first, I thought maybe they’d picked
up the wrong woman. She looks super different than she did on television. Shows
you what a shower and some makeup can do for a woman. That sounded bad, didn’t
it? I didn’t mean any offense. She’s your wife, and I wouldn’t ever say
anything against ...”

Ian managed to keep a straight face as Cathy’s voice trailed
off. “It’s fine. Other than her improved grooming, did you take away any
impressions?”

“No. She seemed just as nice and polite as she did over the
phone. She’s suspicious, still, but you can’t blame her for that. Depending on
what she’s up to, I mean. She’s waiting in outer reception.”

Sullivan stood and headed for the door.

“Where are you going?” Ian called out. “We need to go over
her info before I meet with her.”

“The folder’s right there. I’ve got to take a peek. Be right
back.”

Ian turned to his assistant. “Thanks, Cathy. I’ll buzz you
when I’m ready to see Ms. Howarth.”

She nodded and hurried after Sullivan.

Ian turned off the tv, wiping away Jada’s image. He picked
up the folder and scanned the pages. The information he read supported his
earlier suppositions regarding her character.

Both of her parents were still alive, still married and
already retired. She had one younger sister, no other siblings. Had never been
married. She’d been employed by a well-respected accounting firm in her home
town since graduating college. She’d had several promotions and was likely
making a good living, especially for a young, single woman like herself.

She had no criminal record, not even any dings as a
teenager. There were no restraining orders against former boyfriends. She
didn’t even appear to have gotten so much as a speeding ticket. Talk about
squeaky clean. She had a spiffier past than Ian himself did.

Online searches revealed nothing unsavory in connection with
her name. No naughty selfies, no pics of flashing herself at drunken college
parties, certainly no sex tapes. She had a minor presence on social media, with
only cursory, private accounts that appeared tied only to close friends and
family.

They didn’t have much on her school history, not yet anyway.
Before the day was up, Ian would have it, though. In fact, by the time lunch
was over, he bet he’d know more about Jada Howarth than her own parents did.

After this brief glance at her history, Ian was certain the
woman had no skeletons in her closet. He was looking at a genuine, no-fooling,
good girl.

He realized he was smiling stupidly. He replaced the smile
with a glower, annoyed at himself for his reaction. What had come over him
today? Perhaps he’d temporarily lost his grip after discovering he was married.
That sort of news would shake any man.

His phone, the private one in his jacket pocket, vibrated.
He sighed and pulled it out. Great. It was another text from Sasha’s publicist,
Agatha Brimgore.

“This was not deal. Fix now!!!!! Sasha not happy!!!!! Look
bad!!!!”

It had to be the twentieth message he’d gotten from the
annoying woman that morning. She’d grown increasingly aggressive, and had clearly
forgotten who she was speaking to. He wished someone would explain to her the
less-is-more approach to exclamation point usage.

He thumbed in his response. “My apologies to Sasha. Please
send future questions on this matter to my head counsel, Sullivan Collins. I am
unable and unwilling to communicate with you further.”

With satisfaction, he put the publicist on ignore.

Sullivan popped back into the office. His usual immaculate,
slicked-back hair style looked slightly rumpled, as did his expensive suit.
Sullivan was never out of his suits, even on Saturdays. That he’d been shot out
into the day without his usual care was apparent.

“So?” Ian asked, more interested in the answer than he
wished to admit.

“I call dibs.” He sat on the sofa again, a wolfish smile
stretched across his tanned, lean face.

“That good, huh? And you can’t call dibs. She’s my wife.”

“Damn. That’s true. Figures. So what do you think about her
information so far?”

“I think she’s a genuine person who has nothing to do with
this mess.”

Sullivan surprised him by striking his palm on his thigh. “I
agree!”

“Since when?”

“Since now. We’ll keep digging, of course. But I think it’s
best to assume she’s innocent until proven guilty. The proper thing to do is to
shelter her from the press. She won’t have any way to manage this shit storm if
you don’t help her.”

“I’ve been thinking about the best way to do that.”

“We could put her up in one of the company condos until the
worst blows over.”

Ian considered the idea. He couldn’t see Jada being comfortable
in one of the slick, glass and metal apartments. “They might find her there.
I’m thinking she’d be better off at the lake cabin. Security out there is near
perfection.”

“Sounds good,” Sullivan said. “I’ll set everything up. You
talk with her and settle her down, explain everything, tell her we’ll take care
of the problems, find out what’s going on, etc.”

“I think I can manage,” Ian said drily.

“Yeah, yeah. So shall we bring her in?”

“I guess we should.” Ian spoke to Cathy on the intercom then
stood and glanced around the office. He wondered what someone like Jada would
think of the place. Grandiose? Dark? Intimidating?

For the life of him, he couldn’t figure out why it mattered
what Jada, someone he’d never even met, thought about his office. But it did.
Her opinion most certainly mattered.