I didn’t go to Vegas to fall into a pool, down several mixed drinks, and wake up in bed beside a stranger.

Scratch that—not just a stranger. A charming, suit-wearing, name-dropping, too-hot-to-be-real billionaire named Damien Blackwood.

So, imagine my surprise when I woke up with a splitting headache, a blurry marriage license, and a very expensive ring on my finger.

It was no big deal. There were worse things in life that could happen, and this could be fixed with two words: an annulment.

But thanks to a nosy chapel guest and an Instagram account, our accidental nuptials were videoed and blasted all over social media, making headlines on Page Six.

Damien’s board thinks it’s real, and now his company’s billion-dollar merger hinges on him being seen as stable and settled.

I was all set to sign the annulment papers until Damien came to me with a business proposition:

Pretend to be happily married for a while longer.
Make a few public appearances.
Smile for the cameras.
Pretend to be madly in love.

He’d pay me one hundred thousand dollars for my time—money I desperately needed to kick off my breakup box business.
Once the merger was complete, our fake marriage would be annulled, and we’d never have to see each other again.

The problem? Although our marriage was fake, our chemistry was very real. And the line between fake and real was blurring faster than we planned.

Accidental Vegas marriage, billionaire, fake wife to save a billion-dollar deal, opposites attract, grumpy/sunshine, forced proximity.