He shrugged it off. Who was he to judge? It wasn’t like he knew the proper ingredients for a happy marriage, if such a thing even existed. Divorce rates would indicate otherwise. So maybe Warren and Tilda were the only couple in the Wake County courthouse today who had the right idea when it came to wedded bliss: no emotional component, a carefully worded prenuptial agreement, a date on the calendar for follow-ups with proper government agencies so the annulment could be filed and mutual agreement to part ways in the future. No surprises.
Tilda engaged him in a short conversation about the campaign she’d been working through. He fell into the rhythm of their work relationship easily, despite the weirdness of doing it while waiting for the justice’s inner chamber doors to open. They’d enter single and emerge married.
It wouldn’t change things between them. Would it?
All of these other couples surely had some expectations of things changing or they wouldn’t do it. They’d just stay an unmarried couple until the day they died, but instead, they’d done exactly what Warren and Tilda had. Applied for a marriage license and come down to the courthouse on an otherwise unremarkable Friday to enter into a legal contract that said they could file their taxes differently. Why? Because they’d fallen prey to some nebulous feeling they labeled love?
“Warren.”
He blinked. Tilda was watching him with a puzzled expression on her face, clearly because she’d asked him something that he’d completely ignored. God, what was wrong with him? “Sorry, I was distracted.”
Why couldn’t he just talk to Tilda about the project and stop thinking about marriage with a capital M, as if it was a bigger deal than it really was? Like he’d told his friends—business only. Nothing to see here.
Wedded bliss wasn’t a thing. And if it was, Warren Garinger didn’t deserve it. Marcus’s death was his fault and a lifetime of happiness with a woman wasn’t the proper atonement for his crimes.
Flying Squirrel was Warren’s focus, the only thing he could realistically manage. For a reason. A company didn’t have deep emotional scars. A company didn’t waste away while you looked on helplessly, unable to figure out how to stop the pain. A company didn’t choose to end its pain with an overdose after you thoughtlessly said, “Get over it, Marcus.”
That was the real reason Warren would never break the pact. It was his due punishment to be alone the rest of his life.
* * *
The county clerk gestured Tilda and Warren into the justice’s chamber. Her pulse fell off a cliff, skipping beats randomly as her stomach churned. The effort she’d made to talk shop with Warren, strictly to calm her nerves while they’d waited in the hall, had evaporated, if it had even done any good at all.
They were really doing this. What if they got caught in a green-card marriage? Was it like the movies, with instant deportation? She’d be forced back to Melbourne, and after Warren’s unceremonious threat to Craig and the firm she’d worked for over the last eight years, she had no illusions that a job waited for her. She’d be lucky to get a reference. Which mattered not at all if Bryan figured out she’d returned. Finding a job would be the least of her concerns.
Warren had stipulated several contingencies in their agreement that meant she’d be well compensated in the event the marriage didn’t resolve her residency issues. But that wasn’t the point. She didn’t want money; she wanted to feel safe and she wanted to do this project with Warren, in that order. This job gave her a sense of purpose that she’d never fully had before. When she’d worked on other projects, she’d never been the lead. The Flying Squirrel campaign was her baby, one hundred percent, especially now that she’d cut ties with Craig.
That went a long way toward getting her pulse under control. She had this. The wedding ceremony wasn’t a big deal. A formality. Warren wasn’t flipping out. He shot her a small smile that she returned because the last thing she wanted was for him to clue in that she wasn’t handling this as professionally as she’d like.
But then, marrying her boss hadn’t really been in the job description. Maybe she was allowed to have minor cracks in the hard outer shell she’d built around herself with severe hairstyles and monochrome suits that hung on her figure like potato sacks.
She just had to make sure any potential cracks didn’t reveal things underneath that she wasn’t ready to share, like the fact that she hated monochrome suits. The lacy red underwear and bra set she’d chosen in honor of her wedding day was for her and her only.
The ceremony began and she somehow managed not to flinch as Warren took her hand with a solemnity she hadn’t expected. Fortunately, the exchange of words was short. Simple. She relaxed. Until the justice said, “You may kiss the bride.”
At which point her pulse jackhammered back up into the red. They weren’t really going to do that part, were they? But Warren was already leaning toward her, his fingers firm against hers, and she automatically turned her face to accept his lips.
The brush of them came far too fast. Sensation sparked across her mouth and she flinched like she always did when something happened near her face that she wasn’t expecting. Not because the feeling of his lips was unwelcome. Kissing Warren was nothing like kissing Bryan. Or any other man, for that matter, not that she had a lot of experiences to compare it to. He wasn’t demanding or obtrusive. Just...nice. Gentle. And then gone.
That brief burst of heat faded. Good. It was over. Back to normal. But she couldn’t look at Warren as they left the courthouse.
She’d walked over from the Flying Squirrel building on Blount Street, but Warren insisted on taking her back via his limo, citing a need to go over some notes for the meeting with Wheatner and Ross. He said goodbye to his friends and then she and Warren were swallowed by leather and luxury as they settled into his limo.
“So,” Warren said brightly. “That went well.”
“Yes. Quite well.”
God, everything was weird. This was supposed to be where they relaxed back into the dynamic they’d had from day one, where it was all business—the way they both liked it. But as she turned to him, a little desperate to find that easiness, her knee grazed his. The awareness of their proximity shot through her and she couldn’t stop staring at his mouth as a wholly inappropriate lick of desire flamed through her core.
Where had that come from?
Well, she knew where. Warren had kissed her. So what? It shouldn’t be such a big deal. She shouldn’t be making it a big deal. But the part she couldn’t figure out was why? There was no law that said they’d be any less married if they skipped the kiss. Had he done it strictly for show or because he’d been curious what it would be like?
She’d had absolutely zero curiosity. None. Not an iota. Or, at least, none that she’d admit to, and now that it was out there, she couldn’t stop thinking about what he’d kiss like behind closed doors.
Ugh. She had to get back into her professional head space already.
“Um, so the senior partners themselves are attending the meeting today,” she threw out, mortified to note her voice had taken on a husky quality. “We should press them on the social media presence they’ve presented. I don’t like the ratio of ad placements between the various platforms.”
Warren didn’t seem to notice her vocal quirks and nodded. “I was thinking that, as well. Tell me what you’d do instead.”
Tilda reeled off the changes she’d prepared and then memorized last night at midnight after she’d given up on sleep. The familiarity of talking numbers with the man who was now her legally wedded husband somehow soothed her to the point where her tone evened out.
Until she realized Warren’s gaze