Page 37 of My Big, Fat, Accidental Billionaire Husband

The room goes dead silent. Camilla’s eyes widen comically. Dom makes a sound that might be a suppressed laugh or a cough.

Maybe that was a bit much, Tatiana.

Camilla recovers quickly, clearing her throat. “Yes, well... moving on to scheduled appearances.”

The rest of the meeting passes in a blur of public event details, media strategy, and social media guidelines. By the time Camilla leaves, my head is spinning with all the rules of our fabricated relationship.

Dom walks her to the door, then returns to where I’m still sitting.

“That was quite the comment earlier,” he says, his voice low.

I shrug, attempting nonchalance. “Just stating facts.”

“Facts that made my PR consultant blush like a schoolgirl.”

“She’s in public relations. She should be prepared for... relations.”

His lips twitch. “You’re not what I expected, Tatiana Cole.”

“What did you expect? Some meek assistant who trembles beneath your billionaire glare?”

“Something like that.” He steps closer, and when he speaks again, his voice has a very slight earthy rasp to it. “Tomorrow is Day Two.”

The reminder of my contractual obligation sends a flush of heat through me that’s part embarrassment, part something else I don’t want to examine.

“I’m aware of the calendar, thanks.”

His dark eyes search mine. “Nervous?”

“About sucking your dick? Please,” I scoff, projecting far more confidence than I feel. “It’s just a physical act. Nothing to be nervous about.”

Liar, liar, designer pants on fire.

“If you say so.” His voice has dropped even deeper, to a rumble that does funny things to my insides. “Tomorrow. Seven o’clock. My bedroom.”

With that, he turns and walks away, leaving me sitting there with my heart pounding like I’ve run a marathon.

A little more than a day until Clause 7b. No big deal. You’ve done this before... probably. With him... allegedly.

I take a deep, steadying breath and smooth my hands over my new suit.

At least I’ll be well-dressed for the occasion.

11

Dominic

Icheck my watch for the fifth time in as many minutes. 6:55 PM. Tomorrow may bring one of the most important investor meetings for Serenity Shores, but right now all I can think about is the clause and its imminent fulfillment.

Today has been a waste. I couldn’t focus on anything at the office, my mind constantly drifting to tonight. To her. To what’s about to happen.

I’ve positioned myself in my bedroom, sitting on the edge of my California king with its custom mattress and Egyptian cotton sheets. The setting feels all wrong for what’s essentially a business transaction, but I’m not about to suggest my home office instead. That would be worse somehow. More clinical.

More fucked up.

Seven o’clock arrives. No knock on my door.

7:01. Nothing.

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