Page 4 of My Big, Fat, Accidental Billionaire Husband

Also slightly depressing when calculated in actual calendar months. Let’s just say my vibrator and I have developed a committed relationship.

Amara laughs. “Translation: too long to remember.”

I snatch the bikini with as much dignity as possible. “Fine. But if any part of me falls out, I’m holding you personally responsible.”

Thirty minutes later, we’re lying on loungers and ensconced in the pulsing atmosphere of the Liquid Pool Lounge. The music is loud enough to drown out rational thought, which I suspect is intentional. Beautiful people in various states of undress loaf like exotic animals, sipping brightly colored drinks.

I hate it.

I adjust the bikini top for the thousandth time, convinced that a wardrobe malfunction is imminent. Despite Jess’s assurances, I feel naked.

“Stop fidgeting,” Sabrina hisses, handing me something blue and potent-smelling. “You look hot. Own it.”

I take a fortifying sip. It tastes like gasoline with a little bit of citrus mixed in. Not that I know what gasoline tastes like...

Perfect. Just what I need to forget about the fifteen unread emails sitting in my inbox. Christopher probably needs something urgent that only I can handle. Maybe I should just quickly—

“Earth to Tatiana!” Amara waves her hand in front of my face. “We’re toasting my promotion! Wake up! Here’s to finally breaking through the glass ceiling!”

I raise my glass. “To Amara, the most deserving Senior Marketing Director I know.”

“TheonlySenior Marketing Director you know,” she corrects with a grin.

“Details,” I shrug, taking another sip. The alcohol warms my chest and I feel my shoulders relax a fraction.

That’s when I see him.

Oh shit. What’shedoing here?

Across the pool, surrounded by laughing friends and beautiful women, is Dominic Rossi.TheDominic Rossi. Self-made billionaire, architectural genius, and my boss Christopher’s best friend.

The same man who swaggers through our office lobby every few weeks like he owns the building. From my perch at the front reception desk, I’ve had a front-row seat to the Dominic Rossi Show. Not that he’s ever bothered with more than a cursory nod in my direction. To him, I’m just another efficient cog in Christopher Blackwell’s well-oiled machine, the gatekeeper with the headset and the perfect phone voice. But even a cog notices when a Greek god walks into the room.

Especially when said god typically strides past your desk looking like he just stepped out of a GQ photoshoot, making the office temperature rise by ten degrees.

He’s wearing board shorts and nothing else. His chest is exactly what you’d expect from someone who can afford a personal trainer and whatever designer muscle vitamins billionaires secretly have access to. Defined but not excessive, with a light dusting of dark hair.

Like he wakes up every morning and tells his abs, “Just be casually perfect today, nothing too showy.” And they listen because even his muscles know better than to disappoint Dominic Rossi.

His perpetual stubble is perhaps a day heavier than when he visits Christopher’s office, and his dark, wavy hair is slightly damp, as if he’s already taken a dip.

Stop staring at your boss’s friend like he’s an ice cream cone on a hot day, you disaster. Professional boundaries, remember?

“Holy shit, is that Dominic Rossi?” Sabrina has spotted him, too, because of course she has. The woman has billionaire radar.

“Where?” Jess and Amara swivel their heads in perfect unison.

“Don’t look!” I hiss, but it’s too late. We’re now a foursome of obvious gawkers.

“Damn,” Jess whispers reverently. “This is the guy who occasionally shows up at your office, Tat? The tabloids don’t do himjustice.”

I take another gulp of my drink. “Can we please not make this weird? I have to maintain professional—”

“He’s looking this way,” Amara interrupts, and I nearly choke.

Sure enough, those intense dark eyes are scanning our direction. I duck my head, suddenly fascinated by the consistency of my blue cocktail.

Please don’t recognize me. Please don’t recognize me.

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