Page 5 of My Big, Fat, Accidental Billionaire Husband

“He’s with that group celebrating something,” Sabrina observes. “Bachelor party maybe?”

I risk another glance. Dom is surrounded by three other men, all laughing at something the shortest one just said. There are also two large men in casual clothes but with the unmistakable alertness of security personnel hovering nearby.

“His friend is getting married,” I say without thinking. “Marco something. Italian family, very traditional.”

Three pairs of eyes turn to me.

“What?” I shrug. “I had to send Marco’s wedding invitation back with Christopher’s regrets. You try finding the perfect ‘sorry I can’t attend’ gift basket for a billionaire. I spent three hours comparing Tuscan wine selections before Christopher decided on some rare scotch instead.”

“Of course you would know the personal details of your boss’s friend’s friend,” Jess laughs. “You probably know their blood types too.”

“Only Christopher’s,” I mutter. “In case of emergency transfusions.”

The joke lands, and they laugh, momentarily distracted from Dom-watching. We settle into our loungers, ordering another round. The sun is warm, the drinks are cold, and for a brief moment, I allow myself to relax.

That’s when everything goes spectacularly wrong.

Jess, returning from the bar with fresh drinks, trips over someone’s discarded flip-flop. She stumbles forward with a yelp, crashing into a passing server, who in turn careens directly into our area.

My lounger takes the brunt of the impact, tipping sideways and unceremoniously dumping me onto the pool deck with all the grace of a sack of potatoes.

My very full, very blue cocktail splashes across the deck as I scramble to get up, hands slipping on the wet surface. In my desperate bid for dignity, I grab onto what I think is a pool chair but turns out to be a pair of very firm, very male legs.

I look up.

Directly into the amused face of Dominic Rossi, who’s apparently chosen this exact moment to walk by our disaster zone. My hands are clutching his calves like they’re the last life preservers on the Titanic.

“Dominic!” I stutter in mortification, pushing myself upward slightly.

My wet hand slips against his leg, causing me to lurch forward. As I throw out my arm to catch myself on his muscular thigh, Jess’s flimsy bikini top loaner gives way with an audible snap.

This is it. This is how I die.

I push away from him and slap one arm across my chest in panic. I try to stand, but lose my balance and pitch forward directly into his chiseled torso.

Dom’s hands grip my upper arms, steadying me.

“I’ve had people throw themselves at me before,” Dom says dryly, “but this is certainly the most colorful approach I’ve seen.”

I’m frozen in absolute horror, one arm desperately clutching my chest, the other inadvertently planted against his stomach, my face inches from his. I’m vaguely aware of the undeniably masculine scent filling my nostrils... sandalwood and something citrusy.

Of course, notice how good he smellsnowof all times. If there’s a goddess of mortification, she’s definitely pointing and laughing.

“I—swimsuit—broken—sorry—” I manage to stammer, sounding like I’m playing a particularly unsuccessful game of Scrabble.

“Don’t worry about it,” Dom says, his expression shifting from amusement to something more gentlemanly. He steps back, glances over his shoulder and signals to one of his plainclothes security men hovering nearby.

The man in question produces a crisp white linen shirt from somewhere, passing it to Dom with the efficiency of someone who’s handled many a rich-person emergency. Dom takes the oversized shirt and slides it down over my torso, providing me with considerably more coverage than the bikini ever did.

“Thank you,” I mumble.

“So how are you, Tatiana Cole?” he says. “The gatekeeper no one gets past.”

“Except you,” I reply softly.

He offers a devastatingly beautiful grin. “Does Christopher know his perfect assistant is in Vegas corrupting the youth of our country?”

I bristle slightly. “I’m hardly corrupting anyone. And I’m allowed to have a personal life.”

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