Page 75 of My Big, Fat, Accidental Billionaire Husband

Clean.

Simple.

Temporary.

No messy emotions. No complications. Just business.

If I had stayed in that penthouse a moment longer, I would’ve torn that plan to shreds with my bare hands. Would’ve backed her against another wall and told her to forget the whole goddamn agreement.

And a part of me... a part that’s getting harder to ignore... wants to do exactly that. Rip up the contract. Burn the annulment papers. Tell the investors to go fuck themselves. Like literally, go fuck themselves in the ass.

Because walking away from Tatiana Cole in less two weeks is starting to feel like the kind of mistake I’ll regret for the rest of my life.

The elevator doors slide open, and I stride through the lobby like a man running from a fire.

22

Dominic

Monday morning. The day after “the kiss.”

I’ve been avoiding the penthouse as much as possible. Last night was a carefully orchestrated series of “urgent meetings” that kept me away until she’d gone to bed. Text messages instead of conversations. Distance instead of confrontation.

But the kiss lingers. The feel of her lips against mine. The way...

Coward, I think, staring at my reflection in the bathroom mirror.

Sexual release is one thing. But a full blown, ultra-passionate French kiss?

Fuck.

I splash cold water on my face, trying to shock my system back to reality. Today is about business. The crucial investor lunch at Per Se. The meeting that could make or break the Costa Rica deal.

“The car is ready, sir,” Jake Thompson’s voice comes through the intercom.

“Be right down,” I call back, adjusting my tie one last time.

I deliberately chose a lunch meeting, knowing Tatiana would be at Christopher’s office. The perfect excuse not to bring her. I told her it would be “inconsiderate to ask her to miss work,” which is true but incomplete. The whole truth is I don’t trust myself around her now, not with investors watching. The way she affects me... making me unpredictable, throwing me off-balance... it’s not something I can afford today.

My phone buzzes. Another text from Tatiana.

We should talk about what happened. This avoidance strategy is childish.

She’s right, of course. But childish or not, it’s bought me time to rebuild my walls and reset the boundaries that one impulsive kiss threatened to destroy.

I type back:Heading to investor lunch. Key meeting for the resort. We’ll talk later.

Short. Professional. Nothing about the way her bottom lip felt between mine or how her fingers clutched my shirt like she never wanted to let go.

Eleven days. That’s all that’s left of this arrangement. I need to remember that. Need to keep focused on what matters.

The deal.

The company.

The plan.

Not the woman who’s suddenly making me question all of it.

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