Page 99 of My Big, Fat, Accidental Billionaire Husband

“Crazier than getting married in Vegas while high? Because you’ve already done that part.”

The bathroom door opens, and two elegantly dressed women walk in, ending our private conversation. We return to our table, and I spend the rest of lunch picking at my sea bass while Sabrina chatters about a new PR client she’s working with.

When I head back to work, her words echo in my head all afternoon.

Reconsider the annulment. As if it’s that simple with a man like Dominic Rossi.

I suppose I should cut her some slack. She’s not used to dealing with billionaires every day. Hell, I still don’t fully understand them myself, even though I’m accustomed to handlingtwoof them on a daily basis.

And I probably never will completely understand them, if I’m being honest with myself.

The worst part is, under Sabrina’s suggestion lies a dangerous kernel of hope I’ve been trying desperately to squash.

Hope is what got me into that wedding dress with Rylan, and we all know how spectacularly that turned out.

When I returnto the penthouse that evening, the place is eerily quiet. Dom must still be at the office, and any staff have gone home. I kick off my heels with a sigh of relief, wiggling my toes against the cool marble floors. There’s something both foreign and comforting about this space now. It’s not quite home, but it’s no longer just a gilded cage.

I change into yoga pants and a loose sweater, then head to my makeshift home office. The desk Dom had delivered for me is sleek and modern, with enough space for my laptop and the organized stacks of paperwork related to the resort project.

I’m halfway through reviewing the latest sustainability report when my phone buzzes. It’s an email from Ricardo Martinez, the primary materials supplier for the sustainable bamboo fixtures in the resort. My stomach drops as I read the message.

“Due to unforeseen circumstances, we regret to inform you that Eco-Source Materials must withdraw from our agreement...”

Unforeseen circumstances my ass. This smells fishier than the docks at low tide.

I dial Dom immediately, but it goes straight to voicemail. I try his assistant, who informs me he’s in back-to-back meetings until late tonight.

Great. Just great.

I pace the office, thinking. The supplier’s withdrawal could delay construction by weeks, potentially jeopardizing the entire timeline for the resort opening. And with only eight days until the funding closes...

This isn’t your problem, Tatiana. In eight days, none of this will matter to you.

Except it does matter. Not just because Dom’s success affects my payout, but because I’ve invested myself in this project. The sustainable resort is actually something I believe in.

I call Jake Thompson, Dom’s head of security.

“Mrs. Rossi,” he answers, his voice professional. “How can I help you?”

“Jake, what do you know about Eco-Source Materials backing out of our deal?”

A pause. “I was planning to brief Mr. Rossi on that tomorrow. How did you hear about it?”

“Ricardo emailed me directly. What happened?”

Jake’s voice lowers. “There was a fire at their main warehouse three days ago. Destroyed half their inventory. Suspicious circumstances.”

“Suspicious how?”

“CCTV footage showed Morgan Weiss on the premises the day before, allegedly consulting with a competitor.”

The name rings a bell. “Morgan Weiss... the same man formerly on the board at Hammond & Co? The one who caused so many problems for Christopher’s wife Lucy?”

“The same,” Jake confirms. “Word is he’s working as a consultant now, but Mr. Blackwell Senior might be bankrolling him under the table.”

Not surprising, consider Christopher’s father has a grudge list longer than a giraffe’s neck. The apple fell far from the tree with Christopher.

“Where’s Dom now?” I ask.

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