Billionaire's Unexpected Bride (Slade Brothers Book 1) Read online

  It’s going on noon when I’m walking into the brewery. I head back to my office, passing Harrison on my way. He follows me back to my office, closing the door behind us.

  “Well, look who decided to grace us with his presence today.” He smiles, causing the wrinkles around his eyes to grow deeper and larger.

  “Look, I know you’re pissed off. If I were you, I would be too. But you’re forgetting one thing.”

  “What’s that?” he asks, walking closer.

  I place both hands on top of my desk and lean over it. “I’m the boss. I’m the one in charge. I’m the one who decides if this place stays open or closes. While you may have been employed here longer than me, I was the one born into this. It’s rightfully mine. And I demand a little respect. If I want to spend my nights loaded with more whiskey than any one person should be able to handle, then that’s my business. You are not my father. You are not my keeper. You’re the advisor here because I say you’re the advisor. When I need advising on something, I’ll let you know. Other than that, please keep your damn mouth shut. Got it?”

  He slides his hands into his pockets, cocks his jaw, and nods his head. “Will there be anything else, sir?”

  “Yes, I’d like the expansion blueprints, please.”

  “Right away, sir.” He turns and leaves without a look back.

  My heart is pounding in my chest as anger floods my body. I take a seat behind my desk and breathe deeply, trying to clear out the aggression I seem to almost always have. I hate that I had to be that way with Harrison, but sometimes a man needs to be put in his place, especially when he’s overstepping his boundaries. It’s none of his business how I spend my nights. If I don’t want to show for an event, that’s my choice. I don’t need to be chastised for it like I’m a child. I say how I live my life. I say how I run this business. I say who’s employed here. Me.

  Harrison is walking back in with the tube of blueprints. He hands it over, anger marring his face, but doesn’t say a word.

  I take the tube. “Thank you, Harrison. That will be all.”

  He nods once, then turns and leaves.

  When I’m alone in my office, I open the tube and pull out the plans. I unroll them and lay them flat on my desk, holding down the corners with anything heavy enough to keep them in place. I stand over the papers and think of everything that needs to happen in the next week. I find myself counting down the minutes until I meet with this new hotshot lawyer, praying he’ll be able to deliver on all the promises made. I find it completely irresponsible that Burns would decide to retire right when I need him most. All these years, he did nothing but sign a document or two while collecting the money we paid him. And now that we actually need him for something, he’s passing the torch to someone else? I would’ve fired Burns long ago if it hadn’t been for my father, plus the fact that he’s the only good lawyer in town.

  If this new lawyer can get the locals on my side and convince the four families to sign off so I can build adjacent to their properties, and if he can push all the paperwork through and get the city to sign off on the permits needed, I’ll pay him double—hell, triple. I need this. I just need for one goddamn thing to go right.

  The door opens and my assistant walks in. “Here’s your mail, sir,” Janell says as she walks across the room and hands me a stack of envelopes.

  “Thank you, Janell.” I take the stack from her and drop it onto my desk, not bothering to go through it today. I have enough on my plate. I need to stay focused and keep my head in the game, at least for the next year. In 12 months, if all goes right, the expansion will be done, and we’ll be selling and producing beer and whiskey. I’ll be able to take a break. I’ll be able to breathe. That’s when I’ll figure out my life. That’s when I’ll be happy.

  3

  Celeste

  “YOU’VE got to be kidding me,” I mumble to myself as I look at the motel room the firm has rented for me for the next year. A motel! Not a nice hotel with room service, but a sleazy motel that can be rented by the hour for affairs and hookers. Honestly, I’m afraid to even walk across the dingy carpet in my Jimmy Choos. No way am I setting my Louis luggage on that sticky table. I run my finger across the top of the old TV. A line appears in the dense dust. The full-size bed is covered with a pea-green comforter. The two pillows aren’t firm and they reek of cigarette smoke. The mirror above the sink is dirty and covered in water spots, and has a crack that travels the length of the glass. In several places, the old plaster walls are cracked and filled in, although the new plaster doesn’t match the old. The ceiling isn’t white—more of a yellowish color with water stains.

  I pull out my phone and call the office. I put the phone to my ear but it never rings. It takes several long seconds before the phone beeps, telling me I don’t have a signal.

  “You’ve got to be kidding me,” I repeat for what feels like the 100th time since I pulled into the parking lot of this shitty motel. I move around the room, holding the phone up above my head, trying to find a signal. Finally, I find one spot where my phone works. I only have to stand on the chair to make a call.

  “Thank you for calling Mason, Lawrence, and Howe. This is Mary. How can I help you?”

  “Mary, it’s Celeste,” I say in a rush, hoping the phone doesn’t drop the call.

  “Celeste, how are you doing?” she asks, sounding happy to hear from me.

  “Fucking fabulous. Listen, I need to talk with Mr. Mason. Could you please connect me to his assistant?”

  “Sure, one sec,” she says. The phone beeps twice, then rings through.

  “Mr. Mason’s office. How may I help you?” she answers.

  “Hi, this is Celeste Teller. I’m calling from the Colorado location and I’m needing to speak with Mr. Mason.”

  “I’m sorry, but Mr. Mason is out of the office right now. I would be more than happy to take a message.”

  I almost growl, but I hold it back. “Could you please just tell him to give me a call back?” I give her my number and she promises to have him return my call. I hang up the phone and collapse into the chair I’ve been standing on. My eyes take in the room once again. Disgust washes over me and literally makes a chill race up my spine. Who knows what’s living in here: bugs, snakes, diseases? I shiver as I push the thought away.

  Maybe I can find another place here in town, or at least close to it. I can pay for the night and have Mr. Mason move the money from this place to the place I find. I grab my luggage and head for the car. I toss my suitcase into the trunk and pull away from the motel I hope to never set foot in again.

  I pull out of the parking lot, taking a left on Main Street. This place is certainly full of small-town charm. There’s a family diner, a small post office, a gas station, and a bar all on the same street. I pull into the restaurant, thinking I’ll have dinner and do some research to find a better place to stay. I park the car and get out, not noticing that there aren’t any cars in the parking lot other than my own until I tug on the locked door.

  “Seriously?” I ask myself, looking at the sign on the door that states its business hours.

  Wednesday evenings, the restaurant is closed for church services.

  “That’s just great,” I mumble, walking back to the car and getting behind the wheel once again. I drive up and down Main Street. I find the church, the school, and a series of offices—including Mason, Lawrence, and Howe—but no other restaurants or hotels. Giving up, I turn around and stop at the bar. If nothing else, I can at least drink some wine and fill my stomach with nuts. The thought makes me cringe, but what else am I supposed to do? I need food. I’ve been on the road for the last three days. I just need a decent meal, a long, hot bath, and a big glass of red wine. Then a good night’s sleep to prepare for my meeting with Mr. Slade tomorrow.

  There are five cars in the gravel parking lot of the bar, so I’m confident this place doesn’t operate by church hours. I pull open the large wooden door and loud music filters out. When I step inside, everyone turn
s to look over their shoulder, freezing when they find me.

  Every eye in the place is watching as I slowly walk up to the bar and have a seat. It feels like I’m in a movie—where the stranger walks into a crowded bar and everyone stares as the music stops and the whole place goes quiet. Yeah, that’s how it feels, only the music doesn’t actually stop.

  The bartender walks up. She’s a tiny redhead with green eyes and a big chest. She smiles sweetly. “What can I get ya?” she asks, wiping her hands on a white towel.

  “A glass of red wine would be great,” I reply, digging in my purse for some cash.

  The whole bar, filled with only five people, seems to laugh in unison, causing me to jerk my head back up to see what I’ve missed.

  “We don’t carry the stuff,” the bartender says.

  “Really? You don’t carry any red wine?” I asked, shocked. What kind of bar doesn’t carry wine?

  She shakes her head. “We’ve got beer and whiskey.” She places her hands on the bar and leans on it as she watches me.

  “How about a martini?”

  “We’ve got gin; no vermouth.” She stands upright and crosses her arms.

  I let out a puff of air and shake my head. “Vodka cranberry?”

  She nods, finally walking away to mix my drink.

  I lay $20 on the bar and pull out my phone to find another place to stay, however, my phone still doesn’t work due to no signal.

  When the bartender comes back, I ask, “Will a cell phone work anywhere in this town?”

  She snorts. “Not likely. We’re supposed to be getting a tower built ‘soon,’ but there’s been talk of that for about five years now, and so far, nothing.”

  “Great,” I mumble, taking a sip of my drink. I cough when I find there’s more vodka than cranberry.

  “I’m Celeste Teller. I’m the new lawyer for Mason, Lawrence, and Howe.” I hold out my hand to shake.

  Her eyes move from my face, to my hand, and back, before she finally shakes it. “It’s nice to meet you. I’m Stephanie.”

  “Stephanie, I just got into town and my firm rented me a room at the Glendale Motel. Are there any other places around, or is that the only one?”

  She nods. “That’s the only place for about 75 miles,” she says in her thick country accent.

  I feel my shoulders slump. “There are no towns or cities for 75 miles?” I ask, confused and worried.

  “That’s right. We’re sort of in the middle of nowhere,” she says as she begins to wipe down the bar.

  “So where does everyone eat? Is there only the one diner?”

  Again, she nods. “But we have a kitchen too. I mean, it’s limited, but if you’re just wanting a burger and some fries, it’s better than nothing.”

  My mouth waters at the thought of a burger and fries. “A salad?” I ask, feeling hopeful.

  She smiles. “That’s even better, because Sam won’t have to fire up the grill.” She turns away from me. “Hey, Sam! I need a salad!” She turns back to me. “What kind of dressing?”

  I shrug, not even caring if I have dressing. “Whatever you have,” I say, almost giddy at the thought of food.”

  A swinging door in the back opens. “Got it,” says a man I’m assuming is Sam.

  “So, where ya from?” Stephanie asks.

  “Los Angeles,” I answer, taking another painful sip of my drink. The vodka burns my throat. I pray it goes numb soon.

  She gives me a sidelong glance. “And you volunteered to come here?” Her brows pull together as she watches me.

  I move my head from side to side. “I didn’t volunteer. I’m a city girl through and through, but I was promised a promotion when I return in a year.”

  “You’re staying here for a year?” she asks, adding on a whistle. “I couldn’t imagine staying in that rundown motel for a year.”

  I snort. “Right? I have to find something else. You know of anyone renting out a room, apartment, or couch?” I joke about the last part.

  She bites her lower lip. “We don’t have any apartment buildings in town. It’s mostly just big groups of families. The younger people usually move out of town to go to college. The older folks have been where they’re at for a lifetime now. Houses usually don’t go up for sale or rent here either. They’re passed down from one generation to the next. Anyone new usually builds their own house. There are some people who have built little apartments on their property though. Like, I live in an apartment above a barn. And my boyfriend turned his family shed into a tiny house. We all just do what we can.”

  I lightly bang my head against the bar and she laughs. “I’ll keep an eye out for you though.”

  “Thanks,” I mumble.

  My salad comes out and is placed in front of me. I waste no time diving in. It’s not the butter lettuce salad with dried organic cranberries and creamy French feta from Joan’s on Third, but it will do. I pour on the oil and vinegar dressing and shovel it in. The lettuce is fresh and crisp, and the veggies taste better than I could’ve imagined.

  “This is amazing,” I say around a mouthful.

  Stephanie nods. “I know. Every ingredient is homegrown. That’s one good thing about country living.” She smiles and winks at me.

  “What about coffee?”

  “We have coffee and so does the diner. No coffee shops though.”

  At that, I want to throw myself down on the ground and kick and scream until I’m given my way, but I refrain. “A gym?”

  She presses her lips together and shakes her head. “Nope.”

  “Movie theater, mall, or salon?”

  “Nope, nope, and yes! Jenna Lindon runs a salon out of her garage. She does real good work.” She nods as she points to her head. “She did these highlights for me a few weeks ago. Not expensive either.” She leans against the bar. “She makes monthly trips to the beauty supply down in Campbell, where she gets dyes and bleach. She even does nails.” She holds her hand out to show me her manicure.

  “Does she have a license?” I ask, a little worried about some random woman doing my highlights. I’d die if my hair fell out due to inexperience.

  She nods her head vigorously. “She does. She lived in Chicago for a time, but it didn’t work out. So she moved back here and the ladies of this town have never been happier.”

  I smile but continue to eat. This town is literally like some forgotten part of the map. Why do people want to live here? Don’t they want cell phones that work? Wouldn’t it be easier to just order something from Postmates than to have to drive over an hour out of town to reach civilization? I’ll never understand small towns or the people who choose to live in them.

  I’m happy to see that Stephanie and I are hitting it off so well though. I was told that it’s needed for this job. I need to get to know and become friends with every single person in this town if I want my job to be as easy as possible. I had no idea what that meant—and still don’t—but I think it just means that to get anywhere in this town, I need to be liked by everyone. I have a feeling the locals stick together. If one of them doesn’t like something, then none of them will like it. Since I’m needing to get an expansion approved by the city, I need the city to like me.

  When I finish my salad, I look around and find that everyone who was once staring at me has now lost interest. There’s one guy sitting at the end of the bar, watching TV. Two others are playing a game of pool. And the last one is falling asleep on the bar.

  I point in his direction. “Is he okay?” I ask Stephanie.

  She waves him off. “It’s Jerry’s bedtime. I’m sure his wife will be here soon to pick him up.”

  “This happen often?” I ask, finishing off my drink.

  She nods. “Daily. She drops him off in the morning on her way to work. He sits here and drinks his breakfast, then he has a burger for lunch and drinks the rest of the afternoon.” She shrugs as she tosses a towel at his head. “Wake up, Jerry. Your wife will be here soon.”

  He groans and sits up, but is
having a hard time keeping his eyes open.

  “Remember what she said the last time she caught you sleeping on the bar?” Stephanie reminds him.

  “Yeah, yeah,” he grumbles as he wipes his hand down his face and stands. Without another word, he walks off to the bathroom.

  Stephanie walks back over, laughing and shaking her head. “You want another drink?”

  “No, I think I’m just going to go back to my shitty motel room and take a long, hot shower. I’ve been on the road since Monday, and I could use a little rest before getting to work tomorrow.”

  She nods as she hands over my bill. For my drink and salad, the total is only five dollars. “Five dollars?” I ask, surprised.

  She nods. “Yeah, why?”

  “In Los Angeles, this would’ve cost at least $14!”

  She laughs. “I guess you found the second good thing about living here, huh?”

  My money is still on the bar, so I leave it and tell her to keep the change.

  “Thanks,” she says with a wide smile as she begins cleaning my place at the bar.

  “I’ll see you soon, I’m sure. Something tells me I’ll see a lot of everyone in a town this small.”

  “That you will,” she agrees.

  I drive back to my shitty motel and drag my luggage back into my room. I stand in the middle of the tiny space and look around. What can I do to make this room a little bit more clean and homey?”

  I have an idea, and with that, I head back out to see what the local store has to offer.

  Two hours later, I’m standing in my nice—er, nicer—motel room. I’ve stripped the bed of its pea-green comforter and replaced it with bedding of my own. I purchased a homemade quilt the store was selling on behalf of someone here in town. It’s white and has tiny little flowers sewn onto it. I bought new pillows, sheets, and throw pillows to decorate. I got a couple of rugs so my feet never have to touch the dirty carpet. I ordered a new flat-screen TV on Amazon—I literally had to hardwire my laptop to get internet access—and it’ll be here in a week. I even bought my own mini fridge, microwave, and hot plate so I’ll be able to keep food and prepare it in my room. It’s not the best, but it’s better than it was, and it will have to do—at least for now.