Holiday Hoax: A Fake Marriage Billionaire Romance (The Cartwright Family Book 1)

‘Mr. Cartwright, Huck Peterson’s on line two,’ my receptionist says over the intercom.

Huck Peterson’s been my family attorney forever. He’s older and known for doing things that aren’t always on the up-and-up, yet no one can ever prove it. It’s exactly why my family keeps him around.

I hit the button for the second line, then spin my chair so I’m staring at the Dallas skyline. ‘Huck,’ I answer.

He drawls, ‘Sebastian, what gives me the pleasure of talking to you today?’

For the last two hours, I’ve debated what to say. I decided straightforward is the best. ‘I have something I need you to do, but it’s between you and me.’

He chuckles, stating, ‘Meaning that I shouldn’t tell your old man?’

My insides churn. If my father finds out what I’m doing, I’m toast. I don’t care if he knows once I’m already named CEO, but if he gets any whiff of what I’m up to, there will be consequences.

Huck’s my father’s friend, but he’s also known for his discretion. Plus, it’s not the first time I’ve had him do things for me under the radar. Still, I’m a bit nervous about this one. I’ve never intentionally deceived my family. I take a deep breath and reply, ‘Yeah, it means exactly that. Can I count on you?’

Huck lowers his voice. ‘Have I ever talked to your father about anything you’ve told me not to?’

My lingering worries dissolve. ‘No, you haven’t. And that’s why I’m trusting you with this delicate matter.’

‘Which is?’ he inquires.

I tap my fingers on the arm of my chair, informing him, ‘I need a prenup in the next few hours.’

Silence fills the line.

My gut flips. The quiet lasts so long that I wonder if he hung up. I ask, ‘Huck? Are you still there?’

‘First of all, do you think I’m at your beck and call, Sebastian? I do have other clients and a busy law firm to run,’ he lectures.

I chuckle. ‘Yeah, yeah, yeah. Whatever. I know you’re just going to paste a bunch of clauses together and fill in a few sentences, then charge me an arm and a leg, along with a rush fee,’ I declare.

‘Insulting me is not going to get you anywhere, Sebastian,’ he warns.

I continue, ‘Listen, I need a prenup. I don’t have time to wait, so can we cut to the meat and potatoes of this ordeal?’

‘Which one’s this for? And why do you need it so fast?’

I cringe inside. After I overheard my first fiancée discussing how she’d be rich once she married me, I had Huck draw up prenups for the following three. Not that I ever got to see how good his prenups hold up, since I never made it down the aisle. But all of those were long negotiations, which should have been my first clue. The memories of going through that process aren’t ones I ever wanted to revisit, but here I am, doing it again.

Negotiations are over, I remind myself.

A million dollars.

Georgia is crazy to believe I’ll ever let that get into her bank account.

I ignore my tightening chest and announce, ‘I need a prenup, and I need it to say that I’m going to annul it by January 2nd.’

He barks, ‘What are you talking about, Sebastian?’

‘I’m not going into details with you, Huck. I need what I need,’ I state.

‘Well, you’re going to have to give me a little bit more detail than that if you want me to do this, kid,’ he says.

I hate every time he calls me ‘kid.’ It’s a reminder that I’m not fully respected the way my father is, but there’s no one besides Huck who can do this for me. I don’t trust anyone else. So I admit, ‘My father gave me an ultimatum. I have to go home for the holidays between December 1st and January 2nd. If I don’t, he’ll name Alexander CEO and not me.’

Huck whistles. ‘Well, that’s a pretty big ultimatum.’

I nod. ‘Yeah, and you know how my mother is.’

Huck chuckles. ‘Yep, I sure do.’

‘Then you understand why a fake wife is the only way to stop her from trying to hook me up with every blood-sucking, available woman in town,’ I claim.

‘Just pretend this new woman is your fiancée,’ he offers.

I grunt. ‘And have everyone tossing that she’s number five in my face? No thanks.’

‘Seems like a little embarrassment is an easier road to travel down,’ he suggests.

I rise, pace my office, and scrub my face. ‘No. I’ve made up my mind. Now, listen, I need to ensure this prenup is ironclad, Huck.’

He caves. ‘All right. It’s your bed to lie in. Give me the details.’

Relieved, I reveal, ‘It needs to say that on January 2nd when we annul the marriage, she gets a million dollars.’

‘Are you insane?’ Huck accuses.

‘That’s what she insisted upon. She negotiated better than you do,’ I confess.

Huck’s tone gets rougher. ‘She better have some good benefits for that amount of money.’

The hairs on my neck rise as I claim, ‘I said the paperwork needs to state she gets it. I didn’t say I wanted you to not put in loopholes.’

He mutters, ‘Poor girl. She has to put up with you and then you’re going to cut her paycheck.’

‘Since when are you a stand-up type of guy?’

He ignores my comment, asking, ‘What kind of loopholes are you looking for?’

‘I don’t know. You’re the attorney, so figure it out. Make sure I can pay her less than a million but not less than $100,000 when this is over. But she needs to think she’s getting a million dollars,’ I add, feeling a tad guilty. But I’m not a reckless billionaire. What Georgia asked for is greedy, as far as I’m concerned.

Huck’s sinister little laugh fills the phone. ‘All right. I can do that. So let’s talk about some things. What else do you want in there besides the fact she gets a million dollars? What would be some things she could do that would break the contract?’

I ponder his question for a moment, then say, ‘No cheating.’ Georgia may think we’re not sleeping together, but she’ll be at my mercy before she knows it. And I’ll be damned if another man touches her.

‘Is she like fiancée number three?’ he inquires.

A sting pierces me, revisiting how I found the woman I planned on marrying making out at dinner with a business colleague. I reply, ‘No. She’s nothing like her. But put it in there.’

He continues, ‘Fine. Besides the nondisclosure clause, what else?’

I pace some more, then answer, ‘She has to engage with my family at all times. She can’t talk bad about me. Oh, and she has to show me PDA everywhere we go,’ I assert, unable not to smile.

Yep, I’ll have her naked in no time once she knows what it’s like to have my lips on hers.

Huck mutters, ‘So your new wife’s not too fond of you, I take it?’

I don’t answer him.

He adds, ‘Don’t most women love to be fawned over by Sebastian Cartwright?’

I blurt out, ‘Georgia isn’t like most women.’ My pulse quickens just thinking about her sucking the frosting off her fingers.

‘So her name’s Georgia. What’s her last name?’

‘Peach,’ I state.

‘Sorry, did you say Peach?’ he questions.

‘Yes. Her name’s Georgia Peach.’

‘You’ve got to be kidding me,’ he notes.

‘No, I’m not. And she’s just as annoyingly chipper as the name,’ I relay.

The sound of Huck lighting up his cigar hits my ears. He takes a deep puff and slowly lets it out. He asks, ‘Anything else besides the standard clauses?’

‘Remind me of the standard clauses?’

‘Waiving her right to sue you for any damages that might occur, that type of stuff,’ he answers.

I reply, ‘Not that I can think of.’

‘Okay. I’ll get right on it. I’ll have it over to you within a few hours.’

‘Thanks, Huck,’ I say, relieved this will get done quickly.

He adds, ‘Yeah, but it’ll cost you for the rush job.’

I groan. ‘Of course it will. Send me the bill. Just cover my ass and add in the loopholes.’

‘No problem.’ He hangs up.

A few hours pass. I try to do my work and keep looking at Georgia’s empty desk. An uncomfortable feeling fills me. I’ve gotten used to seeing her behind the desk, crossing those long legs of hers.

I text her.

Me: Are you packing?

Georgia: Yes, but how do I know I’m taking the right type of clothes?

Me: It’s the country.

Georgia: So? Should I not bring anything nicer?

Me: Pack whatever you want. I’ll give you my credit card to go shopping with my sisters and mom when you get there.

Georgia: I don’t need your credit card to buy clothes.

Me: You’re going to be my wife. It’ll look a little sketchy if you pull yours out.

Georgia: Why don’t you tell me what type of clothes I’ll need and I won’t need to go shopping?

Surprised, I stare at her text. What woman doesn’t want to take my credit card and shop?

Don’t be fooled again. It has to be an act to trick me into thinking she doesn’t want my money. After all, she did negotiate a million dollars.

Me: Pack what you want. If you need something else, then you’ll go shopping.

I wait for another text but nothing arrives. I try to get lost in my work, but I keep staring at her empty desk.

I text her again.

Me: Leave your granny panties at home.

Georgia: Excuse me?

Me: My wife wouldn’t have them.

Georgia: What would your wife have?

Me: Thongs. Those cheeky ones that have the round part of your ass showing. See-through bikinis. Crotchless for fun and games.

Minutes pass.

Me: Are you going to church to pray for my sins?

Georgia: What if I was?

Me: I’d tell you to stop praying. It won’t absolve me from my deviant actions.

Georgia: No one is looking at my underwear.

Me: The staff who does the laundry will.

Georgia: I’ll do my own laundry.

Me: That’s now how it works in the Cartwright household, Sunshine.

Georgia: Stop calling me that.

I grin. Something about getting under Georgia’s skin fuels me.

Me: So leave your granny panties at home. You can come get my card and go buy some this weekend if needed.

Georgia: I don’t need your card. I can pay for my own underwear. Besides, who says I even own granny panties?

Me: Sure, Miss Million Dollar Negotiator.

Georgia: Don’t be a sore loser, Sebastian. And I’ll earn every penny of the million having to be stuck with you for a month.

Oh, you’re going to earn it by making all my indecent thoughts become a reality.

There’s a ding, and I turn to my computer. An email pops up from Huck. I open it.

Sebastian,

Here’s the prenup. Let me know if you have any questions or any issues. I can meet you tomorrow at noon so you can both sign. Hopefully, your bride-to-be doesn’t have any issues with anything.

Huck

I read through the document, satisfied with all the details he put in it. As I thought, it’s the same template as my other three prenups, only this one is much simpler. There are no amounts for children we may have or extra amounts earned for so many years of marriage.

I’m sure Georgia won’t break any of the things I had him add, so I’m unsure what Huck has up his sleeve to make sure I don’t pay her the million.

I reread it a few times, then send it to her. I shoot her another text.

Me: The prenup’s in your inbox. I need to know immediately if there are any changes. Let me know.

When she doesn’t answer me back, I start to get antsy. I pace the office, shooting one message off after another and staring at her empty desk. I try calling but it goes into her voicemail, which only makes my dick hurt again. Then I text some more messages. I’m sure it’s a bit overboard, but her lack of response makes me think she’s getting cold feet. And the longer it goes on, the more my worries take hold.

I remind myself that I always get what I want.

Georgia Peach isn’t going to be the exception. I’ll get her to sign this and become my wife. And it’s only a matter of time before I have her in all ways.