By His Vow: A Billionaire Arranged Marriage Romance

“He’s hot when he’s angry.”

“Cory,” I gasp, although honestly, it’s the kind of distraction I need.

“What? I’m just saying.”

“Fuck. This is all such a mess.”

“You’re telling me,” he mutters as he drops into the chair beside him and studies me closely. But before long, his eyes inevitably drop to the rock on my finger. “You’re seriously engaged to that asshole?”

I’m not sure if the look in his eyes is pure disbelief, disappointment, or something else entirely.

A bitter laugh spills from my lips.

“Yeah,” I confess. “I’m actually engaged to that asshole.”

“Why?” he blurts, unable to believe what he’s hearing.

I roll my eyes. “Because I’m madly in love with him and his overbearing, asshole ways.”

“Did you want to try that again and at least try to make it sound believable?”

“I’m too exhausted.”

“You know what you need? Margaritas.”

“No. What I need is carbs and sleep.” It’s been hours since those tacos, and I’m starving.

“Okay, carbs and margaritas, and then I’ll take you home to sleep. Wanna invite Lori to join us?”

I shake my head as I pack my things up. “She’s got a date with Matt.”

“Again?” he asks, surprised.

I get it. There aren’t many men who get this far with Lori. She’s usually self-sabotaged the possibility of a relationship by now.

“Yep. Matt is special.”

“Good for her. Shall we?” he asks, pushing to his feet and holding his arm out for me.

“Don’t let me get drunk.”

He laughs. “You do know who you’re talking to, right?”

“I’m going to regret this,” I mutter as I continue finishing up for the night.

My email pings with something that needs my immediate attention, and I sit down to deal with it while Cory scrolls through his phone.

Focusing on work might be the last thing I need right now, but I have to admit, it does help distract me.

It’s almost thirty minutes later when I finally close down my computer and stand.

“Okay, we’re good to go.”

“Thank God. Those margs won’t drink themselves.”

“It would probably be better for my body tomorrow if they did,” I deadpan as I throw my purse over my shoulder and head for the door.

Cory hops up from his seat, pockets his cell, and eagerly follows me out.

“So, what’s going on with you?” I ask once we’re securely in the elevator.

He chuckles. “Nothing anywhere as close as entertaining as what’s going on with you.”

“Humor me.”

“Okay.” He smirks, thinking for a moment. “You know that couple I spent time with a month or so ago?”

I roll my eyes. “The couple who gave you the best night of your life? How could I forget?”

“Man, it was good,” he says dreamily.

“Not good enough to share all the juicy details, though,” I point out as we descend through the building.

“Nah, they’re all for my dirty mind only,” he teases.

“Boo, you’re no fun.”

“I think they would argue that fact.”

“Whore.” I laugh.

“Takes one to know one,” he counters, more than happy to give as good as he gets.

It’s one of the many things I love about Cory. He’s just so easy—and I don’t mean sexually, although he is pretty easy there too—but our friendship is just so easy. We can be ourselves one hundred percent and it’s totally okay. It’s safe. We can say anything we want and know we won’t be judged.

We continue with our friendly bickering as we move toward the exit. With my attention focused on my friend, I miss the crowd outside. But one incredibly bright flash catches my eye, and I turn their way.

“Oh, holy fuck,” I gasp.

“You’re hot news, babe.”

“I don’t want to be hot fucking news,” I complain as two men in black suits none too discreetly talking through earpieces head our way.

“Miss Warner, if you’ll follow us, we’ll escort you to the car,” one of them instructs.

“Did Kingston instruct you to be here?” I ask, my eyes locked on his.

He doesn’t answer. But he doesn’t need to.

Kingston has orchestrated all of this. Maybe I should see it as sweet and thoughtful that he’s ensured I have a way to get through the hoard of journalists all wanting the first interview about our bullshit union. But right now, I’m finding it more overbearing and controlling than I am sweet.

“This is fucking bullshit,” I mutter so that only Cory can hear.

“I’ve got an Uber waiting. You don’t need to do as you’re told.”

His words are like music to my ears.

“What’s the car?”

He pulls his cell from his pocket and shows me the picture of the black Prius that’s waiting for us.

“Ready to run?” I ask, a shot of adrenaline saturating me.

“Oh hell, yeah.”

Cory grabs my hand, and together we dart around the security guards and rush toward the front doors and the awaiting press.

Chaos erupts, but neither of us stops running as the space around us gets smaller and smaller.

“Tatum, how does it feel to be engaged to Kingston Callahan?”

“Tatum, can we see a close-up of the ring?”

“Tatum, were you expecting him to pop the question so soon?”

“Tatum, how does it feel to snag Chicago’s most eligible bachelor?”

The security details are behind us; I can feel their presence as we set our sights on the car.

Lewis stands beside Kingston’s car, his hand poised ready to pull the door open to let us escape.

But just before he does so, we dart to the right, to the car idling behind him.

“Tatum, what are you⁠—”

We dive into the back of the car and fall about in fits of giggles.

Fuck. I needed that. Today has been too much.

“Step on it,” Cory demands, and thankfully, the driver follows orders and pulls away from the curb as the crowd moves closer.

“Oh god,” I cry as we’re thrown back into the seats when he floors the gas and speeds away from the Warner Group building.

“Now, that’s what I’m talking about,” Cory shouts excitedly. “That was fun. You’re like…a celebrity.”

My stomach knots. “I’m really not,” I mutter.

“Didn’t you hear them all calling your name? Girl, you’re the hottest thing in Chicago right now.”

“Please stop,” I beg. “I want to be an invisible thing.”

“Should have thought about that before you attached yourself to the hottest man in the city then,” he counters.

“If only it were that simple.”

“Well, I guess the heart wants what the heart wants,” he swoons.

His brows pinch when I groan.

“What? What am I missing?”

“Not here,” I whisper, shooting a look at the driver, who I’m sure is more than interested in the drama of my life. “Where are we going?” I ask instead, changing the subject.

“Trust me, T. You’re going to love it.”

Cory wasn’t wrong. The small family-run Mexican restaurant is perfect.

We’re hiding down a backstreet with no chance of anyone finding us.

He made sure our Uber driver took an extra-long way here to ensure we lost anyone who might have been following us.

I found it hard to believe that the journalists would go to that length. I’m just me. I’m nothing special. Camping outside Warner Group is easy, but chasing me around the city is something else entirely.

“Oh my god, these are so good,” I slur as the remainder of my most recent cocktail disappears down my throat.Please check at N/ôvel(D)rama.Org.

We’ve eaten our body weight in nachos, and my blood is buzzing from the tequila shots and margaritas we’ve consumed.

It’s been perfect.

So fucking perfect.

“I love you, Cor,” I say, wrapping my arm around his shoulders and holding him tight. “You’re such a good friend.”

“Love you too, T,” he says, kissing my temple.

It’s innocent and comforting. Just a friend being there for another friend.

It’s exactly what I need.

Admittedly, I should go home.

My cell has long died, thanks to all the calls and messages. Mostly from Kingston, after I forced him to leave my office.

I’ve no idea where he went or what he did. I like the idea that he went home alone to sulk. But this is Kingston we’re talking about. I’m not sure sulking is in his vocabulary. If he doesn’t get what he wants, he smashes down every single obstacle in his way until he does.

Another two margaritas that I don’t remember ordering arrive as the server clears our empty plates.

Resting my head back, I lose myself in stupid thoughts about our weekend.

How was it only hours ago that we drove back into the city blissfully happy?

It feels like a lifetime ago now.

Waking up with his hands on my body, feeling him pushing inside me.

“Oh shit,” Cory gasps, his eyes widening as he stares at his cell.

“What?”

“Nothing. Nothing. It doesn’t matter.”

“Oh no, you’re not pulling that shit with me.” Reaching my hand out, I snatch his cell from him and scroll up.

I’ve no idea what I was expecting, but honestly, it wasn’t to see a photo of Kingston’s hand pressed against a woman’s back as he helps her into his car.

Lewis is standing there watching like it’s nothing.

“Maybe it’s an old picture,” Cory adds.

“It was posted forty-five minutes ago,” I point out. “Who is she?”

“No idea. The article doesn’t name her, and there is no way of telling in that photograph.”

I shouldn’t care. And it certainly shouldn’t hurt. But fuck. It does.

Betrayal drips through my veins like poison.

Ripping my tear-filled eyes from the screen, I look up at my friend.

A weird mix of anger, frustration, and regret war inside me.

I can sit here and be disappointed at Kingston for going out with someone else all I like. But I’m doing the exact same thing. And with the man he watched me dancing with, no less.

But still, I’m pissed at him. The stunt he pulled with photos of our private moment at the cabin is unacceptable.

He didn’t even give me a hint that it was going to be front-page news this morning. How fucking fair is that?

I’m about to demand that Cory call us another Uber when a shadow falls over our table.

Glancing up, I find two familiar suited men staring back at me.

How did they find us?

“Can you come with us please, Miss Warner?” one asks, his voice leaving very little room to argue.

I want to, though. Of course I do. It’s how I roll, defying the orders of every controlling man that I can. But something tells me that arguing right now would be a bad move.

“What about Cory?” I ask.

“I think Mr. Denham needs to go home, don’t you?” he states, lifting a brow as I gasp as the realization that they know who he is.

Fuck.

My heart rate increases as I think about the possible fallout from this.

Kingston is going to be pissed. That’s a sure fucking bet.

But could that be a good thing?

Desire sits heavy between my thighs.

No. No. It’s a really bad thing.

Keep your head in the game, Tatum. Do not give in to the tequila and a hot man.

“Fine. Cory, I’ll call you, okay?”

Leaning over, I kiss his cheek, but before I get a chance to say anything else, I’m none-too-gently dragged away from him.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea, do you, Miss Warner?” the other man growls.

“I can do what I want. No one owns me. And my name is Tate,” I spit before marching toward the restaurant’s entrance.

I want to say that it’s smooth, that my legs work as they should and that I look like a put-together, sophisticated, intelligent woman.

But then I go over on my ankle and bump into the table beside me, knocking over a water jug. Thankfully, the table is empty and waiting to be cleared, but there are enough diners in here to witness my drunken antics. And not only that, but when I glance up at the windows, I find cameras pointed in my direction.

Fuck my fucking life.

“We’re going this way,” a deep voice demands before I’m turned around and directed toward the back of the restaurant.

There’s a car idling outside the back door and Lewis sits behind the wheel, ready to whisk me away.

I let out a sigh as one of the men opens the door for me and then joins me in the back once I’m safe, while the other sits up in front with Lewis.

“Good evening, Tatum,” Lewis says, his eyes finding me in the mirror.

“Don’t give me that look, Lewis,” I mutter.

“Home?” he asks, although I don’t know why he bothers. We all know that I’m going to be going wherever Kingston wants me to go.

That’s my life now. I’m the little lady who has to do as she’s told.

A bitter laugh spills from my lips.

Did he really think that I’d fall into line that easily?

He knows me better than that, surely. Or did he think that a handful of orgasms delivered by his skillful body would soften me? Make me more pliable to his wishes?

“Do I actually get a choice?” I ask irritably.

Lewis wants to say something. I see his jaw move as if he’s going to, but then he changes his mind.

Probably for the best.

I don’t want to go to Kingston’s penthouse. I want to go home. I want to put on my pajamas and curl up with Griz.

The thought of my fluffy terror makes a smile tug at the corners of my lips.

I sit forward, swaying slightly as I do.

“Lewis,” I ask sweetly.

“Tatum,” he counters, studying me as closely as he can in the rearview mirror as he navigates the backroads of Chicago.

“Can we make a detour, please? It will only be a short one. I just need to pick something up.”