BULL (The Buck Boys Heroes Book 1) Page 2

  I dig it out.

  My gaze drops to the screen to find a text message from the man himself.

  Mr. Locke: I’ll be out of the office for the remainder of the day. Reschedule my meetings.

  My stomach growls a response before I do.

  Trina: Very well, sir.

  Not only will I be dining on a fourteen-dollar sandwich for lunch, but I’ll make it home before dinnertime tonight.

  I don’t have plans. Well, unless you count organizing my utensil drawer as plans.

  I take a seat behind my desk and grab a paper napkin from the stack I keep hidden in my bottom drawer.

  That lands on my lap because I happen to like the skirt I’m wearing, and I don’t want a splotch of zesty sauce to send it to the dry cleaners prematurely.

  I carefully unwrap the sandwich like the gift that it is.

  Just as I pick it up, my phone chimes again.

  I close my eyes and make a wish that it’s a text message from one of my twelve siblings because, on any given day, most of them reach out at least once.

  My parents still insist on calling me from their landline.

  Against my better judgment, I glance at my phone.

  I read the text message on my screen. “What the fuck?”

  That’s followed by uncontrollable laughter because this has to be a joke.

  Graham Locke is pranking me.

  He must be because there is no way in hell that the words on my screen are real.

  I read his text message again.

  Mr. Locke: Meet me at the City Clerk’s office at 3 PM today for my wedding.

  “Who would marry you?” I blurt out.

  My boss keeps his private life under wraps, but I can’t imagine any woman wanting to marry him unless hot grump with good hair is a type.

  I need clarification more than I need a bite of the sandwich, so I pick up my phone.

  Trina: You’re getting married today?

  I fire that off without another thought.

  Why do I care if he gets married today or any other day?

  Feeling like I’ve suddenly lost my appetite, I wrap the sandwich back up and write my name across the bag in big, bold letters, so Cecil knows not to touch it.

  I move to stand to head to the break room just as my phone chimes again.

  I drop my gaze to the screen.

  Mr. Locke: 3 PM at the City Clerk’s office, Miss Shaw. DON’T BE LATE.

  Looking at the watch on my wrist, I fall back on my chair.

  Two hours and twenty-one minutes from now, I’ll witness my boss marry a woman who has to be a saint.

  Whoever the future Mrs. Locke is, I wish her luck. She may be marrying someone tagged one of “The Most Gorgeous Men in Manhattan” on an Instagram account I follow, but her soon-to-be husband is a jerk for the ages.

  I hope she knows what she’s getting into.

  “That’s out of your price league,” my brother says as he jerks his thumb to the left. “If you need bubbly, Trina, the discount bin is over there.”

  “Thanks, George.” I flash him a grin. “This is a gift, so I’m going all out.”

  I’ll say I am. This bottle of champagne I picked out as a wedding gift for my boss and his wife is just shy of two hundred dollars.

  I don’t know the proper etiquette about showing up to a wedding without a gift in hand, but I think it’s just plain rude.

  Besides, Mrs. Locke is probably going to need a drink within a few hours after the ceremony.

  My brother rings the purchase up in the cash register. “I’ll toss in a gift bag at no charge.”

  “Gee, thanks.” I smile.

  George’s store is my go-to place for anything alcoholic.

  He doesn’t give discounts to anyone, but he will toss in a free gift of some sort if he can.

  I reach over to pluck a shiny silver bag from the bin next to the counter.

  “Who is this for?” he asks warily. “Someone must be celebrating something important for you to invest this much in their gift.”

  George is the most protective of my siblings.

  If I tell him that I’m buying this for my boss, he’ll lecture me on how Graham’s not worth it.

  George has heard me moan enough times about Mr. Locke to know that he’ll never win any Boss of the Year contests.

  I hand him my credit card. “A wedding deserves a gift to remember.”

  “Someone’s getting married?” He runs my card through the register. “Good for them. Marriage is the best decision I ever made.”

  “You’re one of the lucky ones,” I say to steer him toward talking about his wife.

  He takes the bait.

  As I tuck my credit card back into my purse, I listen to the story about his wedding day and how it was everything he always wanted it to be.

  I only hope that when I get married, it’s as perfect as his special day was.

  Chapter Four

  Trina

  I race up the sidewalk toward the building that houses the City Clerk’s office. I slow my pace when I spot Mr. Locke standing on the sidewalk a few feet in front of me.

  Wowza.

  The suit he’s wearing is a three-piece dark blue number. He’s got a light blue tie on that is knotted to perfection.

  The future Mrs. Locke did luck out when it comes to having a photogenic husband. He’ll look killer in every shot they take today, especially if he smiles.

  I’ve witnessed that a few times.

  It’s always when a new location of Abdons opens. On those days, money signs must be dancing behind his eyes because he’s borderline cheerful, or at the very least cordial.

  Right now, he looks less than pleased.

  Maybe I should have changed into something more suitable to witness his wedding. I have no clue what that would be.

  I think the red blouse and black pencil skirt that I wore to work today will do the job just fine.

  “Congratulations, sir!” I hold the gift bag in the air. My fingers are wrapped tightly around the twine handles because this is precious cargo.

  “Right.”

  Huh?

  It’s his wedding day. The least he can do is crack open the smile vault and let one fly.

  Someone needs to tell him that smiles don’t cost a penny.

  I look around. “Where’s the bride? What’s her name?”

  He drags a hand through his perfectly styled hair.

  Uh oh.

  That move only happens when the world, as he knows it, is about to collapse. It happened that time he tasted regular mustard and the day I spilled coffee in his lap.

  The heel on my shoe broke. I lunged forward. Lukewarm coffee landed on his thousand dollar pants. It was a whole thing.

  His gaze darts to the left and then the right, but it doesn’t seem as though he’s looking for someone.

  If he got stood up, I’m taking this champagne back to my brother’s store for a refund.

  Mr. Locke drops his hand and looks me in the eye. “You’re her.”

  “Urher?” I repeat, not wanting to butcher his fiancée’s name. “Am I pronouncing that right? Or is it with an accented e, like Urhér?”

  He looks at me like my head is about to fall off.

  I continue rambling because I’m on a roll, “It’s a unique name. She must be lovely.”

  “You. Are. Her,” he states each word slowly and with purpose. “You are marrying me.”

  “What?” I blurt out through a stuttered laugh. “What did you just say?”

  His expression shifts, and a slight smile ghosts his lips. “I need you to marry me, Miss Shaw.”

  I feel my mouth fall open, but I do nothing to change that.

  “I’ve called in a favor with a judge, so we’re skipping the mandatory twenty-four-hour waiting period after we get the license.” He glances down at the Abdons watch on his wrist. “The ceremony will happen as soon as we have the license in hand.”

  “Marriage license? Ceremony? A judge?” I tos
s out random words that have no right to be in my vocabulary at this moment in time.

  “I need us to be married by tomorrow afternoon.” He tilts his head. “There isn’t an opening in my schedule tomorrow morning, so we have to move it if we’re going to get this done before the City Clerk’s office closes for the day.”

  I take a step back. “No.”

  “No?” he repeats it like it’s a curse word.

  “I’m not marrying you.” My voice is edged with a chuckle because this is as preposterous as it gets.

  Did he fall and hit his head in his rush to get out of the office earlier?

  “We need to get married,” he insists with another shove of his hand through his hair.

  “We’re not getting married,” I argue. “Are you all right, sir? Are you feeling okay?”

  “I’m frustrated,” he admits as if it’s not obvious.

  A vein in his neck is pulsing. I catch sight of it every time I glance at his Adam’s apple.

  “Let’s get you back to the office,” I say in as calm a tone as I can muster. “Is there someone I can call for you?”

  “Miss Shaw,” he hisses my name out. “I need you to marry me now. That is non-negotiable so tell me what I need to do to make it happen in the next…” He drops his gaze to his watch. “Thirty-eight minutes.”

  Steadying my feet on the pavement, I look him in the eye. “I’m not marrying you, sir.”

  “Because of Kyle?”

  I don’t know if I’m more stunned that Mr. Locke remembers the name of the guy I briefly dated or that he thinks that would be the only reason barring me from marrying him.

  “No. We broke up.”

  He rubs his jaw. “What’s the issue then?”

  Is that a trick question? I could list a million reasons why I won’t plunge into the marriage pool with him.

  “Give me one good reason why you won’t marry me,” he begins as he glances at his watch again. “And make it quick.”

  “I don’t like you.”

  No, no, no. I didn’t let that slip out, did I?

  “I’m not asking you to like me,” he spits the last two words out with a smirk. “I’m asking you to marry me.”

  “I can’t do that.”

  He grabs hold of my forearm to shuffle me out of the way of an approaching group of people.

  My gaze searches his face. “Why do you want to marry me?”

  He lets out a heavy exhale. “Mr. Abdon is coming to New York tomorrow. He’s under the impression we’re married.”

  I take in every word he just said. “Why would he be under that impression?”

  His answer is quick and to the point. “I told him we got married.”

  My gaze follows his hand as he reaches into the front pocket of his pants. He pulls out a small white box.

  When he pops it open, my breath catches because, holy mother of all things sparkly, that diamond is huge.

  “If we hurry, we can have this done by the end of the day,” he says as he shoves the box into my palm.

  That’s not going to win any awards for the most romantic proposal of the year.

  I push the box back at him. “This is not happening. You need to tell Mr. Abdon the truth.”

  He lowers his voice. “I need you to tell me what it’s going to take to get you to marry me, Miss Shaw. This is temporary and in name only. What do you want? One hundred thousand? A quarter of a million?”

  “Dollars?” I screech. “Sir!”

  “Five hundred thousand,” he says in a rush. “All right. I’ll go up to a million. One million dollars for three months. After that, you can file for a divorce.”

  My hand flies in the air, taking the gift bag with it. I narrowly miss crashing it into the side of Mr. Locke’s head. “Slow this crazy train down.”

  “One and a half million, Miss Shaw.” He scrubs the back of his neck. “You drive a hard bargain.”

  I’ve said all of seven words during this negotiation. That’s not driving a hard bargain. That’s bewilderment.

  Cursing under his breath, he whips his cell phone from his jacket pocket.

  What the hell is happening now?

  His fingers dance over the screen before he turns his back on me.

  It’s a futile move since I can hear every word that comes out of his mouth.

  “Judge?” he says before he takes a pause. “We’re running behind. Can you marry us in your chambers this evening?”

  I tap him on the shoulder. “Tonight won’t work for me.”

  He spins around. His blue eyes rake me from head to toe. I can’t tell if that’s his signature ‘What the fuck?’ look or if he wants to fuck me.

  I chase that thought away because where did it come from?

  “We’ll see you then,” he says to the judge.

  He pockets the phone before he gives me his full attention again. “I’ll have my attorney write up an amendment to the prenuptial agreement to include the one and a half million payable on the day you file for a divorce.”

  He reaches into the inner pocket of his jacket to show me the corner of a white envelope.

  “You have a prenup with you?” I ask with a chuckle. “You’re kidding, right?”

  He taps the face of his watch with his index finger. “We have thirty minutes to get the marriage license, Miss Shaw. At the very least, agree to that. We can work out the other details between now and when we see the judge.”

  I see something in his eyes that I’ve never seen before. It may be a plea, or it could be frustration, but against all of my better judgment and the nagging voice in the back of my head telling me to turn and walk away, I nod. “Just the license. Then we’ll talk.”

  Chapter Five

  Trina

  I stare at the marriage license in my lap that bears not only my name but my boss’s name too.

  How is any of this real?

  When we went into the City Clerk’s office, Mr. Locke’s lawyer was waiting for us. Apparently, he was going to be the witness to our wedding.

  He introduced himself as Morty no last name.

  That’s exactly what he said. “I’m Morty.” Then he paused and added with a wink, “No last name.”

  He laughed like it was the funniest thing he’d ever heard.

  I didn’t break a grin because his attempt at a joke only added to my trepidation.

  Still, I handed over my driver’s license to the clerk behind the counter, signed on the dotted line, and in theory agreed to be my boss’s wife.

  It’s not official until we go before the judge. That doesn’t happen for another fifty-nine minutes, according to my watch.

  I turn when I hear Mr. Locke enter his office behind me. I sat down on one of the visitor chairs that face his desk while he and Morty No-Last-Name had a hushed discussion next to my desk.

  All I heard was Morty saying that he had to get home before seven and Mr. Locke calling someone who works for the judge to ask if they would witness his wedding.

  His wedding. Not our wedding.

  If that isn’t a red flag waving in the breeze right over my head, I don’t know what is.

  I should pop open the bottle of champagne in the gift bag on the corner of Mr. Locke’s desk, race out of here, and celebrate being a single woman in the big city.

  Instead, I’m sitting here trying to find the right words to let my boss down easily. Honestly, I just want to walk out of here with a job, or at the very least, a stellar recommendation.

  “Miss Shaw,” Mr. Locke says my name in a rush. “The prenuptial agreement is ready for your perusal.”

  He drops a stack of papers on top of the wedding license.

  “We added a few amendments in ink, and I initialed those.” He points at the papers. “I assure you that it’s all legal.”

  I take no reassurance in that.

  I don’t need to worry about that, because this wedding is not happening. “I’m not marrying you, sir.”

  He runs a finger under his bottom lip. �
�I assumed we were past the question of whether or not this was happening.”

  “We weren’t,” I state with a shake of my head. “I can’t marry you.”

  “You can.”

  Marriage means something to me. I’ve watched my parents navigate the waters of a successful marriage. I want that too.

  “I believe one and a half million dollars is more than generous, Miss Shaw.”

  It’s ridiculous.

  I’ve yet to hit the six-figure a year mark for my annual salary. One and a half million dollars would secure my financial future, but it comes at a cost that’s too steep.

  “It’s very generous,” I agree. “But when I get married, I want it to be for love, and I want the first time to be the only time.”

  Leaning against the edge of his desk, he crosses his arms. “We’ll be divorced a few months from now. After that, you’re free and clear to marry a man you love.”

  I scratch my head. “You keep bringing up divorce. An annulment is an option.”

  I can’t believe I’m even considering this arrangement, but on the remote chance that I do it, I don’t want there to be any public record that I married this man.

  “That’s not an option.”

  “It is,” I insist. “People get annulments all the time.”

  I’m basing that on what I’ve seen in the movies and on television.

  “It’s not an option,” he repeats.

  Frustrated, I inch forward on my chair. “I happen to know that if a marriage is never consummated, it can be annulled, and since we will never do that, it’s an option.”

  Mr. Locke’s fingers trace his jaw. “In New York State, that’s only an option if one party is physically unable to have sex. I sure as hell don’t fall into that category, Miss Shaw, do you?”

  How am I talking about sex with my boss right now?

  I can’t form a verbal response, so I shake my head.

  “Divorce is the route we’ll take,” he says matter-of-factly. “If it helps, remind yourself that this is strictly for convenience, and when you do marry for love, it will be for the first time.”