I accidentally married a billionare

Chapter 3

Claire’s Point of View

Six months had passed since I left James. Things returned to normal. My job remained unchanged, offering a welcome sense of stability. My only problem at work was Gigi’s passive-aggressive sticky notes on my desk.

Initially, it served as a constant reminder of my loss, but now it seems almost humorous. I was free while she was involved with a manipulative and potentially abusive man. Give her some credit. She was tenacious. Her behavior was baffling. James and I are now divorced. With nothing left to fight for, she persisted in her attacks on me. I’d moved on.

James had not. Each day, I receive a heartfelt text from him. His texts contain sincere professions of love and regret, along with numerous apologies for his mistake with Gigi. A mistake that had just moved into our house.

I discovered Gigi’s note on my desk. It was taunting me about the date she was moving in with James. Little did she know it brought me relief. I could remove my name from the mortgage and title.

The only reason I hadn’t blocked James was that we still needed to schedule the transfer of the house title. I advised him to bring the documents to the office, but he was adamant about maintaining a strict separation between his professional and personal life. Hilarious, considering his affair with his assistant.

My phone buzzes in my hand. My heart drops in my chest. Was this James again? It wasn’t, instead; it was my best friend, Bexxi.

Oh my god, have you seen the price of bridesmaid dresses? Insane to pay that price for a dress you wear once. I think I’ll take the girls to the mall, and they can pick out dresses. What colour should they wear?

I reply.

Dusty blue or rose pink.

My best friend Bexxi was getting married in six weeks. She was whatever the opposite of a Bridezilla was. I guess it was because she was marrying her boyfriend of sixteen years.

I love Bexxi more than anyone in this world. She is kind, loving, sweet, understanding, and crazy. If I didn't love her so much, I would not be attending the wedding.

James is going to be there, with Gigi, of course. I loathe the idea of sitting alone, while my soon-to-be ex-husband totes around his new, younger mistress. Everyone will stare at me, whispering to one another as the empty chair beside me reminds everyone of the betrayal I faced.

Anticipating a response from Bexxi, I check my phone, only to discover a message from James.

Meet me at Bucanna to sign the mortgage papers over to me. 6 pm.

He ends the message with a heart. Despite his absence, I roll my eyes.

Fine

I won't give him the satisfaction of more than a one-word answer.

It may seem silly, but I had to decide what to wear. Appearances are important. I didn’t want to give the wrong impression. It needs to give off the vibe that I was doing just fine, without being overly sexy or promiscuous. Any ounce of weakness, and he would pounce.

As I filter through my closet, I recognize the successes of the last six months. When I left home, I had five outfits in a small backpack. Three sets of work clothes, a workout outfit, and pajamas. My closet is now full. Everything I own I bought. It is mine and mine alone.

I chose jeans, a black shirt and a tan suede jacket. It is an outfit that exudes confidence. The jacket has a little button-up collar on it.

This is the first time I will be alone with James. He is unpredictable at the best of times and this is not the best of times.

I take a deep breath, steel myself, and order a taxi without wavering. At that moment, my shoulders are back, and my head held high. This is the last step to moving on from James.

The taxi pulls up to Bucanna and my heart falls even further into my stomach. This restaurant is fancy. Outside is a man at a podium taking keys to park cars. Tinted windows give privacy to the patrons.

My lips turn up. James chose this place because he knows I can't afford it. He would have to pay, and I would have to rely on him again. It is an attempt at manipulating me.

All I need is a pen. I can sign the documents against the wall of the building.

I look at the time on my phone, 5:45 pm. Now it is time to wait. I wait and wait. 6 pm passes, then 6:15. 6:20. James did not show up.

Stupid asshole. I’d been with him so long that I knew how his mind worked. He thought I’d go in, order food and then be stuck with a bill I couldn’t pay. The churning in my stomach turned to fire. For the first time in six months, I phoned James. It went to his voicemail.

“You ASSHOLE! I have been outside the unnecessarily fancy restaurant for the last two hours. Jesus, you fucker. Divorcing you was the best thing I have ever done. I need to sign the papers, James. THIS WEEK.”

As I pace and scream on the phone, I notice a tall man with dark hair. A guard accompanies him as he exits a black SUV that is worth more than my apartment. His hair is short, slicked back away from his face. On his wrist is a watch, worth at least ten thousand dollars.

He must be important. Not everyone saunters around town with personal security. I wonder if he is a lawyer or a businessman of some type. Or maybe he is the head of a crime syndicate. It didn’t matter. A man like that won't take a second look at me.

The valet nods at the security guard and says, “Are you Tyler? Your parents are waiting inside for you.”

I must have been making quite a racket, as before I knew it, the man has locked eyes with me. Initially cold and emotionless, his gaze suddenly held a glint of intrigue for just a split second. A smile that replaces his serious expression dons his lips.

Not knowing how to respond, I smile back. Something about this man sparks my curiosity. It might have been how his harsh and stiff body language didn’t match the kindness in his smile or how the small dimple on the left side of his cheek gave him a boyish vibe.

“Boss,” his security guard says, redirecting his focus from me.

His expression resumes its cold, stoic nature when our eyes met no more. He steps into the restaurant and I can't help myself but watch him until he was out of sight. Something about him is intriguing.

A blood-curdling scream from down the street interrupts me as I pull out my phone to call a taxi. This young woman, maybe 19 years old, wearing a bodycon dress and heels, runs from the club down the street. An older man, dressed in rags, saunters after her.

I can tell from the look of fear in her eyes that she needs help. I run down the street, placing myself in front of her. We women have to stick together. My hand reaches out to the man’s chest.

“Leave it, man. She’s not worth it.”

He snarls at me, like he is some kind of animal, and I stifle a chuckle. The young woman is heading toward Bucanna. At least now she will be safe. It is slow-going in her three-inch heels. More of a stomp than an actual run.

He appraises me dismissively, his eyes gazing up and down my body. “You’re older than I prefer. However, you’ll suffice.”

What did this man just say to me? If he thinks for just one minute that I will let him touch me, he will be mistaken. I am a fighter, and I always will be a fighter.

“Look asshole. No one is interested in you. It’s best you go home before someone gets hurt. You don’t want to do something you’ll regret.”

The man pulls out a knife, waving it in front of my face, as if intimidating me would make me fall to his will. My years of training kick in, and I punch him in the face. The feeling of his flesh breaking on the teeth in his mouth radiates on my knuckles.

His eyes widen for a moment, as he spits blood onto the ground.

“You punched me!”

He thrusts his knife toward me. My heart takes an extra beat as I place my left hand out, grabbing the blade. The searing pain of the knife slicing through my hand distracts me for a moment.

Ignoring the pain, I slide my leg to kick him in the upper thigh. He winces at the sting. My other foot goes into his knee as he collapses to the ground.

“Hey! Stop that. Leave her alone.” A voice from behind me sings.

It is the security guard and man from before. Both of them rush to my aid. The young girl is standing with the valet, catching her breath.

The security man reaches us first, further subduing the criminal and dragging him off.

The adrenaline of the fight wanes, and all I can feel is the searing pain in my hand. I back up, my heels hitting the curb, and I flop onto the sidewalk, placing pressure on my hand.

How in the world did I get into this mess?