Mr. Grumpy
517 Words
Noah Blackwood sat up, the sheet falling to reveal a chest that Ava absolutely did not have time to appreciate right now. He snatched the marriage certificate from her hand, scanned it with the speed of someone who read billion-dollar contracts for breakfast, and went very, very still.
"This is a joke," he said flatly.
"I wish it were."
"Who are you?"
"Ava Williams. Event planner. Apparently your wife."
His jaw tightened. "I don't do wives."
"Well, congratulations, Mr. Blackwood. You have one."
Noah stood, apparently unconcerned with his state of undress, and began pacing the room like a caged panther. Ava tried very hard to keep her eyes on his face and not on the rest of him, which was unfairly spectacular for someone who looked like he hadn't smiled since the Clinton administration.
"This is impossible," he muttered. "I was at a business dinner. I had one drink. One. Then you—" He stopped, turning to glare at her. "You were at the bar. You talked to me for three hours. You wouldn't stop talking."
"I was drunk and celebrating!"
"You convinced me to go to a chapel."
"I what? "
"You said," his voice dropped to a mocking imitation that was somehow still attractive, "'Life's too short to be serious all the time, Mr. Grumpy. Let's do something crazy.' And then you batted your eyelashes at me, and I—" He stopped, running a hand through his hair. "I don't do crazy. I don't do spontaneous. I certainly don't do marriage. "
Ava stood, wrapping the sheet around herself like a toga of shame. "Well, I don't do marrying strangers either! This is just as much a disaster for me as it is for you!"
"No," Noah said coldly, "it's not. Do you know who I am?"
"You're Noah Blackwood. CEO of Blackwood Industries. Net worth approximately twelve billion dollars. Known in the press as 'The Ice King' and, apparently, 'Mr. Grumpy.' You hate small talk, you fire people for being five minutes late, and you once made a Fortune 500 CEO cry in a board meeting."
He blinked. "You've done your research."
"I read Forbes while getting my nails done. I'm not a stalker."
"That's exactly what a stalker would say."
"Oh my God. " Ava threw her hands up, nearly losing her sheet in the process. "I am not a gold-digger! I have my own career! I just won the Event Planner of the Year award! I don't need your money!"
"Then what do you want?"
"A divorce! Immediately! I want to pretend this never happened!"
"Good. Because that's exactly what we're going to do." He picked up his phone, already dialing. "My lawyer will have the papers drawn up by noon. We'll file today. This marriage will be annulled before dinner."
"Perfect. Wonderful. I'll sign whatever."
He paused, phone halfway to his ear. Something flickered across his face—hesitation? Worry? It was gone before Ava could identify it.
"Wait," he said slowly.
"What?"
Noah lowered the phone. His expression had changed, becoming something more complicated. "There's a problem."
- Writer
