The Billionaire's Unwanted Bride

THE BILLIONAIRE'S UNWANTED BRIDE Chapter 1 — The Collision Emily Carter had exactly seventeen minutes to save her morning. She knew this because she had checked her phone four times in the last three minutes, and the time on the screen seemed to move faster every time she looked at it. 8:43 a.m. Her interview was at nine. “Great,” she muttered, hurrying down Fifth Avenue. “Perfect. Absolutely perfect.” The strap of her handbag kept sliding off her shoulder. Her cheap black heels pinched her toes. A gust of cold Manhattan wind whipped several strands of hair across her face, and she pushed them away without slowing down. She had spent the previous night preparing for the interview. She had ironed her blouse. She had polished her shoes. She had printed three copies of her résumé. She had even rehearsed answers to questions she was almost certain nobody would ask. And then, at 8:05 that morning, the subway had decided to ruin her life. Signal problems. Delays. An overcrowded train. A conductor who sounded entirely too cheerful while announcing that everyone should expect further delays. Now Emily was running through Manhattan like a woman being chased. She reached into her bag for her phone and nearly collided with a man stepping out of a black SUV. The impact knocked her backward. Her coffee flew out of her hand. It landed directly on the man's charcoal-gray suit. There was a terrible silence. Emily froze. The man looked down. Coffee dripped slowly from his jacket. Then he looked at her. He was tall. Very tall. Dark hair. Sharp jaw. Expensive watch. Broad shoulders beneath the ruined suit jacket. And an expression that could have frozen the Hudson River. Emily swallowed. “Oh my God.” The man's eyes narrowed. “That,” he said quietly, “is one way to start a conversation.” “I am so sorry.” She reached for a tissue from her bag, then stopped when she realized how useless a tissue would be against what appeared to be several hundred dollars' worth of ruined fabric. “I didn't see you.” “Clearly.” Emily blinked. Something about his tone irritated her. “I said I was sorry.” “And I heard you.” He replied. “Then why are you looking at me like I committed a felony?” His eyebrows lifted slightly. Most people would have apologized again. Emily wasn't most people. She was late, exhausted, broke, and one failed interview away from having to explain to Lily why they might need to move again. She had no emotional energy left for an arrogant stranger. The man glanced at the coffee stain. “You should be more careful.” Emily stared at him. “You stepped in front of me.” “I was getting out of a vehicle.” “And I was walking.” “That much is obvious.” She let out a disbelieving laugh. “Wow.” “Excuse me?” “You're right. My mistake. I should have anticipated that a six-foot wall of arrogance was going to step out of an SUV in the middle of the sidewalk.” For the first time, something flickered in his expression. Surprise. Then, almost imperceptibly, amusement. Emily didn't notice. She was already backing away. “Look, I'm really sorry about your suit. If you give me the dry cleaner's information, I'll—” “You'll what?” “I'll pay for the cleaning.” He glanced at her shoes, her worn handbag, then back at her. Emily caught the look. Her cheeks warmed. “You know what? Forget it.” “That was not what I meant.” “Sure.” She turned. “Miss.” Emily stopped. “What?” He looked at her for another moment. “You're bleeding.” She looked down. A small cut had opened across her palm, probably from the coffee cup breaking when it hit the pavement. “Oh.” She hadn't even felt it. The man pulled a white handkerchief from his pocket and held it out. Emily hesitated before taking it. “Thank you.” “You're welcome.” She pressed it against her palm. Then her eyes widened. “Oh, no.” “What?” She looked at her phone. 8:48. “I have an interview.” She started walking. “Good luck.” She glanced over her shoulder. “Thanks.” Then she disappeared into the morning crowd. The man remained where he was. Daniel Brooks, who had been standing beside the SUV during the entire exchange, stared at his employer. “Well,” Daniel said. Alexander Sterling looked at him. “Don't.” “I didn't say anything.” “You were about to.” Daniel smiled. “You usually make people cry before eight-thirty.” Alexander glanced down at his stained jacket. “She ruined a perfectly good suit.” “And insulted you.” “She was rude.” “She called you a six-foot wall of arrogance.” Alexander's mouth twitched. Daniel noticed. “Oh, this is interesting.” “Get me another jacket.” “Yes, sir.” “And find out who she is.” Daniel paused. Alexander turned toward him. “I said find out who she is.” Daniel's smile widened. “Of course.” --- Emily reached the glass doors of Sterling Enterprises with nine minutes to spare. She stopped outside long enough to catch her breath. The building rose above her like a monument to money. Forty-eight stories of steel and glass. A polished silver sign near the entrance read: STERLING ENTERPRISES Emily looked down at herself. Her blouse was slightly wrinkled. Her hair was a mess. Her palm was still bleeding beneath the stranger's handkerchief. “This is going to be great,” she whispered. Inside, everything was immaculate. Marble floors. Modern lighting. Quiet conversations. People dressed as though they had stepped out of a magazine. Emily suddenly felt painfully aware of every inexpensive thing she owned. She approached the reception desk. “I'm here for an interview. Emily Carter.” The receptionist typed something into her computer. “Ms. Carter? Human Resources, thirty-second floor. Elevator bank B.” “Thank you.” Emily hurried toward the elevators. As the doors closed, she caught her reflection. “Pull yourself together.” She straightened her blouse. “You need this job.” The elevator climbed. Thirty-two floors. Thirty-two chances to panic. By the time the doors opened, Emily had convinced herself she could do this. She walked into the Human Resources department and gave her name. A woman smiled. “Ms. Carter? We're ready for you.” Emily followed her down a hallway. She expected a panel of interviewers. Instead, the woman stopped outside a large office. “Mr. Sterling will conduct the final interview himself.” Emily frowned. “Mr. Sterling?” “Yes.” Her stomach dropped. She remembered the stranger on the sidewalk. No. Impossible. The woman opened the door. Emily stepped inside. A man stood with his back to her, looking through a wall of windows at Manhattan. Dark suit. Broad shoulders. Dark hair. He turned. Emily stopped breathing. It was him. The coffee-stained stranger. He looked at her. His expression changed almost imperceptibly. Recognition. Then amusement. Emily stared at him in disbelief. “You.” Alexander Sterling walked slowly toward the desk. “Yes,” he said. He glanced at the résumé in his hand. “Emily Carter.” She looked around the office. Then at him. “You're Alexander Sterling?” “I am.” Her face burned. The billionaire. The CEO. The owner of the building. The man she had just called a six-foot wall of arrogance. ....To Be Continued.