I Left My Cheating Ex And Married A Billionaire Who Fell First

Chapter Two

AMELIA

A man stood by the door.

For a second, my brain refused to process what I was seeing.

He was tall. Very tall. Broad shoulders stretched beneath a black shirt, sleeves rolled to his forearms, dark hair slightly disheveled, like he'd run his fingers through it one too many times. His jaw was sharp, his expression unreadable, and his gray eyes were fixed on me with an intensity that made my stomach drop.

He looked like the kind of man who belonged on the cover of an expensive magazine.

Not in Scarlett's spare bedroom. And definitely not while I was sitting on the bed with a vibrator in my hand.

My face burned.

He didn't move.

Neither did I.

Then my embarrassment turned into irritation.

"Get out."

His eyebrows lifted slightly.

"Gladly."

He shut the door.

I stared at it.

My face burned hotter.

Of all the ways to meet a stranger, this had to be mine.

I grabbed the duvet and pulled it over my head. Maybe if I stayed there long enough, the earth would open up and swallow me.

Then I heard voices outside.

"Who the hell is in your spare bedroom?"

I froze.

Scarlett answered.

"Amelia."

"Who?"

"My best friend."

He went silent.

"You should have told me."

His footsteps moved away.

I slowly lowered the duvet.

Scarlett had a boyfriend.

And apparently, her boyfriend had just walked in on me m**********g.

Wonderful.

Absolutely wonderful.

I was never leaving this room again.

…

The next morning, I stayed in bed.

I wasn't coming out. Not for breakfast. Not for lunch. Not even if the house caught fire.

At around nine, there was a knock on my door.

"Amelia?"

I groaned.

"Go away."

The door opened anyway.

Scarlett leaned against the frame, coffee in hand.

She looked entirely too amused.

"I brought you coffee."

"Leave it there."

She walked inside.

"Are you planning to spend the rest of your life in that bed?"

"Yes."

"Fair."

She took a sip.

"The whole neighborhood probably knows more about your s*x life than I do."

I covered my face with my pillow.

"Can we not?"

She chuckled.

"I'm just saying."

"Scarlett."

"Fine. Fine."

She placed the coffee on my nightstand.

"I'm leaving for work."

I lowered the pillow.

"You're leaving me here alone?"

"You're twenty-six, not six."

"I could still be emotionally traumatized."

"You'll survive."

She headed toward the door.

"I'll be back tonight. There's food downstairs. Please eat something."

Then she walked out.

I waited until I heard the front door close.

Then I waited another ten minutes.

Only then did I leave the bedroom.

The house was quiet.

Finally.

I made my way downstairs and headed straight for the kitchen. I opened the refrigerator.

Eggs. Bread. Fruit.

Good enough.

I was reaching for a pan when my foot suddenly slid.

"Whoa."

I lost my balance.

A strong arm caught me around the waist before I hit the floor.

I froze.

My hands instinctively grabbed the man's shirt.

For a second, neither of us moved.

Then I slowly looked up.

Gray eyes.

Those same piercing gray eyes from last night.

His face was even more intimidating up close. Straight nose. Sharp jaw. Dark hair falling slightly over his forehead.

And his lips...

I stopped that thought immediately.

I cleared my throat and stepped out of his grip.

"I'm fine."

He looked at me.

"You almost broke your neck."

"I said I'm fine."

"You're welcome."

I glared at him.

He didn't seem impressed.

"You're Scarlett's boyfriend."

His eyebrow lifted.

"No."

I frowned.

"You're not?"

"No."

"Then why were you here last night?"

"Because Scarlett invited me."

I stared at him.

"That doesn't answer my question."

A faint smile touched his mouth.

"It's the answer you're getting."

I rolled my eyes and turned back to the stove.

I grabbed the pan.

"You're making breakfast?"

"Clearly."

"You don't look like you know what you're doing."

I turned slowly.

"I was almost married yesterday."

He looked at me.

"And?"

"And I can make eggs."

"Good to know."

I turned back to the stove before I said something rude.

Then my phone chimed.

I glanced at the screen.

An email.

BEAUMONT ENGINEERING GROUP

My smile disappeared.

They wanted Hart Atelier to design the fashion and lifestyle spaces for Beaumont Engineering's newest luxury development.

Not my father's name.

Not Daniel's fiancée.

Me.

Hart Atelier wasn't dead.

Not yet.

"Good news?"

We weren't close enough for me to share my wins.

"You don't deserve to know."

I said it with a straight face, but I couldn't stop the smile that tugged at my mouth.

"Do you know about Beaumont Engineering?"

"I work there."

He didn't look like an employee, which was the only reason I pushed.

"What's your position?"

"CEO."

I nearly dropped my phone.

"You're Ryan Beaumont."

"So you've heard of me."

And then the rest of it landed.

Scarlett's brother.

Of course he was.

The same man who'd walked into her guest room without a second thought. The same man whose company had just handed Hart Atelier its first real chance in years.

My embarrassment found a whole new gear.

He seemed to notice.

"Relax."

"I am relaxed."

"You look like you want to jump out the window."

"I don't."

"There isn't a window behind you."

I looked over my shoulder.

There was.

He smiled.

I glared at him.

"Do you always annoy strangers?"

"Only the ones who threaten to throw me out of my sister's house."

"You walked into my bedroom."

"It wasn't yours. I didn't know you were in it."

"You could have knocked."

He paused.

"I'll give you that."

I turned back to the stove.

The eggs were beginning to burn.

"Damn it."

I quickly moved the pan.

Ryan reached past me and lowered the heat.

Our arms brushed.

I froze.

He didn't.

"Your breakfast was dying."

"I had it under control."

"You clearly didn't."

I turned to face him.

He was closer than I expected.

Very close.

For a second, neither of us moved.

Then he stepped back.

"What happens with your company now?"

I looked at him.

"What?"

"Your father."

I frowned.

"What about him?"

"What happens now?"

"I rebuild."

"With what money?"

I looked at him.

"That's none of your business."

"Fair."

He picked up his coffee.

Then paused.

"You're going to need money. Clients. Time."

"I know."

He nodded.

"Then you have a problem."

I crossed my arms.

"And you have a solution?"

His eyes met mine.

"I might."

My stomach tightened.

I didn't like the way he said it.

"What kind of solution?"

He didn't answer.

His phone rang.

He glanced at the screen, and his expression hardened.

"Father."

I watched him listen.

His jaw tightened.

"No."

A pause.

"I said no."

Another pause.

His eyes moved to me.

Something unreadable passed through them.

"I'll handle it."

He ended the call.

"What was that?"

"Nothing."

I raised an eyebrow.

"You're a terrible liar."

Another notification appeared.

I opened it.

My father's assistant had sent me a message.

Your father has scheduled a meeting with the Hart Atelier board for next week. He intends to review your controlling position.

I stared at the screen.

My hand tightened around the phone.

Next week.

A week wasn't nothing, but it also wasn't enough time to breathe.

"About that solution," he started.

It got my attention.

He looked directly at me.

"Let's get married."

I waited for the joke to surface somewhere on his face.

It didn't.

"You're serious."

"Completely."

"Why would you do this?"

"Why would you ask?"

Fair, I supposed.

"Are you rich enough that my father can't touch you?"

Something shifted in his expression, small, like I'd surprised him without trying.

"I don't know your father. But I've never met a man who could stand against me."

"And what do you get out of it?"

"My grandfather has given me six months to prove I'm capable of leading Beaumont Engineering. If I fail, he transfers the controlling shares to my cousin. A wife, a public one, is the fastest proof I have."

"So I'm a business strategy."

"You're the first solution that makes sense."

I should have found that insulting.

I didn't have the energy to.

"What would this actually look like?"

"Contract marriage. Separate bedrooms. No financial claims. No interference in each other's lives. Public appearances when required. Confidentiality. No romantic obligations, on either side."

"And if I agree, my company stays mine?"

"Once you're my wife, he loses the leverage he's using against you."

"And Scarlett?"

"Doesn't know. Can't know. If my grandfather hears this is a business arrangement before it's proven itself, the whole thing falls apart."

"You're asking me to lie to my best friend."

"I'm asking you to keep a secret. There's a difference."

I didn't have an answer for that one yet.

He waited.

I turned the pan's handle toward the wall, something to do with my hands that wasn't reaching for a decision I wasn't ready to make.

Daniel had taught me what it cost to hand someone that kind of trust and be wrong about it.

Six years, and I still hadn't seen it coming.

This man I'd known for less than a day was asking for a version of the same thing, except at least he was naming the price upfront instead of hiding it behind a secretary and a hotel receipt.

That should have made it easier.

It didn't.

But my father had never once, in twenty-six years, offered me anything that didn't come with a leash attached.

This came with a contract instead. Clauses. An exit date.

Nothing pretending to be love that could later turn out to be a lie I hadn't priced in.

Maybe that was worse.

Maybe it was the only kind of offer I could actually trust right now.

"I need time to think."

"Take it."

"You're not going to push?"

"I don't need to. You'll either come find me, or you won't."

I left the kitchen without finishing my eggs, and without giving him anything close to a yes.

I just wasn't sure, walking out, that it was a no either.

RYAN

Three days later, she walked into my office in a gray coat, chin already set the exact way it had been over a pan of burning eggs, like she'd arrived expecting an argument and had no intention of starting one herself.

I'd had the agreement ready since the morning after.

I hadn't been certain she'd come to collect it.

"You're here."

"I had questions. You had answers. I'm allowed to take three days deciding I still need both."

A file sat on my desk.

She looked at it, then at me.

"You already prepared this?"

"I knew you'd come eventually. I didn't know it would take three days."

"You're very confident."

"I usually am."

She sat across from me and opened the file herself.

Contract marriage.

Six months.

Separate bedrooms.

No financial claims.

No interference.

Public appearances when required.

No disclosure of the contract.

No romantic obligations.

Her finger stopped on the word marriage and stayed there a second too long before she kept reading.

"This is insane."

"You decided that three days ago."

"I spent three days finding out everything I could about you instead."

"And?"

"You don't socialize. You don't date publicly. Your assistant has worked for you nine years and still calls you Mr. Beaumont. People either respect you or they're afraid of you, and most of them haven't figured out there's a difference."

"That's not an answer."

"I needed to know if you'd actually honor this, not just draft it beautifully."

"And your conclusion?"

"You're exactly cold enough to keep a promise you didn't make out of love."

I decided not to examine too closely how much that sounded like a compliment.

She was quiet long enough that I heard the building settle around us.

Then she picked up the pen again and signed, her signature pressed hard enough into the paper that it nearly tore through.

"When is the wedding?"

"Five days."

She nodded.

Her phone buzzed on the desk between us.

She turned it over and read the message.

Her expression changed.

"The marriage should be announced tomorrow."

I looked at her.

"Tomorrow?"

"Yes."

She set the phone down.

"My father intends to dissolve my controlling position in the company tomorrow."

For the first time since she'd walked into my office, I saw something close to panic in her eyes.