My Flash Husband Is My Boss

Chapter 5

Seven days to learn how to be married.

Seven days to learn how to touch each other without fighting.

Seven days to convince New York we are in love.

Or his mother will make sure I leave the gala pregnant.

Seth's words kept ringing in my head the whole elevator ride down from floor 48.

His mother Eleanor Vega had just given us an ultimatum. Learn to be a real couple in seven days for the Vega Annual Gala, or she would force us to have a real heir to make our fake marriage look real to the board.

A baby. With my fake husband who was also my billionaire boss.

"Seth, this is insane," I whispered as soon as we were alone in the elevator. The elevator was glass, going down fifty floors so fast my ears popped. "We have a contract. One year. No touching. No baby. You said that."

"I know what I said, wife," he said, his voice low, his eyes on the city below us. He was still in his Tom Ford suit, still looking like a king. "But my mother does not care about our contract. She cares about the Vega name. And right now, the board thinks I married you to avoid marrying Isabella Laurent and merging with Laurent Hotels."

"Is that why you married me? To avoid marrying Isabella?" I asked, hurt.

He looked at me then, really looked at me.

"No," he said quietly. "I married you because you were standing in my hotel lobby in a wet wedding dress at midnight, barefoot and bleeding, and you looked at me like I was the only person in the world who could save you. And no one has ever looked at me like that before. Everyone looks at me and sees money. You looked at me and saw a place to stay."

My heart skipped a beat.

The elevator doors opened to the private basement parking. A black Rolls Royce was waiting, with a driver in a suit.

"Mr. Vega, Mrs. Vega," the driver said, opening the door. "Where to?"

Mrs. Vega. He called me Mrs. Vega.

I almost fainted. No one had ever called me Mrs. Vega before.

"My penthouse," Seth said, his hand on my lower back, guiding me into the car. "And call my stylist. And my etiquette coach. My wife needs training for the gala in seven days."

Training. Like I was a dog.

"I'm right here, you know," I hissed as the car started moving. "I don't need training. I'm an architect, not a show poodle."

"You are an architect who wears H and M to meet a billionaire's mother," he said, but his voice was teasing, not cold. "My mother is right about one thing. If you wear H and M to the Vega Gala, the press will eat you alive. And Chloe and Daniel will be there."

At the mention of Chloe and Daniel, my stomach dropped.

"What? Daniel will be there? At the gala?"

"His father is a small investor in Vega Corp," Seth said, his jaw tight. "He invests about two million a year. Small for us, big for him. He always gets invited to the gala. And he always brings his family. Which now includes your ex fiance."

My ex fiance who cheated on me with my cousin, watching me be presented as Mrs. Seth Vega to five hundred rich people on live stream.

I wanted to throw up.

"Seth, I can't do this," I whispered, tears coming. "I can't face them. Not yet. It's only been four days since I saw them in my bed."

He looked at me, his cold CEO mask breaking.

"Elise, look at me," he said, taking my hands. His hands were warm, big, calloused. "You will not face them alone. You will face them as my wife. As Mrs. Vega. And when Chloe sees you in a dress that costs more than her entire wardrobe, with my grandmother's ring and my hand on your waist, she will be the one who wants to throw up. Not you."

The car stopped in front of a building on Billionaires Row. A building I had only seen in Architectural Digest. Vega Tower Residence. The most expensive residential tower in Manhattan. Where penthouses cost fifty million dollars.

"This is where you live?" I asked, mouth open.

"This is where we live now," he corrected. "You cannot stay in Brooklyn anymore. My mother will have you followed. And the press will find you. Here, we have security. Twenty four hour security."

We went up to the 52nd floor. Private elevator, fingerprint scan.

The doors opened directly into his penthouse.

I gasped.

It was not a penthouse. It was a palace in the sky. Floor to ceiling windows showing the whole of Central Park and Manhattan. White marble floors. Black furniture. A kitchen that looked like it had never been used. And a bedroom with a bed the size of my entire Brooklyn apartment.

"This is... this is too much," I whispered.

"This is home for the next year, wife," he said, taking off his suit jacket and throwing it on a chair that probably cost more than my rent. "Your room is that one. My room is that one. Separate rooms, as per contract. But we share the living room, kitchen, and we practice being married here."

"Practice being married? How?"

He walked to me, slowly, like he did in his office.

"Practice touching without fighting," he said, his voice low. "Practice kissing without it turning into a war. Practice looking like we are in love when my mother tests us."

He was inches away now. I could smell his cologne again.

"Seth," I whispered, my heart racing. "We said no touching at work."

"We are not at work now, Miss Monroe," he said, his eyes dropping to my lips. "We are at home. And at home, you are my wife. And my wife is supposed to know how her husband kisses."

He leaned down, slowly, giving me time to push him away.

I didn't push him away.

I should have. But I didn't.

His lips brushed mine, soft, gentle, nothing like the desperate kiss in his office. This was slow, teaching.

"See?" he whispered against my lips. "You don't have to fight me. You just have to let me."

He kissed me again, deeper this time, his hand sliding to my waist, pulling me closer.

I melted. I couldn't help it. His kiss was like expensive whiskey, smooth and burning at the same time.

Then his phone rang loud.

We broke apart, breathing hard.

He answered, annoyed. "What?"

"Mr. Vega, your stylist and etiquette coach are here," said the intercom. "And your mother sent a package. She says Mrs. Vega must wear it tonight for your first training dinner."

Package.

Two women entered, both looking like they came from Paris. One with a rack of dresses that cost more than cars. One with a book that said Etiquette for Billionaires Wives.

And a black box with a gold bow.

Seth opened the black box.

Inside was a dress. Not just a dress. A red dress. Silk, slit up to the thigh, backless, the kind of dress that costs ten thousand dollars and makes every man in the room stare and every woman hate you.

And a note in elegant handwriting.

Elise, Wear this tonight. Dinner at 8 PM at La Grenouille with me and the Laurent family. Isabella Laurent will be there. Show her who is Mrs. Vega now. And don't trip in the heels. Love, Eleanor.

La Grenouille. The most expensive French restaurant in New York. Where billionaires have business dinners.

And Isabella Laurent would be there. The woman Seth was supposed to marry. The daughter of Laurent Hotels. The woman his mother wanted him to marry before me.

The woman who would hate me more than Chloe.

Seth looked at the dress, then at me, his eyes dark.

"My mother does not waste time," he said quietly. "She is throwing you to the wolves tonight. Isabella Laurent is... not kind. She was raised to be Mrs. Vega since she was five. And you took her place."

He picked up the dress, holding it against me. The silk was soft, expensive.

"Elise," he said, his voice low, serious, his eyes on the red silk against my skin. "Tonight, at that dinner, Isabella will try to embarrass you. She will ask about your family, your school, your bakery mother. She will try to make you cry. And the press might be there, because my mother invited them."

He stepped closer, his hand touching my cheek.

"So you have two choices tonight, wife. You can wear your H and M blazer and hide. Or you can wear this dress, wear my grandmother's ring, hold my hand, and show New York that you are not a girl from Queens they can bully. You are Mrs. Seth Vega. My wife."

He leaned down, his lips brushing my ear.

"And if you wear this dress, wife, I promise you, I will not be able to keep my hands off you all night. Contract or no contract."

My whole body shivered.

The dress in his hands. The note from his mother. Isabella Laurent waiting at La Grenouille to destroy me tonight.

Seven days to learn to be married, and my first test was in three hours.

And I had never worn a dress that cost ten thousand dollars in my life.

I looked up at Seth, at his dark, possessive eyes.

"Help me put it on, husband," I whispered.

His eyes flared.

And at that exact moment, the intercom buzzed again.

"Mr. Vega, there is a man here downstairs. He says his name is Daniel Reyes. He says he is looking for his fiancee Elise Monroe. He says he knows she is here with you. He is causing a scene in the lobby. Security is holding him."

Daniel. Here. In Vega Tower Residence. Looking for me.

Seth's whole face turned to ice.