Accidentally Married Page 3

  “Let’s find a divorce lawyer,” he said, moving forward to hold the outer courthouse door for Jill, letting the February cold into the building in the process. She strode out on high heels that made her hips sway seductively. At least his suit jacket—the one she was intent on burning—was covering her, so he’d be less likely to become distracted and forget what he was supposed to be doing.

  “I forgot my coat.” She turned suddenly and he bumped into her, his hands going to her waist as her fingers dug into his shoulders for balance. He had a flash of memory of her bright eyes meeting his in the dim light of his hotel room. It was a good feeling that washed over him, one of contentment.

  He clung to the shard of memory, willing his mind to bring forward more. It did.

  He was on his back, smooth sheets beneath him. Jill was smiling, her long dark hair brushing his chest, his hands on her warm waist, her cool fingers resting on his shoulders.

  It was she who had been haunting his dreams for the past several months, causing him to wake with a muddled mind over what was memory and what was fantasy.

  Sweet and strong, unpredictable Jill.

  Most one-night stands didn’t leave him feeling like he had that next morning.

  Most one-night stands also didn’t leave him married.

  He quickly stepped back from her, brushing off the collision with an apology. He caught sight of the judge, already out of her robe, briefcase in hand as she headed home for the night. She gave him a sly smile full of meaning. She thought there was something between him and Jill?

  Well, there wasn’t.

  And he could guarantee there never would be, because she had the power to destroy everything that mattered to him.

  They returned to the coat check, hurriedly claiming their belongings. Jill went to unbutton his suit jacket so she could return it to him, shifting away to try and hide her wrecked blouse from a school group that was milling about underfoot as their teacher tried to organize them and the stack of coats retrieved by the attendant.

  “Keep it for now,” Burke said gruffly. “Let’s go.”

  She pushed her hands into the sleeves of her winter jacket and followed him out.

  But once free of the building, at the bottom of the concrete steps, Jill made a sharp right turn, leaving him behind.

  “Hey!” He held up his arms as if to say “What the heck, woman?”

  She turned, her look impatient. “Well? Are we getting a divorce or not?” She pointed to a sign across the street. Big red letters that said Divorce Lawyer were hanging over a glass-fronted business.

  “That’ll do.”

  They jaywalked, the late February sun weak, but welcome after a dark and bitter January. He’d planned on holding the door for Jill, but she beat him to it, holding it for him instead.

  “I got it.” There was no way he was walking through that door before her.

  “Now you’re the gentleman again?”

  “You’re still wearing my jacket, aren’t you?”

  “Oh, so that makes your earlier unkind words acceptable?”

  He cringed. “No. But maybe it helps make up for them.”

  “It’s going to take more than an act of kindness to make up for being a callous you-know-what.”

  He sighed. “It already feels like we’ve been married for a million years.”

  She gave him a dark glare before moving through the door to speak to the receptionist, requesting an immediate appointment.

  “Can you come back tomorrow at three?” the woman asked, after checking her appointment book. Her hair was impossibly large, and she had a pencil stuck in its white-blond heights.

  Jill turned to Burke in question. “Tomorrow?”

  He faced the receptionist. She had withdrawn the pencil and had it poised above her date book, her heavy eyebrows arched in question.

  “Do you know anyone in town who can fit us in today?” He smiled charmingly. “Jill’s from out of town.”

  The receptionist checked her delicate gold watch. “Sorry. Most offices have already closed for the night. But if you and your wife want to come back tomorrow I can give you the three o’clock opening.” She flipped through a file folder on a desktop rack beside her, then handed them two copies of a list. “Here are the things we recommend you bring to your first meeting.”

  Burke eyed the items, muttering, “I think it was faster to get married than divorced.” He asked the receptionist, “Do we really need all of this? We’re ready to sign papers and part ways.”

  “Bring everything tomorrow at three.” The woman tucked the pencil back into her hair. “Don’t be late.”

  Burke stepped away from the receptionist’s desk and scanned the list again. “Think we wrote a prenup?”

  “I’ll check the trash for cocktail napkins.” Jill had already tucked her list in her purse and was pushing her way outside.

  “I think I had mine tattooed on me.”

  “Yeah?” She crossed her arms, watching him as he came through the door. She seemed suddenly wary. “Where?”

  “Guess.”

  “I’m guessing it’s not above your heart.”

  He smacked his left butt cheek with a grin and she rolled her eyes.

  “You’re kind of fun for a stodgy old wife, you know.” Even though she was still ticked at him, he could see a spark of humor lighting her blue eyes.

  He remembered laughing with her in the hotel bar, blue, red and yellow wedding ribbons clipped to her hair by someone in the wedding party. The colors signifying good luck and good fortune. His gut had been aching from laughing at her hilarious fake commentary for the hockey game playing on a TV screen to their right.

  Outside the office the sky was already starting to darken, giving the city of Dakota a drab, empty and lifeless feel despite the rush hour traffic.

  “Let’s grab supper and strategize for tomorrow,” he said, waving the intimidating list of personal assets and other documents the lawyer expected of them. More so for him, since he owned a corporation.

  Jill tightened her coat around her torso as a breeze swept down the street, rattling a soda can that had been tossed in the icy gutter. “There’s nothing to strategize.”

  “Come on, I know a great place just a few blocks from here.” He began walking, trying to coax her into following. He should really ask for his suit jacket back and go back to his office to catch up on the work he’d been unable to focus on since hearing about their marriage.

  But he didn’t want to. He told himself he wanted to take Jill out for supper only to ensure he didn’t awaken tomorrow to find her wanting blood. His.

  “There’s no reason to dine together.”

  “It’s only supper. And you live a few hours from here, right?”

  She nodded.

  “Let me at least feed you before shipping you off home.”

  “Are you trying to apologize for being mean earlier?”

  “Maybe. Yes.” He held out his hand. “I promise I won’t bite.”

  “Maybe I like a little bit of playful biting,” she retorted, giving him a sassy look as she hesitantly fell into stepped beside him.

  “I wish I could remember if that was totally true or not.”

  They took a few steps in silence.

  “This is awkward, isn’t it?” she asked.

  “A bit.” Mostly because he kept having X-rated flashbacks from their night together. And the more time he spent with her, the more he recalled. It was nice filling in the gaps, but it was also disconcerting. All this intimate history between them and yet out of his reach.

  They walked quietly, both caught in their own thoughts. About half a block from the cozy Italian place Burke was heading for, he was pulled from his internal musings by someone calling his name. He looked up to find himself outside the restaurant MacKenzie’s. Or, as he referred to the place, the deal sealer. Both for business and personal reasons.

  There was a crowd of well-dressed people mingling in the dusk, as diners came and went, th
eir breath escaping as clouds in the brisk air, and he recognized Tiffer Garbanzo, the owner of Get There Media, watching him with amusement, hands tucked into his knee-length wool jacket.

  “Well, well, well. If it isn’t Burke Carver with yet another beautiful woman.” Tiffer came forward to shake Burke’s hand, his wife, Babette, taking in Jill as she joined them.

  “Good to see you.” Burke kissed Babette’s cool cheek. “As gorgeous as ever.”

  She blushed with the compliment, pleased.

  For over a year Burke had been unsuccessfully trying to get Tiffer to sign a deal with Sustain This, Honey to help his company expand to global markets. But the man, an expert in foreign markets, had always brushed him off with a polite excuse about being overbooked. Burke knew STH wasn’t too small and his niche was right up Tiffer’s alley. The man could make anything with a hint of environmental sustainability the next It Thing. Burke needed him and Tiffer kept rebuffing him, making Burke assume the rejection was somewhat personal.

  And he knew why, too. Tiffer was conservative about marriage and relationships, and every time they met Burke seemed to be with a new woman. Just like tonight.

  Tiffer gave Jill a polite, dismissive smile. Jill reached out to introduce herself, but Tiffer turned to his wife, giving her a light kiss.

  Jill looked affronted, and Burke said pointedly, “This is Jill Armstrong. She owns a line of medicinal creams and soaps created in the beautiful mountains, from ancient formulas founded by the Ute people. She’s looking to expand.” He paused thoughtfully, “Although I’m not sure you…hmm. No, never mind.”

  Tiffer narrowed his eyes, while Jill watched the men curiously.

  “All of her products are all-natural, as well as environmentally friendly,” he told Tiffer. “Good for people, good for the earth.”

  “Is she working with you?” Tiffer asked. “Who are you working with?” he demanded, focusing on Jill.

  She eyed Burke with a bright gaze, looking for the best way to follow his lead. She looked so pretty with the cold air pinking her cheeks.

  “Oh, you probably haven’t heard of Tiffer,” Burke said apologetically, placing a hand on her lower back. “He expands companies like ours. He specializes in the global market. He turns pennies into dollars.” He glanced to Tiffer to add, “She’s independent. Good luck convincing her to work with you.”

  “Independent? Very smart. Keep your cards close to your chest. But you know, sometimes it’s good to delegate tasks to companies that are niche experts. Get There Media is well versed with how products like yours fit into the global marketplace. Why don’t you join us and we can talk shop,” Tiffer offered. He nudged Burke aside, guiding Jill gently between the fake potted trees lining the restaurant’s outside entry. She was moving stiffly, obviously not so impressed with Tiffer or his sudden change in interest.

  Burke looked up at the black-and-silver sign of the popular restaurant filled with tycoons and wannabe tycoons. This could be so easy. So, so easy.

  Once inside, either Jill would make a deal with Tiffer, which would allow her to pay back Burke sooner rather than later—maybe even with interest—or the two would decide not to work together, allowing Burke to woo Tiffer and maybe even drop the fact that, legally, Jill was more than just the flavor of the week. And thus putting him in the man’s favor at long last.

  Tiffer and his wife moved ahead to change their dinner reservation, and Jill fell back a step, hissing to Burke, “I’m not ready to talk to a global marketer. My company isn’t—”

  “This is an amazing opportunity, Jill.” Burke huffed warm air into his cupped hands, trying to warm them.

  “He’s condescending.”

  “Just talk to him. The networking alone—”

  “Everything all right?” Tiffer asked. “The maître d’ is ready to seat us.”

  Burke and Jill inhaled as one, placing fake smiles on their faces.

  “We need this, Jill,” Burke whispered under his breath, while nodding at Tiffer. “Please just play along and see where this happy coincidence takes us.”

  Jill bristled, and for a moment he thought she was going to leave. Instead she muttered, “Fine, shoot yourself in the foot and see.” She marched ahead, leaving Burke to wonder what she meant. She’d already fallen into step beside Tiffer’s wife and the two women were chatting as if they’d known each other for years.

  Once seated, Tiffer ordered himself a scotch and soda, his wife giving a small wave of her hand when asked by the waiter.

  Tiffer pointed at Burke. “Drink?”

  He shook his head, then turned to Jill.

  “I’ll have one, please,” she said, lifting her wrist to catch the waiter’s attention. She’d removed her winter jacket, but was still sporting Burke’s coat. The cuffs of her blouse and the suit jacket fell back, revealing a wide leather bracelet on her left wrist. It didn’t go with her outfit, piquing Burke’s curiosity.

  “But make mine a gin,” she added.

  It wasn’t long before it became clear that Jill wasn’t ready for Tiffer’s services. She couldn’t maintain that kind of rapid expansion and still maintain the integrity of her handmade products.

  Tiffer was glaring at Burke like he’d set him up.

  Which he kind of had.

  “You know, STH is still in the market to expand globally,” Burke said casually. “We’ve built valuable momentum in the past six months and are poised to—”

  “Sorry, Burke,” Babette said, reaching a hand to stop him. “What does STH stand for again?”

  “Sustain This. Sustainability is vital to our organization, from product creation to the end of its life.”

  “What’s the H stand for?” Babette asked.

  “Honey,” Burke said quietly, taking a sip of his ice water.

  “That’s an amusing name,” she said, a hint of laughter dancing in her eyes.

  Jill was watching, her head tipped to the side.

  “My assistant thought it was funny,” Burke said. “Sort of an in-your-face joke that ended up becoming the company name.” He focused on Tiffer again. “So as I was saying, we’re ready to break into the global market. In particular we feel there is growth potential in the European arena and we—”

  “Change your name.” Tiffer was looking uninterested, bored even.

  “Would that influence your decision in regards to partnering with us?”

  “No, that’s simply a helpful piece of business advice.”

  There was a moment of awkward silence.

  Burke wasn’t fond of the name, but he wasn’t changing it.

  “It’s kind of sassy, isn’t it?” Jill said. She was smiling slightly, considering the name. “I think there’s some marketing potential there in terms of standing out from the crowd. Catch their attention with your name and then—”

  “Shall we order?” Tiffer asked, opening his menu. “Sorry to rush things along, but Babette and I have tickets for the theater.”

  Jill quickly opened her menu, looking embarrassed, and making Burke dislike Tiffer for being the cause of it. “The chicken is good,” he said to her.

  She closed her menu, setting it gently on the linen tablecloth. “Sounds perfect.”

  “I’ll ask my marketing team to focus on branding,” he said to Jill. “Say, Tiffer…how are your new client openings?”

  “It’s been a busy quarter,” he said, not looking up.

  “I’ll bet. Is there anything we can do at STH to position ourselves better for a future partnership?”

  “Look, Burke,” Tiffer said, placing a palm on the table, his expression one of sincerity, “I hate to make it personal, but I find married men tend to act less erratic and take fewer risks.”

  Burke wanted to feel insulted, but a part of him wondered if it was true.

  “They tend to have more stable businesses, make fewer rash decisions,” the man added.

  “My business is stable.”

  “How can you build a solid foundation and stay focused
when your personal life is in flux, with women coming and going from your world? I know it seems old-fashioned, but it’s simply a personal preference I’ve developed after years as a leader in my field.”

  “Would this be a good time to tell him we’re married?” Jill asked quietly. She was staring at Tiffer. “It seems odd that something like that could influence your potential to create a deal, but I do understand. We all have our own…thing. It’s about what we’re most comfortable with.” She had placed a linen napkin across her lap earlier and now she ran it through her hands, as though debating leaving the table.

  “You’re married?” Tiffer asked, leaning back in his seat. He was scrutinizing Burke, who barely dared breathe.

  Babette looked tickled, and she leaned across the table to ask Jill in a confiding tone, “How did you manage to tie this man down?”

  “The bed sheets were too thick,” Jill deadpanned. “You know how they are. I had to use rope.”

  Burke coughed on a sip of water as an image flashed through his mind of what his life could be like under different circumstances. Him with Jill. Partners having each other’s backs. Breaking down the doors of business.

  Shaking the bed frame every night.

  Well, okay. He needed to focus.

  This was about business. He had nothing to offer in the commitment department.

  Even if Jill did catch him off guard in ways that made him want to spend more time with her—the woman he needed to divorce.

  Jill needed to shut up.

  She wasn’t helping anything.

  She was just so fed up with men like Tiffer, who treated others as though they were beneath him unless he could gain from them. She’d felt an unwarranted need to step in and help Burke, which showed her just how messed up her head was at the moment.

  She didn’t want the world to know she’d made yet another marital mistake, and here she was, announcing it. Gossips in her hometown of Blueberry Springs had finally stopped mentioning Hayes a few years ago and how he’d run off on her after blindsiding her with the theft. Then after that, they’d enjoyed discussing how long she’d “pined” for Devon Mattson, her rebound that had lasted almost two years. And then along comes mistake number three: Burke. Just another illustration of how Jill would never find love and was still making rash, desperate decisions.