Marrying My Billionaire Boss

“Go back.” I twist around until I can see the bright red DRUGSTORE sign behind us. “I need to go to that drugstore.”

He gives me a worried look. “Are you all right?”

“I will be, once I grab some, uh, aspirin.”

“Should’ve taken some before we left if you don’t feel well,” he mutters. “But you do look a little pale. You want to cancel?”

“No! I’m not canceling.” What would his family think? And Blanche, who saw me earlier today. “It’s just a little headache. Nothing serious.” I give him my most reassuring smile.

He gives me a dubious look, but turns the car around. Once we’re parked in front of the drug store, I get out, then trot around to his side of the Ferrari before he can think about following me in. “Just wait here. I won’t be long.”

“Okay.”

I dash into the store. Where the hell do they keep the pregnancy test kits? It’s just for a little peace of mind, because if I don’t know, I’m going to obsess about it all through the party.

Finally I find an aisle of pregnancy tests. The shiny boxes are piled high next to condoms and lube. I guess they go hand in hand.

Sex. Then pregnancy. That’s how it works.

There’s really no way I’m pregnant. I’m just late because… Well. Shit happens.

I grab one that promises to let me know fast, then stop. What if it’s defective? I pick out another box from a different brand. This is one thing I need to know with a hundred percent accuracy.

I pay for everything and shove both boxes into the bottom of my purse so nobody can see them. “Do you have a bathroom?” I ask.

“In the back to the right.” The clerk barely looks up.

I walk over quickly, then see the dismal state of the toilet. It looks like it hasn’t seen disinfectant in a decade. There’s no way I can put my bare butt on the yellowed seat.

Forget it. I’m sure Justin’s bathrooms are clean. Sparklingly so.

I head back out. My heart is racing with guilt and twitchiness, and my palms are sweating. The pregnancy test kits seem to weigh a ton. Are they glowing too? It’s like they’re emitting some kind of “we’re here” signal on a radio frequency everyone but me can hear.

Is this how drug mules feel, smuggling in contraband? If so, how do they do it?

When I climb back into the car, Nate says, “Want some water?”

“Water?”

“For the aspirin. I’ve got a bottle s

omewhere in here.”

Oh, crap. How could I forget? I’d totally fail as a drug mule. “Um, no, it’s okay. They were out.”

Both his eyebrows climb. “Out?”

“Yeah. Not a single bottle anywhere in the store.” I smile, hoping it looks convincing.

I don’t think Nate buys it. “They’ve gotta have some in stock. I can go in and check—”

“No! No, don’t do that. They’re totally out. I even asked the clerk.”

“O-kay,” he says dubiously. “Let’s get going, then. I’m sure Justin has some.”

We pull out and I slowly exhale.

“You don’t have to worry about it,” Nate says. “They just want to meet you and get to know you, that’s all. Just be yourself.”