The Billionaire Takes a Bride

“Well, all right.” It’d make her late for dinner if it took a while, but a task might be the thing to get her focused and soothe her rattled nerves. Plus, it’d help Greer. And who was she kidding? It’d help her because she could avoid dinner that much longer. “But on one condition.”

“Anything.”

She held out her champagne. “Drink this.”

Greer’s brows drew together and she looked at Chelsea’s face, then at the drink. “Why, does it taste bad?”

“No clue. I don’t want it and couldn’t figure out a way to politely hand it back.”

“Mmm, okay.” Greer took the glass and dunked it back, swallowing a huge mouthful. She pressed a small hand to her mouth and then burped delicately. “Now. Eyelashes. Library.”

“Gotcha. Show me the library and I’ll show you an eyelash hunter.”

It took three tries for Greer to find the library. In addition to being a bit blind, she was also tipsy from Chelsea’s champagne. Total lightweight. Once they were able to find the library, though, Chelsea paused. She could hear the partygoers down the hall, no doubt gathering for dinner. “You want to come in with me and look? I could use the company.” She didn’t like being alone.

Greer snorted. “I can’t see five feet in front of me, but sure, I’ll ‘help.’” She made air quotes and then wobbled in after Chelsea. “I’m not going in to sit next to Asher with a bald eyeball, that’s for damn sure.”

The lights in the newly deserted library were for ambiance only, a few pretty Tiffany lamps casting a glow. Other than that, the room was crowded with furniture and shelves, and darker than she’d like. It made Chelsea’s nerves ratchet up a notch, and she went through the room, flicking on light switches.

“I’m pretty sure I was over here by the fireplace the entire time,” Greer said.

“I’m still turning on all the lights,” Chelsea told her. She hated the dark. Couldn’t function with it. Light was warmth and safety. Once they were all on, she relaxed a bit.

Greer flopped into a nearby chair, fanning her face. “Is it hot in here to you?”

“No?” She moved toward the fireplace. “Over here, huh?” The carpet was a busy Persian rug and it was going to be hell finding a set of fake lashes on the pattern, but that was all right. It’d waste time, and right now she was keen on finding time-wasters.

“I think so,” Greer said in a breathy voice. Then she made a little “hurp” noise. “I think I’m going to be sick.”

“Um.” She looked down at the expensive rug she knelt on. “Is there a trash can around here?”

“Really, really sick.” Greer pressed her fingers to her mouth.

Not good. “Why don’t you head back to the bathroom and I’ll look?” Chelsea’s fear of being alone flicked again, but she could hear the partygoers down the hall, and she didn’t want Greer puking everywhere. She could be by herself for a minute. Just one. “I’ll join you once I find it.”

Greer nodded and stumbled away. Alone now, Chelsea got down on her hands and knees and began to sweep her palms over the carpet. Moving slowly, she inched forward, crossing the room.

It took a few minutes before her efforts bore fruit. She spotted something that looked like a dark, spiky caterpillar under the desk. How the heck had Greer managed that? She scurried forward on her knees, tucking her dress hem between her legs. Reaching for the eyelash didn’t quite do the trick, so she had to crawl under the furniture.

Her body was partially tucked under the large wood desk when someone entered the room. She froze for a moment, and then scuttled farther under the desk so no one could see her.

The plan backfired. A moment later, a big man slid into the chair behind the desk and she was facing two long legs and a pair of enormous feet encased in expensive Italian loafers.

Well . . . this was awkward.

Chelsea clutched the eyelashes, unsure what to do. For some reason, her anxiety wasn’t ratcheting. Maybe it was the fact that she had another woman’s lashes stuck to her finger and she was crotch-height with a man’s dick under a desk and it was just too absurd to be freaky?

Or maybe it was the low hum of laughter and talking voices from the party a few rooms away?

She didn’t know, but as she heard fingers drumming over a phone in texting, she wondered at what point she should say something.

A moment passed. Two.

Surely he was going to notice her under here, wasn’t he?