Billionaires in Vegas

“Sorry, sorry.” Caroline takes a deep breath and pulls the folder she brought with her into her lap. “I had to get that out before giving this to you. Ian asked me to... he’s a terrible son.”

“I know.” I snatch the folder from her. Clarence catches wind and comes over, and sure enough, it’s the complaint of annulment. My lawyer Miguel is due here in half an hour for us to go over everything and make sure it’s as Clarence promised. Ian’s lawyer tells me that he and Miguel were able to get us a hearing for next week if we get our papers sorted out by this weekend. The power of money and influence. We’re not even from around here and we’re able to get privileges that other people wait ninety days for.

“This is breaking my heart,” Caroline says in the midst of Clarence and me talking about fees and paperwork. “When will you two get your acts together? You’re meant to be!”

She leaves in a huff, probably to go terrorize her son instead of me. Good. Somehow I’m sure this is all Ian’s fault. The part with his mother, that is. I am more than willing to take some of the blame when it comes to the marriage mishap. Yeah, that’s... fuck, I was so drunk. I’m still a bit hungover two days later.

I need more coffee. I offer some to Clarence, but he says he has errands to run. “You know,” he says, fastening his jacket even though it’s a balmy seventy degrees here in Vegas, “Ian’s got his mother here. Do you have anyone?”

Snorting, I wave him away with a flick of my hand. “This was supposed to be a romantic getaway, so, no. Besides, I highly doubt he invited his mother here. He’s going to be suffering until this is all over, and then beyond that.”

Clarence snorts back at me. “Good point.”

He leaves, latching the hotel room door quietly behind him. I’m left alone again. Somehow the silence is more unbearable this time.

Ian

I’ve got my phone in one hand and not a lick of self-respect in the other. No, you perverts, not like that.

Like this.

“Katie...” I tap lightly on her hotel room door. Our hotel room door, damnit. “Let me in. Come on.”

Let me tell you about my day and why I desperately need my beautiful girlfriend. Er, wife.

My mother. My blasted mother, whom I love very much, sweeping in and not giving me two minutes’ worth of rest. Ever since she came back from this room this morning after delivering my complaint of annulment, she has been nothing but a hormonal terror. Usually it doesn’t mean anything, because I’m a big boy who has his own home and a car to drive far away from his mother when she’s being a pain. Except she’s decided to stay in my hotel room for the time being, and I don’t have my car here in Vegas.

She won’t. Shut up. About. The annulment. You would think I personally affronted her by drunkenly marrying Kathryn and then filing for an annulment. You would think! Apparently she has been harboring fantasies about me marrying my girlfriend for so many months that it’s like her entire world is crashing down around her. Sorry, Mom, but your baby boy has stuff to do.

Like scratch at Kathryn’s door and try to get her to answer me. I would text or call her, but I was told not to by my lawyer. Don’t want a paper trail of us communicating, let alone romantically. I think it’s a bunch of bluff that we’re expected to act like a couple of nuns and monks during this process, but it makes our lawyers happy. It does not make me happy. Damnit, this week was going to be fun in the sun with the most gorgeous blonde a guy could ask for.

That same blonde who is slowly opening the hotel room door and looking at me with a mixture of pity and frustration.

“I love you,” I say, leaning against the doorway. “Let me in.”

“I’m not supposed to,” Kathryn says. I can’t tell if she’s being coy or serious. I hate it when things get like this between us. “I’m supposed to stay far away from you, dear husband.”

Oh. Oh. She called me her husband. Ow.

“Sweet wife of mine,” it’s hard to say that with a straight face, “please let me in so we can converse in an orderly fashion.”

Kathryn backs away from the door so I can come in. The room is warm, but she’s dressed in her jeans and the same blue peasant top from yesterday. Her hair is in a loose ponytail, resting on her creamy bare shoulder. My lips go there, wanting to kiss every inch of her gorgeous body.

“Back,” she says, taking a step away from me with her hand up. “I let you in. I trust you know that’s not an invitation to throw me against the wall and fuck me.”

Lips still pursed for a kiss, I turn around and pretend to be more interested in the bottle of wine she has opened on a coffee table in front of the couch. “So you were thinking about that too?” I hadn’t been. Now I am. I see her out of the corner of my eye, smoothing her blouse against her breasts and readjusting her belt. I know how to get in her jeans within about ten seconds. I could do it. Me, her, the couch over here...