Contract Bride

Today was no exception. Tilda commanded his attention easily, both because of her professional role and because of the one she played in his head. Yeah, he’d had a fantasy or two starring Tilda Barrett, and he refused to be ashamed that he’d noticed she was very feminine beneath her buttoned-up exterior.

Not one strand of swept-up hair dared escape her severe hairstyle and, not for the first time, he wondered what would happen if it did. Most likely, her sheer will would tame it back into submission. She was the most hard-core professional woman he’d ever met. They got on famously.

“The numbers could be better,” she countered. Nothing ever satisfied her save absolute domination, and the fact that she was on his team made him downright gleeful.

Tilda took the straight-backed chair to the right of his desk, as was her custom when they had briefings. The company’s main competitor, Down Under Thunder, owned the Australian market, and Tilda’s strategic expertise filled a gap in Warren’s roster that he’d been thus far unable to bridge any other way.

“But that’s not why I’m here,” she said—and hesitated.

Tilda never hesitated.

Something was up. The dynamic between them had shifted. Normally they worked so well together that he scarcely had to speak before she’d already read his thoughts, and vice versa. But he couldn’t get a bead on her blank face.

Warren leaned forward to steeple his hands on the desk that had nothing more on it than his laptop and cell phone. Paperwork was for other people to handle, a hallmark of the CEO philosophy that had allowed him to focus on ideas and game plans instead of minutiae. Thomas had taken to the role of chief operating officer like a duck to water, and Warren had never questioned letting his younger brother assume the reins of daily control while Warren got to have all the fun in the corner office.

“Please speak freely,” Warren said, a little concerned he’d had to clarify that when Tilda had spent hours in his company during this project. Normally, he preferred people respect the distance and reserve he deliberately injected into all of his professional relationships. But he hadn’t insisted on being so formal with her. There’d been no reason to. Tilda had always struck him as the female version of himself—dedicated, professional and, above all, never overtly familiar.

In this moment, however, things felt different, and he didn’t like it.

“Right-o. The thing is, I’m not sure how free I am to speak about this issue,” she began cautiously, her accent rolling through him accompanied by inappropriate heat, especially given the gravity of her expression. “At this point, all I can say is that I’m being pulled from this project.”

“What?” Warren shot half out of his seat before catching himself. He sat back in his chair with deliberate care. “You cannot be pulled from this project. The contract I have with your firm is for a full year and we’ve barely covered a quarter of that.”

She nodded once. “The contract doesn’t specify that I will be the consultant for the full year, and unfortunately, there’s an issue with my visa that they’ve chosen not to address. I’m being chucked back to Australia and they’ll provide you with an American replacement.”

Outrageous. Warren clamped down against the flow of obscene words on the tip of his tongue. He’d hired the best consulting firm on the planet precisely so that “issues” with visas did not impede his progress. “That’s a breach of contract. I need an Australian expert who has been immersed in the culture for the whole of her life, not an American who’s read some things on the internet.”

“I’m afraid I can’t speak to the specifics,” she intoned, as if the entire project wasn’t now in complete jeopardy. “My superiors seem to believe replacing me is well within their contractual rights. I do apologize for the short notice.”

Warren ran a hand through his hair as he contemplated contingencies that didn’t exist. This project needed Tilda. Period. “How short?”

“I’m to wrap up with you today and be on a plane by Friday.”

“Friday? As in the day after tomorrow?”

This was a disaster. And only in being presented with a looming deadline could Warren admit that he needed Tilda, as well. He couldn’t work with another consultant who didn’t get his style the way she did. He could be gruff, short and to the point, and she took it all with grace.

Plus, he liked listening to her talk. Sometimes, when they worked through dinner, she relaxed enough to laugh and he could indulge in a very harmless fantasy about what her chestnut hair might look like when it was down around her shoulders. He’d undone enough hairstyles in his day to know that hers likely hit her midback and would be shiny and smooth under his fingers.

Warren was as adept with a well-shaped fantasy as he was with running Flying Squirrel.

Harmless fantasies fueled a man who was still at the office during the hours other men might indulge in all things female. Harmless fantasies worked for him on so many levels because he’d never act on them. Tilda’s expertise on this project was too important to add her to the list of women who would eventually gift him with an unoriginal text message.

Tilda folded her hands together in that no-nonsense way he’d always secretly appreciated. Her slender fingers locked in place with strength of purpose. No stray movements, as if she never accidentally got into an uncomfortable position worth correcting. Lack of mistakes was as much a part of her personality as her incredible efficiency.

“Yes, this Friday,” she said. “I have about four hours to get my things in order. My replacement should be here in the morning to pick up where I left off.”

“That’s not happening.” As if Tilda could be replaced. It was ridiculous to assume even for a moment that this was a done deal. “Who do I need to speak with at your firm about this? If nothing else, I’ll sponsor your visa.”

Surely that was doable. Tilda gave him the name and number of her superior and strode from the room to update the project plan in the event his call didn’t go as planned.

It didn’t. The contact at the consulting firm cited a mix-up in renewing Tilda’s visa and then informed Warren that Tilda had to leave the country before her immigration papers expired on Saturday, or she wouldn’t be permitted to return once the renewal had been sorted out. He cited several clauses in immigration law that the firm couldn’t in good conscience violate, which was entirely too much legal jargon for one o’clock in the afternoon.

Warren ended the call and immediately consulted an immigration lawyer. What was the point of having a lot of money if you couldn’t spend it where you needed to most? Two hours later, he was out of time and out of options. Save one. A green-card marriage.

The lawyer cautioned Warren about the dangers of fake marriages for residency but allowed that the immigration department was overrun with work, so likely wouldn’t be examining things too closely.

Warren was just desperate enough to pitch the option to Tilda. Odds were good she’d say no so fast his head would spin. But he had to try.

She had an all-business persona that lent itself to an in-name-only relationship. She’d definitely welcome the continued distance and reserve he would insist upon. He didn’t do deep dives beneath the surface. Not anymore. He worked like a fiend for a reason—his relationship skills left a lot to be desired. The more he worked, the easier it was to forget he’d been responsible for his college roommate’s death.

Marriage was the last thing he should be contemplating. Not given the pact he’d made after Marcus died; Warren had sworn to never fall in love. Jonas and Hendrix, who’d also been friends with Marcus, had vowed, too, but they’d broken the pact by falling for their wives. Warren refused to dishonor Marcus’s memory that way.

But surely, with a woman as professional as Tilda, if she said yes, he’d have no problem keeping their relationship one hundred percent business. A green-card marriage was the only solution he could pull together before it was too late.

He had to try this last-ditch alternative. Down Under Thunder had a large piece of Warren’s pie and he wanted to crush the competition. Tilda was his magic bullet. He would convince her to stay, no matter what it took.

* * *

When Warren called Tilda back into his office later that day, she had to do a serious gut check to see if she’d gotten the wild swing of emotions under control. Thank God she hadn’t actually burst into tears in Warren’s office earlier.

That would have been highly unprofessional. Tilda relied on the aloof front she’d erected to prevent anyone from getting too close. Displaying the slightest vulnerability felt squicky.

Of course, it wasn’t any more professional to have a minibreakdown in her own office, either. Telling herself that hadn’t stopped the panic that had welled up right after her boss, Craig, had called to drop the news. Not only was her visa expiring, the firm had decided against getting it renewed. Too difficult a climate right now, too expensive, he’d said. Sorry about the mix-up, but she could have a job in Australia, no problem.

Except there was a problem...named Bryan McDermott, her ex-boyfriend who was evil personified, a man with police force clearance, friends in all the right places and zero conscience. He didn’t technically have the powers of God, but he sure put on a good enough show to make her believe he did. That’s why she’d left Melbourne. Why she could never go back.

This time, he might make good on his threat to kill her with his bare hands if he caught her with another man, never mind that they’d been broken up for over a year.

Okay, not doing so hot on getting her emotions under control. Warren was waiting on her to reappear in his office. There was no way he’d sorted out the procedure for renewing her visa in a couple of hours, though if anyone could do the impossible, it was Warren Garinger. He took no prisoners, left no stone unturned and put whip-wielding oxen drivers to shame in the motivation department. In other words, he was every inch the chief executive officer the plaque on his door claimed him to be.

She might have a little crush on him. Who could blame her? He was gorgeous, never hit on her and could buy and sell a man like Bryan before lunch. She was pretty sure Warren could clock her ex and easily be the one to walk away from the fight with nary a scratch.

What was wrong with her, that the ability of a man to cause bodily harm to another man turned her on?

Deep breath.

She stuck her head into his office. “You rang?”

Warren waved her in, clicking his laptop shut the moment she crossed the threshold. That was one quality that set him apart. He never multitasked, except in his head. His brain worked in fascinating ways she could scarcely comprehend, describing the big picture as easily as he did the details many people overlooked.

She was going to miss him more than she’d let herself admit.

“Sit, please,” Warren said. “We have much to discuss.”

As was his custom, Warren stayed behind his desk, keeping them separated by glass and wood. He never breached that space between them, never let his gaze stray to her nondescript suit, which displayed none of her assets by design.

That was another of his qualities she admired. Other men never seemed to understand that familiarity wasn’t easy for her. That she didn’t want a man anywhere close to her, not after Bryan. He’d been so successful at sucking away her confidence that the first time he’d smacked her across the face, he’d somehow spun it as being her fault.