The Professional Bride: Billionaire Marriage Brokers Book Three (5 page)

Rym jumped in with, “Anything I would have seen?”

“Are you into horror?” She made a face that made him believe it wasn’t her genre of choice either. Before he could stop himself, he wondered what genre she did enjoy.

“Not really?”

“Then probably not.”

“You married a horror writer—that’s brave.”

It was Amber’s turn to laugh. “He’s not psychotic, he’s brilliant.”

“Potato, Pa-ta-to.”

Amber didn’t take offense to his teasing.

“Your third husband?”

“Jeremy.” Amber’s eyes sparkled. “Jeremy is hugely talented and on his way to the baseball hall of fame. He’s living a good life with enough investments to secure his future even if he gets injured on the field, and he’s probably surrounded by several women who wanted to take my place. But I think he’s smart enough to play the bachelor card for a few years.”

Rym’s jaw dropped. She was married to Jeremy Appleby? Rym loved the Owlz. How cool would it be to go to their practices and games, hang out with the players. What a dream!

***

Amber saw it. That glazed look of adoration men got when she mentioned having anything to do with Jeremy. She held back her sigh. Jeremy was living every man’s dream life, yet there were struggles and she was all too aware of how overwhelming the fame could be for someone who was unaccustomed to having fans interrupt family time or not allow a moment of privacy to shop for new pants. Instead of addressing the hopeful look in Rym’s eyes, she plowed on with her own story. “I was born and raised in Santa Barbara, California. I was an only child. My mom didn’t believe in marriage, and from what I’ve been told, my dad didn’t believe in paying child support.  And—” She sighed dramatically. “I don’t like being cold.”

Rym chuckled, and for the first time since they’d gotten in the car, his jaw relaxed. She made a mental note to divvy out a few Jeremy stories a week to keep things light. Nothing too personal, of course; she would never betray a client by giving out information they would want kept private. A few tidbits about the team, workout schedule, that kind of thing, would be fine.

Rym swerved into the drive-thru of a fast food chain while Amber contemplated Rym’s stony reception at the airport. It could have been caused by the way she’d acted when he helped her with her bags. She hadn’t been rude, per se—just frank. At first glance, Rym didn’t look anything like his profile picture. His hair was pulled back and stuffed under a knit cap, his beard was overgrown, and he had on a huge coat, a stained shirt, and a pair of black slacks that were hideously faded. She’d been looking for the heir to a billion-dollar business and been met by ... well, she wasn’t sure how to classify Rym’s style. He looked like an average Joe who just got off work. Not bad, no—he was still gorgeous, even though he looked a bit rough around the edges.

Rym rolled down his window to order as Amber buried herself into the softest blanket in the whole world. “Two hot chocolates, please.”

Amber peeked out.
Curious
.

“You are about to learn the second best thing about a Utah winter.”

She raised her eyebrows, certain there was nothing good about a Utah winter. “What’s that?”

“You can drink hot chocolate any time of the day or night.”

Amber nodded. “If it’s this cold, I’ll be drinking it all day and all night just to stay warm.”

Rym didn’t chuckle like she’d hoped. Instead, their moment of friendly banter vanished and his jaw tightened once again. Unsure what had flipped the switch, she snuggled back into the blanket.

When they pulled up to the window he asked the teenager for four Irish cream coffee creamers. Amber noticed his wallet was empty after paying for their drinks. Of course! He wouldn’t inherit anything until after the wedding. Still, he should have had some money. Except that Pamela had said Rym and his grandpa were estranged. Did that mean in everything? As in, no contact, no money, no anything?

Amber took in Rym’s appearance once again. Perhaps, though he came from a wealthy family, he hadn’t been given a share of the money—until now. She frowned. If that was the case, training him to take over the company could be a chore. She’d also have to take into account his lack of connections and help him establish good ones right off the bat.

Rym pulled into a parking spot and took the lids off the hot chocolates. Dumping two creamers in each cup, he replaced the lids and handed one to her. Rym watched as she lifted the cup to her lips and took a hesitant sip. “Hmm.” She closed her eyes and let the warmth spread through her. It was the exact same way she’d felt when she first saw Rym’s picture back in Pamela’s office.

She opened her eyes and caught Rym staring. He quickly turned to look out the back window so he could pull out of the spot and get them to City Hall.

Rym cleared his throat. Amber expected questions about Jeremy. Instead he asked, “So, your best friend married ex number one?”

Taking a large gulp of hot chocolate, Amber nodded before answering. “I set them up about a week before our divorce.”

Rym looked at her out of the corner of his eye. He wasn’t throwing out totally interested body language. His right hand was up high on the steering wheel, his elbow straight and his shoulder almost touching his ear. “Sounds interesting,” he said though his tone was flat.

Amber talked the rest of the way to the courthouse. When he went to shut the car off, Amber placed her hand on his arm and felt that hot chocolate feeling rushing though her once again. “Wait.” She dug around in her huge purse. Seriously, she should have brought the smaller one, but this big bag doubled as a carry-on and she’d packed everything from her wallet to a change of underwear in case the airline lost her luggage. Finally, in one of the many zippered pockets, she found the ring boxes. Suddenly nervous, Amber tucked her hair behind her ear. “Usually the marriage happens in Pamela’s office, and they take care of all this stuff.” She opened the smaller box to reveal a huge diamond ring. “This is mine, but I thought you might like to carry it in. it would be weird if I had to dig it out and hand it to you in front of the judge.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” Rym snapped the lid shut and held tight to the box as if he were afraid he’d lose it somewhere between the car and the ceremony. “Is that mine?” he pointed to the larger box.

“Yes, but you don’t get to see; otherwise it’s bad luck.” She undid her seatbelt and then looked right into Rym’s eyes, causing her ability to breathe to fly far, far away. The icy blue color sparked with interest, humor, and the smallest hint of fear. “You ready for this?” she asked.

Rym hesitated, and then his words burst forth like water through a dam. “This marriage is real. It’s not sparkles and fairy dust, or even the dying wish of an old man—this is life—my life. We are about to pledge fidelity, loyalty, and every part of ourselves to this union. It’s enormous—how are you so calm?” Using the handle on the door, Rym rolled down the window to let in cold air. 

Ignoring the goose bumps on her arms, Amber leaned close. “Hey.” She ran her palm over his forearm in a soothing gesture.

Her contact didn’t slow down his breathing and it made her heart speed up. However, it did bring him out of his head, where the panic button was being repeatedly pushed, and made him focus on her. 

She gave his hand a little squeeze. “You can do this.”

He shook his head. Using his free hand, he rubbed at his beard. “Amber, I can’t get married. Look at me, I’m a mess.”

Amber chuckled as if his distress were as cute as a puppy chasing its tail. If she allowed her thrumming pulse to send her over the edge, nothing would be accomplished. He pulled his hand out from under hers and leaned back against his door.

Amber stayed where she was. “Did you know that most men marry a woman hoping she will never change? And most women marry a man hoping he will rise to the potential they see inside.” She picked a piece of lint off her knee. “I don’t see how this is any different, except that we’re honest about it going into the marriage. Not only that, it’s in my
job description
to help you reach that potential.” She looked up at the courthouse and then back to him. “I’m not going to remind you of all the reasons you want to do this—you know those even better than I do. And I’m not going to ask you to list the reasons you shouldn’t do this, because there are a few.” Rym tipped his head, considering her. “But I will ask you this: If you don’t walk in there and get married today, will you regret it, even just a little bit?” She held his gaze, hoping she hadn’t pushed too hard or pushed him away.

***

Rym scratched his beard again. He’d miss the
money, that
money that
was for sure. Working two, sometimes three, jobs just to make rent sucked. His best meals were the ones his clients bought him, and more often than he liked to admit, they were his only real meal that day. There was little more than cereal and milk in his apartment, and he slept and lived with furniture others had discarded. It wasn’t that he cared about having nice things; it would just be nice to have the basics without having to cut back his food budget if he turned up the thermostat. Rym could live like that; had lived like that for years. What he couldn’t stand, was the thought of making someone else live like that because he wasn’t brave enough or strong enough or patient enough to get through this year of marriage and save Iron Mountain from cold hearted investors.

Glancing at Amber, he realized there was one other reason he would regret not getting married today: Grandpa Mike would be disappointed. He knew, as well as he knew that fresh powder was a skier’s dream, that Grandpa’s spirit was still alive and, with the Lord’s permission, Grandpa was watching over him, waiting to see if Rym would fall on his backside or succeed. Rym would rather marry this bossy, beautiful, completely-ill-equipped-for-winter woman than fall down in front of Grandpa.

“Yes, I’d regret it.”

Amber put her hand on the door handle. “Life’s too short to live with regrets. We’re doing this.” She popped out of the car and was halfway to his side before Rym realized what was happening. Pulling his door open, she said, “Well?”

Rym rankled at her tone. She only said one word, but Rym heard, “You know I’m right, and the sooner you start doing what I tell you, the better.” Oh, she was good at this. Somehow she’d known exactly which card to play, and Rym was dumb enough to call her bluff. There was no turning back. He would regret not following through, and he refused to spend his life wondering what would have happened “if only …”

Glancing down at his grease-splattered shirt, Rym said, “Just a second.” He dug around in the back seat until he found an orange, zip-up ski sweater. Shedding his coat, he pulled off his polo shirt and put the sweater on over his white undershirt. His pants were still too worn, but he felt better about walking into the courthouse with a clean top.

Amber gave him an appreciative look, and he felt his cheeks warm. “What?” he asked.

She reached over and pulled out the hair band he had to wear to work. “You’re really quite handsome, you know.”

He slammed his car door. He hoped she would attribute his flushed face to the cold weather. No one ever told him he was handsome, except his mom on picture day, but he didn’t think that counted. Moms had to say stuff like that. “You need to have your eyes checked.”

Amber had her arms folded and pressed so tightly against her she could break a rib.

Shaking his head, he opened his door again and pulled out his coat. He wrapped it around her shoulders, and she instantly relaxed into the Nordic material.

“You seriously need winter clothing.” He let the reprimand come out full force as they made their way to the courthouse doors.

Rym’s gruff tone hadn’t given the woman pause. “Trish will be here next week to check in and we’ll go shopping,” said Amber. She waited while he opened the door and then crossed the small space to the vacant front desk.

“If you wait that long you’ll turn into a Popsicle,” he pressed.

She touched her fingers against his neck. They were like four icicles on his bare skin, and he jumped away. Laughing, she said, “I think I already am.”

He grabbed her hands and rubbed them between his own, just like he’d done for countless kids on the ski slopes. When he pulled her hands up to his mouth to blow on them, time slowed down. Rym forgot where they were, any worries he’d carried through the courthouse door, and that he was supposed to keep Amber at arm’s length. Amber’s lips parted slightly, and he found himself stepping closer.

Just as the urge to lean down and kiss her seized his chest, someone cleared their throat. “Let me guess, you’re the one o’clock.”

Taking a step back, Amber looked toward the middle-aged man with silver hair and said, “That’s us.”

Rym let go of Amber’s hands and instantly regretted it. He remembered something they’d taught him in back country survival class: a dehydrated person was a desperate person. If there was one thing he didn’t ever want to be, it was desperate. He’d spent two-thirds of his life taking care of his basic needs, buying shampoo and soap for him and his mom when he was just a kid and learning to live without things or act like it didn’t matter. He never showed desperation because that meant you were weak.