The Academic Bride: Billionaire Marriage Brokers Book One (2 page)

Janel’s stomach churned. What started out as a new job was quickly taking over her whole life. New clothes, new hair, money to burn ... Well, not burn, but money! It was all a bit much, and she was afraid she was getting in over her head. “Are you sure it’s okay to use this card to shop for clothes?”

Trish shrugged. “And makeup and hair and massages and lunch with the girls and flowers and whatever else you need; it’s your personal expense account. Your free-spending money to make it easy to maintain the code of conduct. You’re a Billionaire Broker’s bride now and you need to look the part.”

Janel felt her stomach drop to the floor and her blood pressure spike. “Excuse me, did you say
bride
?”

Chapter 3

Lowering herself into a chair across from Pamela, Janel held on to the armrests to stop her hands from shaking.

Pamela gave her a radiant smile. “I’m sorry I wasn’t here to greet you; a friend of mine is gravely ill. He arrived unexpectedly this afternoon and needed some legal advice.” She rubbed her lips together and the corner of her eyes dropped.

Janel wondered about the friend, but wasn’t about to pry. Besides, before they were done here, she planned to ask a whole host of questions. Since seeing her annual income, she wasn’t willing to walk out. How could she, when all she’d ever wanted, all she’d ever dreamed of since she was a little girl digging for dinosaur bones in the sandbox, was within her grasp? She would listen to Pamela. Even if marriage was…drastic.

Pamela came to herself. “Have you ever heard of a mail-order bride?”

Janel shook her head, not sure she liked the idea of being a bride, let alone being “on order.”

“Before the internet made it possible to e-date someone on the other side of the world, marriage prospects were usually limited to a woman’s geographical area. If she were lucky, she had perhaps fifteen eligible bachelors in town to choose from. Some towns had more, but some had less.

“Factor in other women of marrying age, take out the drunkards, the abusers, and the laze-abouts, and you’re left with two to three men. Sometimes, you were left with nothing.”

Janel found herself nodding along.

“Women weren’t the only ones with slim pickings. When men went out to homestead a piece of land, they realized there were a lot more single men on the prairie than single women. They also realized the benefit of having a woman as a partner. Though it seems old-fashioned, a partnership made up of two people with complementary skill sets is productive and fulfilling for each participant.

“To find a partner, the men would place ads in newspapers for a bride. After corresponding for a time, or sometimes after just one letter, the woman would board a train or stagecoach, meet the man in his town, and they’d be married and back on his farm before nightfall.”

Janel blinked. This woman was delusional. “It’s not like that anymore. Like you said, people all over the world can fall in love. Why would a wealthy bachelor come to you? They don’t need help getting married.”

“Our clients value what a marriage can bring to their lives and recognize the benefits that come from a union that is beneficial to each party. We offer them the opportunity of marriage without all the fuss.”

“I don’t understand. What
exactly
would I have to do?”

Pamela typed a few words into her laptop and smiled. “Mr. Ryburn is a new client. He’s thirty-two, never been married, no children. He made a fortune building an idea company that focuses on new electronic gizmos.” She swiveled the laptop around so Janel could see the picture on the screen.

The guy looked good. Too good. Janel chewed her lip as she studied his strong jaw brushed with two-day stubble. It couldn’t be that he hadn’t shaved for the picture, because his neck was smooth. Nope, the look was sculpted, and the barbershop artist did a fantastic job. His dark brown hair and tan skin gave him a dangerously sensual edge, while his easy smile could transform a tiger into a kitten.

She slumped in her chair.

“Darling, what’s wrong?” Pamela looked from her to the screen.

“Guys that handsome never go for the girl who gets straight A’s and loves to dig up skeletons and pot shards. I’m sorry, but—”

“Nonsense. I’ve already sent him your picture and a brief bio. He’s on board.”

Janel’s skin tingled again. She rubbed her arms to get rid of the goosebumps, eyeing Pamela. What was she, some sort of enchantress? She had to be. Otherwise Janel wouldn’t be considering marrying a complete stranger. “I think I should go.”

“Why?” Pamela asked, surprised.

Where to start?
“I think marrying someone for their money is wrong.”

“Which is exactly what you should be thinking.”

“Then why …?”

“You aren’t marrying him for his money, you’re becoming a partner in a marriage corporation. I’m not going to lie to you, being a wife is a job. Back in my younger days, it was considered a viable career.”

“I still feel like it’s using him.”

“Do you feel like you could contribute to this union? Aren’t you smart, capable, organized?  Do you have managerial and leadership qualities?”

Janel had gone over her résumé. She was all those things and did have the qualities needed. “Yes.”

“Trust me, you’ll bring as much to this marriage as Nick will.”

“But, why me?”

“I told you I had a good feeling about you.” Pamela winked. “I’ve been at this a long time, longer than BMB, and my feelings are never wrong.”

Contemplating Nick’s picture, Janel thought of the last boyfriend she’d had that was seriously good-looking.  Davey Lyman in the eighth grade. Of course, that was before she beat him in the science bee and he decided Cherri Steel and her devil-may-care attitude toward grades was more attractive than Janel and her fascination with history. Janel cringed internally as she asked, “Can I see the picture you sent?”

Pamela clicked away, and soon the photo Pamela had taken with her cell phone at the pancake house popped up. Janel put on a calm mask as she leaned forward to look over the image. Her black yoga pants looked good.
Thank you, Warrior II.
Her scarf and jacket were cute, if a bit faded. The messy bun and the wisps of hair around her face looked like she’d done them that way on purpose instead of getting caught in the wind. But it was the small smile and hopeful look in her eye that made her feel less self-conscious. Still, even though it wasn’t a bad shot, the girl in that photo was nowhere near the league—heck, she couldn’t even afford to buy a ticket to watch a game in the same league—as the guy in that picture.

“We have an extensive prenuptial agreement signed by both parties that Lisa Marie will go over with you and Mr. Ryburn on Thursday. The wedding will be scheduled for the following Monday morning. Trish will help you pick out something when you shop tomorrow.”

“Wait.” Janel held up her hand. “You’re saying we aren’t going to date. We just get married?”

Pamela rubbed her temple with her fingertips. “Arranged marriages are my specialty. In twenty years of business, I’ve only had three early termination contracts. Many of our brides are married several times over before they retire. It’s a lucrative and fulfilling career.”

Janel thought of the woman she’d seen crying this morning. Was she one of the three? It felt like too much of a coincidence that Janell had stumbled upon the scene.

“Under normal circumstances …” Pamela sat tall and tugged on her jacket. “Well, this isn’t a normal case. But no, there is no dating period, because it’s not a romantic relationship—it’s a job. This isn’t a setup, it’s an interview.  Don’t let the job title scare you off.”

Janel nodded. It wasn’t a marriage where “first comes love”—it was business.

“I suggest you spend the weekend packing,” said Pamela.

“Packing?”

“Well, yes, you’ll be moving into Mr. Ryburn’s house.”

“I have to live with him?”

“A wife usually lives with her husband, darling. It makes coordinating and establishing solid communication much easier.”

Janel felt sick. “I need to set something straight. I know some women may crawl into bed with strangers, but I am not one of them.”
Sheesh, this place was a glorified prostitution ring for the wealthy.

Pamela didn’t miss a beat. “Mr. Ryburn has renovated a personal suite for you. In fact, he has a decorator standing by to finish up so you can move in on Monday; he just needs to know your favorite color.”

Oh, that was different. “Um.” Her own room—wait, her own
suite
, that didn’t sound so bad. “Purple.” She bit her cheek. With a little jolt of pain came a modest jolt of courage. “So I don’t have to have sex with him?”

Pamela smiled. “There’s no sexual or physical component to the marriage unless both parties agree to it. Think of it as a business marriage: two people contractually coming together to help further one another’s goals. After the first year, we have a review, and if things are going well the contract can be extended. If not, or things change, then we file for a no-contest divorce and the marriage is terminated.

“I want you to bring a list of your goals on Thursday. The three of us will sit down and discuss your goals and his, before you sign the prenup.”

Janel relaxed for the first time since she’d heard the word “bride.”

Pamela turned her computer back around and asked, “Now that you’re up to speed, are you ready to move forward?”

Janel took a moment. She wanted that PhD more than she wanted anything, ever, and that included the ten-speed she’d begged her parents for when she was eleven. When someone had a dream that big, they had to work for it; it doesn’t just fall in their lap. She’d been working, scrimping, and slaving like a dog for the last six years. What was one more year?

But could she marry a stranger, live in his house, and work as his
wife
? She’d never pictured herself married. At twenty-eight, and with an embarrassingly small amount of experience in the dating world, she still didn’t feel prepared. However, she’d been working since she was sixteen, so she knew how to work hard. She could do this if she thought about it as a job rather than a marriage. What did Pamela say? It was a contract. She was a contracted employee, and she’d be a good one.

“I’ll do it.”

“Great! I’ll send a notice to Mr. Ryburn and schedule the meeting for Thursday at ten.”

As Pamela’s nails clacked across the keyboard, Janel had the horrifying thought that Pamela had just emailed her fiancé. She wondered what sort of man he was. Was he all business or a playboy? And what prompted him to sign up with a marriage broker? He was gorgeous as all get out, and loaded—so what was wrong with him?

Chapter 4

Nick Ryburn turned his phone over and tapped the email from Pamela. His heart did a stutter step. He was officially engaged.  The magnitude of the situation wasn’t lost on him, and he sank into his cushioned office chair.

Engaged.

Nick tapped his fingers on the desk. He was either an idiot or a genius for agreeing to marry a woman he’d never met. He pulled his chair closer to the desk. There was no use rehashing the mental debate that got him to this point. He’d given his word, and he planned to follow through.

He pressed the intercom button on his phone and could hear the corresponding beep through the open door. He never yelled for his assistant, Brenda, even if the door was open. It just felt rude.

“Can you come in here for a second?”

“Sure.”

While he waited, he forwarded the prenup to his lawyer and asked him to go over it.

Brenda came in a moment later, with her ever-present SmartPad resting in the crook of her arm.

“Please shut the door.” Nick waited until she’d settled into the chair across from him before he spoke. “I have news.”

Brenda flipped open the pad and tapped the note-taking app. Poised with her fingers over the keypad, she waited.

“I’m getting married next Monday morning.”

Brenda looked up, but didn’t start typing. “You’re what?”

“I’m getting married.”

“On Monday?”

Nick jumped from his chair and paced. “I signed up for a matchmaking service. We’re meeting Thursday morning to sign the prenup, and then the wedding will be Monday.”

Brenda continued to stare at him like a fish in a feeding pond. She finally tapped the screen. “Do you need a tux, flowers, or reservations for the honeymoon?”

Nick closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. He needed to tell Brenda the whole story or she’d think he was nuts. “What I am about to tell you is confidential.”

Brenda glared.

“Sorry, I know you don’t gossip.”

Brenda cleared her throat and moved her hands from the keypad to the arms on the chair as Nick plunged forward.

“Don’t judge me, okay?” He flopped back into his chair. “I’m so tired of going to functions with women who see my money first and me second. They expect gifts, and not little ones either. Half the time they’re crawling all over me in the car on the ride home. It’s false and infuriating.”

Nick ran his hands through his hair. “I’m not looking for a one-nighter. I just want someone I can rely on, someone real. Pamela specializes in bringing two people together who can help further one another’s goals.”

He paused. There was no point revealing his desire for a family. That wasn’t what this marriage was about. For him, it was about putting up a wall between him and the women who thought he could be bought with long legs and a bright smile. According to Pamela, Janel needed funding for her PhD. As far as reasons went for a short-term arranged marriage, that seemed like a good one. How many people worked on campus for a tuition waver or applied for grants to support their academic endeavors? He could understand how Janel would see this as a viable way to fund her education. While the women who chased after him wanted a free ride, Janel was busy working her way through school. And it wasn’t like she was out to trap him into anything. She’d sign the papers and walk away in a year.

“We’ll be married for a year, and then there’s an evaluation. If we want to continue the marriage as is, we can extend it or renegotiate the prenup. If not, we can get a divorce.”

He forced himself to meet Brenda’s shocked gaze. Brenda had been married for fifteen years and claimed they were the best years of her life.

“I’ve looked for someone, I really have, but I’m tired of it all. I hate the games, the cryptic text messages, and the constant emotional drain. It shouldn’t be this hard.

“One of my buddies used this service, and he seems happy with the way things are going. The money chasers leave him alone, and his wife is a wonderful person. So, I decided to look into it. I met the owner, Pamela, one day for lunch, signed a contract and a code of conduct, and now she says she’s found a wife for me.”

If Brenda’s eyebrows got any higher, they’d fall off her forehead. “And you haven’t met her?”

“I’ll meet her on Thursday.”

“Hmmm.”

“I’m only telling you all this because you’re going to have to work with her. She’ll need access to my calendars, both work and personal. I’ll also need her informed about the company meetings when spouses or dates are included in the invitation.”

Brenda’s fingers flew as she took down the instructions.

Nick paused. “I want her to have access to me. If she calls, let me know. If she comes in, I want to see her. I need you to treat her like she’s really my wife and not some glorified intern. If you do that, then the rest of the office will follow.”

“Shall I also buy her flowers on Valentine’s Day and pick up something for Christmas?”

“No … Maybe. I’m not sure how all that’s going to work out.”

“What’s your cover story? How did you meet? And why hasn’t anyone met her before?”

“Ah. Well, I’ll talk to her about that on Thursday. It would be best if we were on the same page.” Nick ran his hand through his hair, cursing under his breath. He needed a haircut. “Will you make time for me to get to the barber tomorrow?”

  Brenda smiled knowingly. “I’ll get you the first appointment with Reggie on Thursday morning. You should have time for a shave and a haircut before meeting your ...?”

“Fiancée.” Nick slapped the table. “In fact, let’s start letting people know I’m engaged. Just start a little rumor. Then, in a week or so, I’ll tell everyone we eloped.”

Nodding, Brenda said, “Sounds good.” She clicked the sleep button on her pad and stood to leave.

Nick rolled the tension out of his shoulders. He didn’t realize how hard it was to tell someone he was getting married.
Married
. How could one word hold so much promise and responsibility?

“Thanks, Brenda. You’re good at what you do.”

“And don’t you forget it.”

Nick clicked on the image of Janel to make it fit the screen. She was pretty in a wholesome way he hadn’t seen in a long time. She was more real than he expected, with her hair coming out of the ponytail and her basic attire—she didn’t sparkle or flash. He liked it. She was comfortable with her beauty.

He read her bio again, taking in every little detail, although there weren’t many. She was almost done with her PhD and he’d barely graduated with a bachelor’s. At least she had goals in life. Most of the women he’d dated had him at the top of their to-do list. He realized all that was behind him now, and felt free for the first time in years. Instead of the strain and stress of socializing, he’d have a partner who would guard him from the gold diggers—and Pamela guaranteed her brides weren’t gold diggers; they were honest and hardworking employees.

As she was an equal partner in this contract, though a wife who would share his home, Nick needed to keep a professional distance. If Janel was as beautiful in person as she was in the picture, staying professional could be difficult. He already felt a connection to her.

Another email popped up from Pamela—Janel’s preferred color was purple. He quickly scrolled through his contacts until he found the interior designer’s number.

“Hi. It’s Nick. Hey, you can go ahead and finish that suite. Purple. It’s up to you. Thanks.”

Everything should be ready for Janel to move in on Monday. His house had two suites on the east end. He had his own suite done in tans and natural stone, but no one touched the other suite in the five years he’d lived there. When he met with Pamela and she mentioned needing a room for his wife, he felt like the space was waiting for that exact moment.

It was going to be a busy weekend.

There was a strange thunk under his desk. When he looked, he realized his leg was bouncing. Every time his shoe hit the floor it made a noise. Placing his hand on his knee to hold it still, he wondered,
Am I nervous?

He was always a little on edge when signing contracts, but as long as his attorney gave the thumbs up, it was something he got through with a semblance of calm.

This was a good move for him. Not only would it take him off the meat market, it would bring someone into his home. He’d built his dream house and then dreaded walking through the door to find it empty. Someone to come home to—a wife—was going to be very good for him.

If it was so good for him, why was his leg bouncing again?