The Professional Bride: Billionaire Marriage Brokers Book Three (2 page)

Rym held his tongue. This wasn’t the time to discuss the five seasonal jobs he maintained throughout the year so he could be free to teach skiing in the winter. After suffering through his associate’s degree, he decided it was worth the sacrifice to do what he loved. He lived on canned soup and cereal to save money. His apartment was a joke that he shared with two guys so he could afford it. But it was worth it to be able to teach skiing and hold a season pass that allowed him access to the hill he loved.

“I started out like you, you know? I didn’t have more than two nickels to rub together. But ...” He turned to look out the window at the stunning winter landscape. “I built this resort and I made it into something.”

That’s putting it mildly
. The Iron Mountain Ski Resort was one of the premier ski resorts in the world. His grandfather owned the best real estate in Park City. They catered to the wealthy and still managed to serve the local ski community.

Grandpa faced him. “It’s yours.”

Rym lowered his eyebrows. “What is?”

“All of it.” Grandpa coughed, the sound weak and ineffectual.

“All of what?” Rym held tighter to Grandpa’s hand as it slackened.

Grandpa sighed. “I’ve watched you grow up, Rym. You may have thought I just threw money your way, but I paid attention. You’ve worked at the resort since you were old enough to bus tables, and you bring in more guests as a private ski instructor than anyone else on my payroll. You know this business, Rym. I’d—” Grandpa did that emotional cough thing again. “I’d planned on bringing you into management when you turned thirty-five. I knew that by the time you were forty, I could hand the place over to you. But plans change. You aren’t ready yet, so I’ve prepared a special training for you with the help of a friend. You’re going to be all right.”

All his life, Rym had been told not to expect anything from the old man when he died, and he never had. Never—not even once—did he believe he’d be in the will. Needing to sit down, Rym let go of Grandpa’s hand and fell into the visitor’s chair next to the bed.

“Rym!” Grandpa called. He started coughing so hard the bed shook. Then, even though the coughing stopped, the shaking remained. Karen hurried over and the doctor flew into the room. Rym watched in horror as he filled a syringe and inserted the needle into the IV tubing.

“What are you giving him?” Rym asked. His blood turned cold.

“Something to make him comfortable,” replied the doctor.

“Wait, comfortable as in …?” Rym grabbed Grandpa’s hand and held on tighter than a brand-new ski boot.

The light and stubbornness that was Grandpa slowly ebbed away, unhindered by pain thanks to the shot. There was a flux of that peaceful feeling, and then the veil closed, leaving behind a vast sense of loss. Shocked, Rym pulled his feet under him like a first-timer on skis, unsure if he’d be able to stay up.

Karen put her arm around Rym’s shoulders. “You made it here for him. He was hanging on just for you.”

Rym leaned on her, grateful for her words. His grandpa had loved him, even if it was from afar. And the feelings of respect and caring that Rym had sometimes felt guilty for having for Grandpa, because of his dad, filled the empty places in the room.

He stood up straight. No more. He’d wasted years with his grandpa out of loyalty to his mom and dad, and now he refused to let their bitterness hinder his ability to love. Rym bent over the bed and kissed his grandpa’s forehead.

“If you’d like to step out, we can take care of him,” said the doctor.

“Thank you,” muttered Rym. Not sure where to go, he wandered out of the room and into the bridge-like hallway. 

“Sir, wait.”

Rym stopped automatically; his body was on cruise control.
Sir. I’m not “sir.” Grandpa was “sir
.” Yet this was the third time that day Rym had been called
sir
. The word fit like a loose binding.

“Hi, I’m Robert McGraw. We talked on the phone earlier today.”

Right, the guilt-maker.
Mr. McGraw stood eye-to-eye with Rym, who was six-foot-one. He had graying hair at the temples; the rest of his hair was black and shiny with a wave in the front. He had a few wrinkles around his eyes and down his cheeks. With his spry movements, and the raccoon tan line that could only come from wearing a ski mask on a sunny day on the slopes, Rym found he liked the guy despite his first impression.

“I know you’re probably reeling, but there are some things we need to go over.”

“Like what?” Rym couldn’t think of a single thing—at all. He still couldn’t believe Grandpa was gone. Rym’s interactions with his grandpa flashed before him and, unhindered now by the weight of his parents’ anger, Rym saw how Grandpa Mike had molded him through example. He’d influenced Rym’s life in ways Rym hadn’t thought of until he had to face a world without Grandpa in it. For one, he’d given Rym a reason to be proud of his last name, a reason to hold his head high even when hauling his dad out of the bars. That meant something to Rym as he grew from a boy into a man.

“As Mr. Hoagland’s only grandchild, there are several small points we should cover when it comes to inheriting Iron Mountain, your grandfather’s estate, and his investments. But you need to know, there is one stipulation that will affect you in a—shall we say, personal way.”

Wow—when Grandpa said “It’s all yours,” he meant it. What would his mother say about that? Grandpa’s comment about some sort of training rose up through the fog in Rym’s head. “Shoot.”

Mr. McGraw buttoned his suit, then unbuttoned it, then pulled at his tie. He cleared his throat and gave Rym a sympathetic smile. “You’ll have to get married.”

Rym’s eyebrows shot up. “Married?” That was a sentence worse than ...

Rym looked over his shoulder to where Grandpa’s body now lay, covered by a white sheet. How could he get married? He didn’t date—he couldn’t afford it. Sure, plenty of his clients had asked him out, but he knew they were looking for a vacation fling and he wasn’t interested in one-night stands. He had pictured himself married, one day, in the distant future, when he could support a family. But he was nowhere near that right now. Well, with the inheritance, he’d be financially able to support a family, but he was still light-years away from any sort of mental state that would allow him to make that kind of commitment. What was Grandpa thinking? Rym wasn’t ready for marriage. He couldn’t risk it, couldn’t risk having to carry someone through life like his mother had, and he lived in fear of being the burden his father had been.

Marriage was out of the question. Surely Mr. McGraw could be brought to understand. “With all due respect, are you kidding me?”

Mr. McGraw shook his head.

Anger cleared the fog. It evaporated like the steam on the driveway. “I can’t get married, I don’t have a … that is, I’m not dating anyone … I mean, how …?” 

“I know it’s unconventional, especially these days. But your grandfather has a friend named Pamela Jones, who runs a matchmaking service. She specializes in marriages that are mutually beneficial for both parties. Pamela came out last week and they discussed your …” McGraw’s eyes darted to the side and he cleared his throat again. “… future bride at length.”  He reached into his breast pocket and pulled out a card. “You’ll need to contact Pamela today. She’s called several times to check on your grandfather, and she’ll be expecting to hear from you.”

Rym read the card in his hand.
BMB
?
Grandpa, what have you done
? The anger simmered. “I don’t understand. A business marriage?”

The lawyer tugged on his shirt cuffs. “I’m not privy to more information than what’s in the will. But it does appear to be a temporary situation.”

Rym flicked the card back and forth over his palm. “Is there any way we can get around it?” Rym’s stomach soured, but he pressed forward. “Can we have Grandpa declared insane or something?” The words left a horrible taste in Rym’s mouth. He cringed at the idea of besmirching Grandpa’s good name.

“I’m sorry. The document is watertight. And with the illness being so sudden, it’s unlikely a judge would consider a case of insanity valid. Besides, he’s given you two weeks to tie the knot.”

Of course he did.
Rym shoved the awful idea of declaring Grandpa unsound away. “Never mind.” Another question popped into Rym’s head, and since Mr. McGraw seemed up-front with what information he had, Rym asked, “What happens if I don’t get married?”

“Your grandfather’s investments will be divvied up among his favorite charities. The house will be sold. Et cetera. Iron Mountain will be incorporated and a board of directors will take over. There have been three offers on the resort in the last two weeks. It’s possible that it too will be sold.”

Rym felt a stomachache coming on. He couldn’t imagine Iron Mountain in the hands of investors. They’d milk it dry and ruin the family atmosphere. The resort was Rym’s heritage, and it was home to many who worked there. He personally knew dozens of instructors who relied on the seasonal employment to provide for their families. They came back to Iron Mountain year after year because Iron Mountain often worked around their families’ needs. Grandpa’s company provided daycare at a reasonable cost, allowed shift changes at a moment’s notice, and worked with the local tech school to provide training for their culinary students.

A corporation wouldn’t do those things. They wouldn’t treat people like family; they’d treat them like an asset or a liability. The instructors, bussers, chefs, lift operators, and even the maids and maintenance crew were like family to Rym. He’d grown up with them, laughed with them, skied with their kids. He couldn’t leave them at the mercy of a board of directors.

With a resigned sigh, Rym said, “I’ll call her this afternoon.”

Mr. McGraw’s shoulders relaxed. “I’ll be in touch.” He pulled his eyebrows together. “I guess I should tell you that I work exclusively for Mr. Hoagland, and therefore I’m now on your payroll. Here’s my card. If you have any questions or concerns, I’ll be happy to address them. We need to meet and go over things, but it can wait until after the funeral if you’d like.”

Rym’s head was spinning. He had a payroll? He had a
lawyer
? He never thought he’d need either, and yet he’d been handed them. His instinct was to shove them back, but there was no one to take them.

Somehow, Rym made it to his car and down the switchback to Sven, who waved him through with a look of compassion.

Rym’s phone rang, and he checked the number before answering. “Hi, Mom. You aren’t going to believe this.”

Chapter 2

Amber Appleby was somewhat surprised to feel sad that her marriage was coming to an end. She shared a fond look with Jeremy, his golden-brown eyes reminding her of the amber stone necklace he gave her this morning. It was a farewell present, one that she would treasure.

No one expected a kid from a Kentucky holler to make it to the major leagues, but baseball was in Jeremy Appleby’s DNA. It ran though his mind twenty-four hours a day and it pumped through his heart with the driving force of a locomotive. He’d pitched his first major-league game at the age of nineteen. In just a short time, his life spun out of control and it started to affect his game. There was more money coming in than he knew what to do with and everyone wanted a piece of him.

His agent found Pamela’s company, Billionaire Marriage Brokers, and asked if she could find Jeremy a wife who would stabilize his life. Pamela recommended Amber because of her mentoring experience, her background in finance, and her level head.

The year Amber spent helping her husband gain control of his new wealth, buy and decorate a house, and learn to navigate the tricky waters of fame and fortune was a year unlike any other. Jeremy was her only husband who came with an entourage of reporters, groupies, trainers, an agent, and a wicked curve ball. The press went nuts over their age difference, calling her everything from a gold-digger to a cougar. She’d learned fast what to say in front of the camera and what to keep behind closed doors. She and Jeremy posed together like newlyweds while in public to keep up appearances and honor BMB’s confidentiality agreement, though they had separate bedrooms at home. BMB marriages were platonic, arranged for the benefit of both parties but not including physical intimacy.

The same level head that helped Amber retain her poise in front of mean-spirited reporters was what made her decide to sign up with Pamela’s company, a matchmaking service for the ultra-rich. Numbers don’t lie, and Amber realized she could make more money as a business wife than she could on her speaking junket—and that wasn’t anything to sneeze at.

Amber came out of her musings and back to Lisa Marie’s office, where the printer ink on her divorce papers had barely dried.

“Jeremy, you’ll sign everything first and then pass it to Amber, and she’ll sign right below you,” said Lisa Marie. She was wearing one of her signature pantsuits and a bright green scarf. On other women, the scarf would have washed out their color. But the color did amazing things with Lisa Marie’s fair skin and dark brown eyes.

Jeremy picked up one of the five blue pens lying on Lisa Marie’s desk and signed with a flourish. Amber grinned. They’d worked for days to come up with that signature, the one that would grace baseballs, bats, hats, and other merchandise as he signed autographs for fans. Before marrying her, he’d had a chicken scratch; now his name looked memorable.

After several more pages and signatures, the divorce was final. Amber looked forward to the big bonus soon to be deposited into her checking account. That money would take her to a beach in Mexico for a month while the tabloids ate up the news that Jeremy Appleby was back on the singles market. She couldn’t wait to bury her toes in the sand and read every book on her Kindle.

With images of white sand and blue skies dancing in her head, Amber stood up and hugged Jeremy. “Be good,” she said in a mock-warning tone.

Jeremy laughed. “You’re the one who needs to be good. Bikinis and beaches will look really good on you.”

Amber swatted at his shoulder. “I’ll be fine.” She hugged him again. “I’ll miss you.”

Jeremy gave her his million-dollar smile. “I’ll miss you too.”

They walked out to the elevator together, a feeling of melancholy settling in. Jeremy pressed the button and Amber smiled at the receptionist, Tina, as she talked on the phone.

Amber and Jeremy stepped inside the silver-plated elevator. It was strange that their year together started with a ride in this elevator, and now that was how it ended too. Just before the doors shut, Tina covered the phone and called out, “Amber, can you wait a minute?”

Amber gave Jeremy’s hand a quick squeeze and stepped out.

“Bye,” he almost whispered.

Amber nodded encouragingly as the door shut between them. She tugged on her jacket. Jeremy was going to be just fine. She’d set up systems to keep his money growing, he had an agent who had his best interests in mind, and his home was almost paid for. She tugged at her jacket again. If she’d done such a great job, why did she feel like she was sending her little brother off for his first day of school? She adored Jeremy; in many ways he’d become the sibling she’d never had.

  Tina hung up the phone and let out an exasperated sigh. “Sorry about that.”

“No problem. Did I forget something?”

“No. But Pamela wanted to speak with you when you were done. Do you have a few minutes?”

Amber refrained from rolling her eyes at how ridiculously open the next few days of her life really were since she’d just had her last day of work. A late lunch and a night at a hotel were her only plans. All her things were in storage or suitcases, and since she planned to leave the country as soon as her bonus came through, she hadn’t bothered to find an apartment.

“I’m good.”

“Okay, I’ll take you back.”

Amber smiled. “I know the way.”

Tina waved her off. “I know you do, but if I don’t get up and walk around every now and again, my legs will forget how to walk.”

“I doubt that.” It was unlikely that Tina’s thin but shapely build could ever forget how to walk, or run, or climb a mountain. It might be because she was always busy, always moving, always helping the others in the office. Pamela might own the business, but Tina kept things running smoother than quality chocolate truffles.

Tina tapped on the open door and Pamela looked up from her computer screen. “Amber’s here.”

Entering the immaculate office, Amber smiled at her boss. Pamela’s blond hair was, as always, in perfect order. Her lace blouse was professional and feminine. Amber admired Pamela’s ability to embrace being a woman in the workplace. It was a stark contrast to her mother, who believed that to compete with men you had to dress like one. It was an old-fashioned idea, one that stemmed from her grandmother’s feminist marches and glass ceiling demonstrations.

Amber’s mother had flipped a lid when she told her about becoming a BMB bride. It was a constant source of contention between them. No matter how often she explained that it was a job and not selling out to the “ancient tradition of servitude,” her mother believed Amber had turned her back on everything she’d been taught about respecting herself and not needing a man to feel complete.

What her mother refused to see was that
bride
was a job title to Amber, much like
marketing manager
or
company president
. The title
bride
encompassed a variety of responsibilities unlike any other career. Being married called on every skill set Amber possessed, from negotiation to investing and from managing employees to cheerleading for her husband. The days were full of variety and constant challenges. It was both rewarding and exhausting.

“Amber, so good to see you again.” Pamela came around her desk and gave Amber a hug.

Catching a whiff of Pamela’s designer fragrance made Amber smile. Hugging Pamela was nothing like hugging her grandmother, who was all sticks and sinew. Pamela was shapely, no angles or sharp points, just graceful beauty. There was nothing frumpy about Pamela. She was more of a business woman than a crafter. Yet, the woman could be quite crafty when it came to putting two people together.

Releasing Amber and settling into one of the chairs on this side of the desk, Pamela asked, “How did it go with Mr. Jeremy Appleby?”

“It went well. He has big things ahead of him, and with spring training right around the corner he’s got a lot to keep him busy.”

Pamela laced her fingers together and settled them on her knee. “Good. Good. This was a little more high profile than we originally thought.”

Since Amber was twenty-nine and Jeremy was barely twenty when they married, the tabloids and even some reputable sports stations had picked up the story, broadcasting their prediction for everything from how long the marriage would last to how long Jeremy would stay faithful. They’d all lost on the adultery bets—Jeremy’s down-home upbringing meant he honored his vows. However, those who had bet the marriage would only last a year were dead-on, though not for the reasons they believed.

Amber chose to ignore the bad press and encouraged Jeremy to do the same. She only wished her mother had been able to ignore it as well. Thankfully, her mother’s opinion didn’t affect Amber’s career. “Things settled down after the initial shock. There will be another blast as soon as that paperwork goes through the system, but it shouldn’t hurt his career.”

Pamela tipped her head. “I think being single would be good for him at this point.”

“You’re probably right.”
As long as he keeps his head.

Pamela leaned forward. “What are your plans now?”

Amber crossed her legs. “I’m going to lay low and let it all blow over.”

Pamela’s brow furrowed. “You’re not leaving town, are you?”

“I was planning on it.” After Amber’s first marriage, Pamela explained that she liked the brides to have three to four months between marriages. The crease between Pamela’s eyes gave Amber the impression that something out of the ordinary was about to happen. “Why?” she asked with caution.

Pamela smoothed her features and caught Amber’s eye. She looked at her, hard, and Amber felt like a document on the scanner. It wasn’t uncomfortable, but personal. Goose bumps trilled up her arms. Something about the way Pamela’s eyes sparkled as if they were full of magic made Amber think her life was about to flip upside down. This evaluation took in not only Amber’s professional abilities, but her heart at well.

Pamela nodded once and then stood abruptly. “Jeremy was your third marriage, right?” she asked as she made her way around the desk.

“Yes.” Amber wondered if she’d passed whatever test Pamela had just given her. She also wondered how many marriages she’d be able to do before Pamela thought she’d done too many. Her first two husbands led private lives. Another high-profile groom would be stretching it now that she had been in the public eye.

Then there was the age thing. Her thirtieth birthday loomed. Not that she put stock in birthdays. A woman was only as old as she believed herself to be. Age had never been a part of her and Pamela’s discussions, but she knew that some of the reason her marriage to Jeremy worked, despite the difference in their ages, was that she looked the part of a major-league baseball player’s wife. She had long blond hair, a thin waist, and pouty lips—all things she’d cursed growing up, because people underestimated her. The joke was on them. She’d learned to use her looks to her advantage, and being a billionaire’s bride was definitely to her advantage. All she had to do was check her bank balance, and she saw proof that beauty
and
brains were a profitable combination.

Pamela pressed her fingertips together. “Do you remember when we first met?”

Amber nodded. Pamela had approached her after she’d spoken at a conference for entrepreneurs. Within four months she was married to Braden Harris, who was a top heart surgeon at the local hospital and still lived like a college student in a hole-in-the-wall apartment.

In the year they were together, she helped him buy a house, balance his work life with personal time, and find clothes he could wear outside of the operating room. She smiled. He and Jenn, Amber’s best friend since childhood, had sent her an engagement announcement just a few days ago. She couldn’t have been happier for the two of them.

Pamela’s voice pulled her away from her musings. “I’ve got a new client and he’s right up your alley.”

“Oh?” Amber leaned forward as Pamela swiveled her screen around to reveal a handsome face—okay, handsome was an understatement; the guy was stunning. His dark blond hair was long, hanging just past his chin, and he had a groomed beard that did everything for him, including electrify his bright blue eyes. Amber was disturbed to find herself melting into the seat as images of red capes, big pecs, magical hammers, Australian accents, and superheroes flashed through her head. She sat up straight. All those Marvel movies Jeremy made her watch were obviously a bad idea. She cleared her throat. “Why’d he sign up?”

“He will shortly inherit a surprise sum and a large company from his estranged grandfather.”

Amber raised her eyebrows. “Estranged grandfather?”

Pamela bit her lip, and Amber thought she saw sorrow cross her face. “It’s a long story. Needless to say, Rym is not prepared to take this on and needs some help.”

Amber nodded, intrigued. “How did he find you?”

“I knew his grandfather.” Pamela’s eyes sparkled, and Amber wondered who found whom. “Actually, it’s stipulated in Michael’s will that Rym marry a woman who can help him through this and that he needed to use my company to find her.”

Leaning back in her chair, Amber tried to process the idea of an arranged marriage. “So, in order to get the money, he has to marry me?” Usually it was the other way around. In order to get paid, Amber had to marry someone. She knew what she was getting into when she signed up.