Married to the Billionaire I Can't Resist

By the time dusk settled over Ashford City, the office towers had begun to glitter against the darkening sky.

Chloe Bennett was still at her desk.

After several nights of barely sleeping, she had finally finished the market research report that had been keeping her chained to her computer. She saved the document, sent it off to her supervisor, and leaned back in her chair with a groan.

The office was deserted. Every desk around her sat empty, the overhead lights casting a lonely glow across the polished floor.

At last. One evening when she might actually get a decent night's sleep.

Chloe rubbed her eyes. The dark circles beneath them were so pronounced that she suspected a zoo panda would have looked well-rested by comparison.

Her phone began vibrating across the desk.

She glanced at the screen and answered without checking the caller ID.

"Chloe!" Sophie Hayes's voice burst through the speaker, bright with an urgency that immediately made Chloe suspicious. "Are you free tomorrow around lunchtime?"

Chloe narrowed her eyes.

"It's Saturday. I was planning to be free. Why?"

"Oh, thank goodness! Chloe, you have to save me!"

There it was.

Chloe closed her eyes and took a slow breath. Whenever Sophie sounded that desperate, trouble was never far behind.

"Let me guess. You want me to go on another blind date for you."

A beat of silence followed.

Then Sophie gasped. "How do you do that? Are you secretly living inside my head? You're practically reading my mind!"

"No."

"Chloe—"

"Absolutely not."

"Please?"

"No."

"Just hear me out!"

"I've heard you out at least a dozen times. And somehow, every single conversation ends with me sitting across from some stranger while you enjoy your freedom."

Sophie made a wounded noise.

"That's a very unfair way to describe our friendship."

"Is it?"

"Do you remember who took you in when your family cut off your financial support? Who stood by you when everyone in my family criticized me for helping you? And who helped you when you were struggling to get that project approved?"

Chloe stared at the ceiling.

Sophie was shameless.

Worse, she knew exactly which buttons to push.

"Stop. Just stop." Chloe pressed two fingers to her forehead. "Fine. I'll go."

"Really?"

"Yes, Your Highness. I'll go and endure another spectacularly awkward lunch. But I want it recorded somewhere that I've already done this more than ten times."

Sophie immediately abandoned her tragic tone.

"I knew you wouldn't let me down! You're the sweetest, most beautiful, most generous woman in the entire world."

"Save it."

"And I swear this is the last time."

Chloe laughed without humor.

"That's what you said the last time."

"And I meant it at the time!"

"Goodbye, Sophie."

"Wait! Tomorrow, noon. The hotel will be expecting you. I'll text you the details. Love you!"

The call ended before Chloe could change her mind.

She dropped the phone onto her desk and looked at it as if it had personally betrayed her.

They had graduated from college only a year ago, yet Sophie's family had already arranged an astonishing number of blind dates for her. Somehow, Chloe had become the person who attended most of them.

Sophie was the one with the overbearing family.

Chloe was the one who had to suffer through their matchmaking.

Friendship, apparently, came with an unreasonable amount of unpaid labor.

Still, a promise was a promise.

And if there was one thing Chloe had learned from her previous assignments, it was that a man who had agreed to a blind date could usually be persuaded to abandon it.

All she needed was the right strategy.

By Saturday morning, she had one.

Or, more accurately, she had an idea that would either save her afternoon or haunt her for the rest of her life.

At noon, an expensive hotel in the heart of Ashford City was welcoming its usual procession of impeccably dressed guests.

Chloe arrived thirty minutes late.

She had taken her time getting ready—not because she wanted to look attractive, but because she had devoted considerable effort to achieving the opposite.

Her outfit was short enough to be questionable, her eyes were buried beneath layers of charcoal-gray eyeshadow, and her blush was so aggressive that it looked as though she had lost an argument with a bottle of red paint.

Her lipstick, meanwhile, was almost corpse-pale.

The final touch was her hair: a towering, chaotic mass of curls that looked as if she'd stuck her finger into an electrical socket.

Chloe studied herself in the mirror before leaving home.

Perfect.

If this didn't send her date running, nothing would.

The hotel doorman looked up as she approached, a welcoming smile already forming on his face.

Then he saw her.

His smile faltered.

For a moment, he seemed to forget what he was supposed to say.

Chloe pretended not to notice.

"Excuse me," she said pleasantly. "Could you tell me how to get to Suite 888?"

Her voice was clear and sweet, almost musical—a startling contrast to the visual assault she had inflicted on herself.

The doorman blinked.

"Y-yes, of course. Suite 888 is on the twelfth floor. I'll show you the way."

"Thank you. That's very kind of you."

She followed him toward the elevators, keeping her expression perfectly composed despite the curious glances gathering around her.

Let them stare.

She was on a mission.

At the twelfth floor, the doorman led her down a quiet corridor and stopped outside a private dining room.

"Here we are, miss. Suite 888. Enjoy your lunch."

"Thank you."

He left.

Chloe stood alone before the door, inhaled deeply, and patted both cheeks.

"You can do this, Chloe Bennett," she whispered. "Stay strong."

Then, with the grim determination of someone walking toward her own execution, she pushed the door open.

The room was unexpectedly elegant. Dark wood furnishings, intricate carved details, and a long dining table gave the space a refined, almost old-world atmosphere. Sunlight filtered through sheer white curtains, softening the room's formal edges.

Two place settings waited at the table.

But there was no one sitting there.

Chloe frowned.

Where was her date?

Was the man actually going to be later than she was?

The nerve.

She was about to turn around when movement in the corner caught her eye.

A man sat at a separate tea table, dressed in a perfectly tailored suit that probably cost more than Chloe's monthly rent. He appeared entirely at ease, as though the world had been designed to accommodate him.

He was young, strikingly handsome, and possessed the kind of composed elegance that made the expensive room seem like an extension of his wardrobe.

Dark, defined brows framed his eyes. His features were sharp without being harsh, his nose straight, his lips pale and finely shaped. There was something cool and untouchable about him, an impression reinforced by the stillness of his expression.

But it was his hands that caught Chloe's attention.

A strand of black prayer beads wound loosely around the long fingers of his left hand. Against his fair skin, the dark beads created a striking contrast. His fingers moved over them with effortless precision, each small motion drawing the eye.

Chloe forgot, for one dangerous second, why she was there.

Good heavens.

What kind of man looked like that?

Her heart gave an unexpected leap.

She stared at him, suddenly aware that the room had grown far too quiet.

Then she dug her fingernails into her palm.

Get a grip.

She wasn't here to admire him. She was here to ruin this blind date on Sophie's behalf.

If Sophie ever learned that Chloe had deliberately sabotaged her chance with a man like this, she might never forgive her.

Or worse, she might make Chloe listen to a lifetime of complaints about it.

No. The mission came first.

Chloe pasted on a dazzling, exaggerated smile.

One of the man's eyebrows seemed to twitch.

It happened so quickly that she almost wondered if she had imagined it. A moment later, his expression had returned to its original, unreadable calm.

Interesting.

Most of her previous dates had begun to retreat by this point.

Perhaps this one required a more direct approach.

Chloe hurried toward him with an enthusiasm that was almost alarming. Bending forward at an awkward angle, she reached for his hand and clasped it between both of hers.

"Hi! Hello! You must be my blind date!"

She shook his hand vigorously, as if they had just closed a multimillion-dollar business deal.

The man looked down at their joined hands.

His expression did not change.

And, to Chloe's surprise, he didn't pull away.

After several seconds of increasingly awkward enthusiasm, he spoke.

"Shall we move to the dining table?"

His voice was low and smooth, with a restrained warmth that somehow made his otherwise cool demeanor even more compelling.

Chloe released his hand at once, pretending that she had only just realized what she was doing.

"Oh! Right. Of course. The table!"

He rose to his feet.

Chloe's attention briefly wandered as he crossed the room. He was tall—easily six feet two, perhaps more—and carried himself with the kind of effortless confidence that didn't require a display of wealth or power.

She caught herself wondering what he looked like without the suit.

Then she mentally slapped herself.

Focus, Bennett.

He took his seat at the long table. Chloe hurried after him and settled into the chair opposite.

Now came the real performance.

After more than ten practice runs, she considered herself something of an expert at destroying a blind date. She had a system, and it had yet to fail her.

First, she needed to establish that she had absolutely no manners.

She propped her chin in one hand, leaned across the table, and gave him a shamelessly flirtatious smile.

"Hey, handsome. I'm Sophie Hayes. What should I call you?"

She even managed to make her voice sound breathier than usual.

The man regarded her calmly.

"Adrian Sterling."

His name suited him. It sounded polished, expensive, and just a little intimidating.

Chloe widened her eyes.

"Adrian! Oh my goodness, that's such a gorgeous name!"

She clasped her hands beneath her chin and fluttered her lashes as though she had just met the love of her life.

In the past, this particular performance had sent several men scrambling for excuses to leave. One had claimed an urgent work emergency. Another had suddenly remembered an appointment. A third had nearly tripped over his own chair trying to escape.

Adrian merely inclined his head.

"Thank you."

That was it.

No embarrassment. No irritation. Not even the faintest sign that he wanted to flee.

Chloe's smile remained fixed in place.

What was wrong with this man?

Was his ability to feel discomfort somehow defective?

Fine. She would have to try harder.

She pushed her jacket back and slipped it off her shoulders, revealing the strapless top beneath. Then she swept her hair to one side, deliberately exposing her neck.

"Oh, it's so hot in here," she complained in a high, affected voice.

She gestured vaguely toward her collarbone, trying to look seductive.

Inside, however, she was freezing.

Who had set the air conditioning to arctic temperatures? Did the hotel not pay for electricity? Had no one ever heard of energy conservation?

A blast of cold air poured directly from the vent overhead.

Chloe resisted the urge to shiver.

Across from her, Adrian lifted an eyebrow.

"Your arms are covered in goose bumps."

Her smile nearly collapsed.

For one brief moment, she considered pretending she hadn't heard him.

Then she recovered.

"Oh, that happens to me all the time," she said brightly. "I've always been sensitive. Especially around handsome men."

To reinforce the point, she gave a little, exaggerated shudder.

There.

That had to do it.

Surely no man could sit through this performance without developing the sudden urge to be somewhere else.

Adrian gave a small nod.

"Understood."

Chloe stared at him.

Understood?

What exactly did he understand? That she was cold? That she was flirting? That she had apparently lost her mind?

She had never encountered a man so resistant to embarrassment.

For the first time that afternoon, Chloe began to suspect that she might have met her match.

She took a steadying breath and reached for the menu.

If ridiculous flirting wouldn't work, perhaps unreasonable demands would.

She flipped through the pages with an expression of growing disappointment.

"Honestly, is this really supposed to be a five-star hotel?" she muttered. "The menu is so ordinary."

She tapped a finger against the page.

"I only eat premium abalone. Anything less is hardly worth ordering. And they don't even have bird's nest soup?"

She looked up at Adrian, visibly appalled.

"This place is terrible."

Chloe waited for his reaction.

Surely this would be the moment when he finally decided that dating her—or Sophie, as far as he knew—was more trouble than it was worth.

Surely, at last, he would give up.

But Adrian Sterling remained seated across from her, calm and unreadable, as if he had all the time in the world.

And Chloe was beginning to realize that getting rid of this man might be much harder than she'd expected.

Chloe Bennett stole a glance at the man sitting across from her.

Adrian Sterling was still perfectly composed, sipping his tea as though he hadn't just endured a full afternoon of her increasingly outrageous behavior.

She was running out of ideas.

Most men would have lost patience by now. Some would have found an excuse to leave; others would have made their displeasure painfully obvious.

Adrian did neither.

Instead, he set down his teacup and regarded her calmly.

"If you want premium abalone, I can have some prepared and brought over."

Chloe's head snapped up.

Seriously?

Was this man incapable of getting angry?

She had practically insulted the restaurant, and he was offering to order something more expensive. His patience was either extraordinary or deeply concerning.

"Well," she replied after a moment, forcing herself to sound nonchalant, "that would be acceptable."

Fine. If one unreasonable demand wasn't enou