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Chapter One

There he was again. Mr. Mysterious was giving her that wickedly sexy smile again from across the room.

Who was he? The reception that followed her keynote address was by invitation only. Invitations were for big donors. Ronnie could have sworn she knew all those people, by sight, at least. She would have remembered that guy.

Look away. Breathe. Veronica Moss smiled at the man in front of her and tried to remember what they were talking about. Franklin Dodd was a kindly old gentleman with a wispy white goatee who chaired the board of directors of the Kitsup Foundation, which supported scientific literacy in children. They were talking about policies to support math instruction in early childhood education.

Pay attention. Act intelligent. Look alive. Hard, with her bandwidth all taken up by the effort it took to not turn and stare.

She’d first seen him from the stage during the keynote speech she’d just delivered at the Future Science Conference in Las Vegas. It had been the challenge of a lifetime to her concentration, but she had not screwed up. Then, during the standing ovation, he’d locked eyes, kissed his fingertips and blown the kiss at her.

She had felt that kiss on every inch of her skin. That terrible flirt.

She managed an intelligible reply about educational policy to Dr. Dodd and turned to wave at a passing acquaintance. He was still smiling, waiting for her to gawk at him again.

Stop this girlish crap. She was a grown woman. She had made her life choices. The biggies, anyway. She and Jareth had obtained their marriage license yesterday at the Clark County Courthouse in Las Vegas. At midnight, she turned thirty, and to keep her promise to her aunt and cousins, she had to be married by then to ensure that MossTech, the huge biotech and agri-tech company founded by her uncle Bertram and her aunt Elaine, did not pass into Jerome’s hands.

She had put herself into this mess with her own hands.

Ronnie bitterly regretted the childish impulse that had come over her at her cousin Maddie’s wedding. She’d been so angry after Jerome, her dad, tried to ruin the event. He’d been spitting mad ever since Ronnie’s aunt Elaine legally mandated that her three grandchildren—Ronnie’s first cousins, once removed—be married, Caleb and Marcus by age thirty-five and Maddie by age thirty, or else watch Ronnie’s father, their uncle Jerome, take control of MossTech. A dreadful prospect.

Then, on Maddie’s wedding day, Jerome somehow hid the papers that had to be signed after the ceremony. Once the clock ticked over to midnight on Maddie’s birthday, it would be too late. But Maddie and Jack had gotten secretly married beforehand, just to keep their asses covered. Curses, foiled again.

Then there was that shady stuff her dad pulled on poor Marcus and Eve, setting them up so that it looked like Marcus had betrayed Eve. It was sheer luck for her cousin and his bride that things had gotten ironed out, and trust restored. She’d been so sick of it. Personally, too. Her dad been harsh and critical ever since she could remember, and the night of Maddie’s wedding, her rage had boiled over.

Ronnie hadn’t been a part of her aunt’s mandate at first, being only a niece. That honor had gone to Aunt Elaine’s grandchildren. Her aunt felt guilty for having raised them to be workaholic overachievers, and her solution had been to manipulate the three of them into matrimony by waving the threat of Jerome over their heads. But after her dad’s embarrassing performance at Maddie’s wedding, Ronnie had begged Aunt Elaine to put her into the documents, too.

At the time, it felt like the perfect way to hurt her father. Deny him something that he actually cared about; i.e., controlling MossTech, wielding power, making money. It wasn’t like she could punish him by estranging herself. He wouldn’t care, or probably even notice. But this? Oh, this, he would definitely notice.

It took a while to convince Aunt Elaine, but Jerome had given her a terrible scare, so she let Ronnie talk her into it. Same terms. Same punishment if she failed. Controlling shares of MossTech would pass immediately to Jerome. A fate dreaded by all.

Of course, for her, the marriage mandate wasn’t as fraught as it had been for her cousins. She was a sure thing, safely engaged to one of the producers of her TV show. Jareth was handsome and smart, extremely competent, personally interested in her career, and wealthy in his own right. She’d been flattered by his offer, though she’d dodged setting a date for months. There always seemed to be some pressing reason to wait a little longer.

Not anymore. She turned thirty on the stroke of midnight, and the mandate had to be honored. Or else.

She’d get a video of the ceremony, held in a cheesy wedding chapel, officiated by the flashiest Elvis impersonator she’d been able to find, and send it to her dad. Ka-pow. The final blow. It was hers to deliver, after all the hell he’d put her through.

Then she’d go no contact forever.

Not that there would be much to miss. Derision and contempt. No tenderness that she could remember.

But she was okay. She’d learned to live without it. God knows, Jareth wasn’t the touchy-feely type. He’d been genial and flattering at the beginning, but as the months went by, bit by bit, the flattery had faded away. Jareth was all business. Constantly working, constantly hustling.

But she didn’t hold that against him. As a Moss, she had a deep respect for hard work and dedication. It was childish to expect the man to make a constant fuss over her. He’d made her show a huge success, after all. What was good for Jareth was good for her. It really was.

The problem was, after the heat of the moment faded, her gesture toward Dad had started to feel small and spiteful. She could have left things as they were. Dad would still have lost his chance to get control of MossTech, but she wouldn’t have been the one to strike the final blow.

Too late for regrets. She had to see this through, like her cousins had done. Spectacularly, too. It had been a last-minute miracle for Caleb, Maddie and Marcus to get married in time. And not just married. They were crazy in love. Over-the-moon happy. All three of them.

It made her feel almost…well, jealous. Left behind.

Which was silly. Jareth Fadden was a perfectly good fiancé. Tonight, he would become her perfectly good husband. Jareth had a lot going for him. He was creative, successful, ambitious, energetic. All qualities she admired. She had no cause to envy anyone.

Dr. Dodd’s talkative wife joined him, and over Mrs. Dodd’s shoulder, she saw Jareth keeping a sharp eye on her from across the room. As always, checking to make sure she was paying attention to the right people. He was forever scolding her for getting into conversations with people who in his estimation were not worth her precious time.

She gave Jareth a reassuring smile and wave, signaling that she was on top of it.

“Franklin, let’s visit the buffet,” Mrs. Dodd said. “I’m light-headed from the champagne. I need actual food.”

“Of course, my dear.” Dr. Dodd gave Ronnie a gallant bow. “Dr. Moss, can I get you a plate from the buffet as well?”

“No, thank you,” she said with a smile. “Go on ahead. I’ll see you in a moment.”

The Dodds linked arms and made their way toward the buffet. Over their heads, she saw Mr. Mysterious take a champagne flute from one of the trays circulated by the catering staff. He raised his glass to her. God, that smile.

Now that he was closer, she saw how tall he really was. He towered over the people around him. His shoulders and chest and face were broad, his jaw strong and square. Intense dark eyes under heavy dark brows. That grin was drop-dead sexy.

She smiled back, and lifted her hand with her engagement ring, fluttering her fingers so that the huge diamond winking there would catch the light and send its clear, sparkling message. Already taken. Done deal. Sorry.

Mr. Mysterious’s smile turned rueful. He smacked his hand against his heart, as if mortally wounded. Clown. She turned away, spotting another caterer with a tray of glasses going by, and reached for some champagne. She definitely needed to fortify herself.

Bridal jitters. This kind of thing always happened when one made a commitment to any course of action. It was just Fate, tormenting her with the lost possibilities, paths not taken.

She wouldn’t let it rattle her. The marriage license was in her purse, with two white gold wedding bands. She’d been wearing Jareth’s engagement ring for months now and had the snagged and ruined sweaters and scarves to prove it. The setting of the jutting diamond was pure destructive hell for her cashmere wardrobe pieces, but it was a magnificent stone, and life was a series of trade-offs.

“Hell of a rock you’ve got there,” said a deep voice behind her.

Ronnie spun around. Mr. Mysterious, at dangerously close range. His aftershave was warm and citrusy and delicious. “Excuse me?”

“Sorry. Was that too personal a comment?” he asked.

“I’m not sure yet,” she hedged. “Your wording was ambiguous.”

He held out his hand, and she offered her own before she could think better of it. Not an intelligent move, she realized, as his hand enveloped hers. It was warm. His calloused palm felt supple, like seasoned leather, like hand-polished wood.

“Not ambiguous at all,” he said. “I was referring to the rock on your ring finger. I have mixed feelings about it.”

I am not interested in your feelings about me, my ring, my rock. That was what she knew she should say, but all that came out was a wispy little “Oh.”

“I’m sorry to see that ring,” he mused. “But I don’t see a wedding band.”

The nerve of this guy. Ronnie gazed into his smiling dark eyes. “Have we met?”

“No. I’d remember if I’d seen you before in the flesh. I’m Wes Brody.” He shook her hand, which he had never relinquished. “I know who you are, of course. The photos in the conference booklet don’t do you justice. I’m a big fan, by the way. I’ve watched every episode of The Secret Life of Cells, many times. It’s brilliant. And so are you.”

Ronnie withdrew her hand, with a tug. “Thanks.” She tried to keep her voice cool, but it ended up sounding prim.

“Your presentation was amazing,” he said. “I could listen to you forever.”

“You’re very kind,” she said. “I saw you in the audience.”

“Yeah. I had a prime seat.” His grin widened. “You don’t even want to know the shady stuff I pulled to get a place right at the front.”

“No, I really don’t,” she agreed. “Let it be shrouded forever in secrecy.”

“So.” He paused. “Could I buy you a drink, afterward?”

Ronnie shook her head. “No. My fiancé and I are getting married this evening.”

Wes Brody’s eyes widened. “Tonight?”

“Yes. A wedding chapel, an Elvis impersonator who sings while we sign the paperwork, the whole shebang. And I do have a wedding ring. His `n’ hers. In my purse.”

“Ronnie!” It was Jareth’s voice, with that sharp, dictating tone that made her hairs stand on end.

She could not snap to it in front of Wes Brody.

Brody’s eyes narrowed as he gazed over her head. “That’s the guy?” he asked. “The one who’s bellowing at you right now?”

“That’s him,” she said. “Well, then. It’s a big night for us, so thanks for the—”

Tweeeeet. A deafening whistle split the air. She flinched. Damn, Jareth. Here?

God, how she hated that habit of his. Hated it intensely.

“He whistles for your attention?” Wes Brody looked appalled. “He has the freaking nerve? In public, at a reception given in your honor?”

“Not your business.” Her face was hot.

“My mother would’ve had something to say about that,” Brody said. “She had clear, articulated ideas about how a man should behave around a lady. I didn’t always measure up to her exacting standards, but I tried. I knew what side my bread was buttered on.”

“Good for you,” she said, inanely.

“Ronnie!” Jareth’s voice got louder as he approached. “What is the matter with you? Have you gone deaf?”

Wes Brody leaned closer to her. “Pro tip,” he whispered. “Don’t marry that guy.”

Ronnie looked over her shoulder at Jareth. When she looked back, Wes Brody had melted into the crowd. A neat trick, for a guy his size.

“Ronnie?” Jareth scolded. “You’re in a daze! Are you deliberately ignoring me?”

“Do not whistle at me ever again, Jareth,” she said. “I am not your dog.”

Jareth looked startled. “Whoa! Since when did you get so damn sensitive?”

She set her empty glass onto the tray of a passing caterer and turned back to him. “I always disliked it. I should have told you before. But I’m telling you now.”

Jareth lifted his hands. “Okay, okay! Simmer down. I was trying to get your attention, while scrambling like a bastard to serve your interests. Samuel Whitehall invited us to the Observatory tonight, his luxury retreat in the mountains, and he’s offering us a ride in his helicopter. Just twenty people are invited, the who’s who of our business, and thanks to me, he’s interested in The Secret Life of Cells! Whitehall could take us to the next level.”

Ronnie craned her neck, scanning the room one last time for Wes Brody. She’d met Samuel Whitehall a few times. Not her favorite person. He leered and stared, he made suggestive comments, he was an “accidental” toucher and an enthusiastic shoulder-massager. He was also immensely powerful in the TV world.

But compromises had to be made. Or so Jareth constantly reminded her.

“Who are you looking for?” Jareth asked impatiently. “Did you hear what I said? Are you even connecting, Ron? This is Samuel Whitehall I’m talking about!”

“That’s great, but we have other plans tonight, Jareth, remember? Personal plans.”

Jareth rolled his eyes. “Ron, Whitehall’s bringing us into his inner circle! We cannot blow this event off. It’s important for both our careers.”

“We’re getting married tonight!” she insisted. “This has to happen before I turn thirty! You know that!”

Jareth sighed. “Seriously? This symbolic stunt to piss off your dad is more important to you than the biggest networking opportunity we’ve ever had?”

“It is extremely important! I’ve explained it more than once.”

“Fine,” Jareth said lightly. “It’s early yet. We to the Observatory for dinner, and then head back to Vegas and get married. Easy-peasy, problem solved. Let’s go. Samuel’s waiting in his own personal limo to take us to the helipad.”

“Helipad? We won’t have any control over the timing if we’re dependent on someone else’s helicopter! Let’s get married first, and then drive to the Observatory. They can toast to our wedding after dinner.”

“No,” Jareth snapped. “Catching a ride in the helicopter is part of the scene, Ron. It has to be spontaneous. Samuel’s parties can get pretty wild.” He cast a critical eye over her elegant ivory suit. “I wish you weren’t dressed so primly.”

Whitehall’s parties tended toward the depraved side, which was not her scene. Maybe she was prudish, but in her heart, she was a hopeless science nerd.

“You don’t have a spontaneous bone in your body,” she told him. Ronnie crossed her arms over her chest, chilled. “I know you work hard on my behalf, but when it comes to our plans for tonight, it’s simple math, Jareth. If we take a helicopter to Whitehall’s party, we won’t be back in time to get married.”

“Of course we will,” Jareth scoffed. “Don’t be silly.”

“I’ll go to Whitehall’s party,” she said. “But only if we go to the wedding chapel first.”

Jareth’s reassuring smile faded. “Ron. You’re being irrational.”

His eyes had a chilly glitter. A sinking realization took form. “You never meant to go through with this to begin with, did you? You organized this, just to have an excuse for getting back too late to get married by midnight.”

“Don’t be such a drama queen. Everything is not all about you, you, you.”

“That wasn’t a denial,” she said. “So it’s true?”

“Goddammit, Ron, that’s the wrong question to be asking!”

“Answer it anyway,” she persisted.

“All right, fine. If you insist.” Jareth leaned forward. “You’re too blinded by your anger at your father to keep your own best interests at heart.”

“My best interests?” she repeated.

“Yes, Ron! Yours, mine, ours! It’s my job to put the brakes on this idiocy. I hoped to do it in a way that would feel like it wasn’t anyone’s fault, but that was too much to hope for. With you, nothing is simple. It has to be a big, fat, complicated production.”

“You can’t be serious,” she said blankly. “You can’t do this to me.”

“Take the larger view,” Jareth urged. “Go to the Observatory with me. Network with me. We’re an unbeatable team. Let the deadline pass. Tomorrow, we’ll wake up and take stock of our new prospects, which will be brighter than they have ever been before.”

“Prospects?” she said.

Jareth sighed. “You’re being deliberately obtuse. If Jerome gets those controlling shares, he’ll take MossTech public. Ultimately, the payday for you will be phenomenal.”

“No! I promised Aunt Elaine! She only put me into the paperwork because I urged her to! And I only did that because you’d already suggested we run off to Vegas and arrange a party later! I thought you were on board with this! You’ve tried to get me to elope to Vegas more than once!”

“That was before. You hadn’t loaded this huge agenda on top of it,” Jareth said. “Your aunt is an adult, Ron. Let her take responsibility for her own actions.”

“But I gave my word! To her, and to Caleb and Marcus and Maddie!”

Jareth gave her a thin smile. “Maybe you did, Ron. But I sure didn’t. I want to marry you, yes. But not on these terms. So let’s change the terms.”

Ronnie took a step back, on rubbery legs. She had the strange, disorienting feeling, as if a spell had been broken, and she was seeing the real Jareth for the first time. “You’ve seen what I stand to inherit when we did the prenup,” she said. “It’s a crap-ton of money. You have plenty of your own to begin with. So why?”

He shrugged. “So why not write a few more zeros on the end of that number?”

“Because it’s a betrayal of my family, and I love them!”

“Excuse me for putting our own interests, and our future children’s interests first,” Jareth said. “I’ll marry you, Ronnie. Gladly. Just not before midnight tonight.”

“It’s tonight or never,” she told him.

Jareth shook his head. “Don’t play power games with me,” he said. “You won’t win.”

“It’s not about power,” she replied. “It’s about integrity. I can’t compromise on that!”

“Then you’ll find yourself alone, with nothing but your principles to keep you company. Not even your show. I have final say on renewal for Season Four, remember?”

She sucked in a startled breath. “Really? You’d play that card?”

“Certainly. I’ll manage your emotional excesses any way I can, Ron. At this point, I know how to handle you.”

“Handle me. Really.” Her face burned. “Manage this, Jareth,” she said, through her teeth. “Fuck off.”

Jareth rolled his eyes. “Oh, come on. We’ll talk tomorrow when you’ve calmed down. You’ll thank me later for thinking ahead on your behalf.”

“Get away from me,” she said.

Jareth pulled out his phone and placed a call. “Walt?” he said into the phone. “Yeah, it’s me…I wanted to give you a heads-up. Looks like The Secret Life of Cells won’t make it into the lineup for next season…Me too…Huge disappointment…Long story. I’ll save it for when I’m back. We’ll grab a drink. I’m trying to salvage it, but it doesn’t look good. Women, am I right? Can’t live with `em, can’t shoot `em…Yeah. We’ll be in touch. Later, Walt.”

Jareth closed the call. His gaze was triumphant. He made a scissor-snipping gesture with his fingers. “Free and clear, Ron. Your bridges are burned. Your showbiz career is going nowhere without me and Fadden Boyle Productions.”

“Tell me one thing.” Her voice shook, to her dismay. “Was this all just about money for you?”

Jareth looked annoyed. “Of course it wasn’t, Ron. I admire you. You’re bright, beautiful, talented, accomplished. You’re too volatile and emotional, but I was hoping that you’d grow out of that—”

“You see me as a child?”

“You act like one,” he snapped. “Adults consider every angle. If you change your mind about having a husband, or a career, call me after you turn thirty.”

He strode away without looking back.

Ronnie stood there. Rooted in place. She wanted to retreat to her room, but her room was the penthouse suite that she shared with Jareth. It was no refuge.

Get another room. Go to the check-in desk, talk to the staff, pull out your credit card. Move through space, dammit. Left foot, right foot.

But she was too disoriented. She stumbled through the hotel lobby, out onto the street. She wandered down the Vegas Strip, dazed and blinking in the blazing sunshine.

She’d never thought that Jareth had MossTech on his radar. She knew that he liked money and did not mind the fact that her family had it. But forcing her to betray Aunt Elaine and her cousins?

When they first got involved, she’d liked that Jareth was rich. That had been very reassuring, since she’d been beating off would-be suitors who were sniffing after the MossTech billions since she was an adolescent. When she met Jareth, he’d been a driven TV studio executive, in a field light-years distant from biotechnology and agriculture. He barely noticed what her family’s company did, what it was worth. He’d been far more interested in how he could monetize Ronnie’s own talents. But it had all been an act.

She’d destroyed the only family she cared about, and for what? A chance to spite her father. Score a point. Like a spoiled, stupid child. Jareth was absolutely right about that much, and she was ashamed of herself.

She turned thirty at midnight. No stopping the clock. She’d made a horrible mistake. Jerked around like a puppet by anger and spite, kind of like someone else she knew. The apple didn’t fall far from the tree. Maybe that was what she had to look forward to. Her father’s life. Poisoned by bitterness and rage. Estranged from everyone, even his own child. The world despised him. What a prospect for her future.

But at least she wouldn’t be married to that lying, conniving bastard, Jareth.

Tears overtook her. Jareth hadn’t been perfect, and she’d been well aware that he was too domineering, but she’d thought she could manage it. Hah.

One of the big casino hotels loomed over her, blocking the Vegas sunshine, so she went inside, wandering through slot machines. She sat in the quietest bar she could find and ordered a lemon drop, huddling behind her hair as she sipped it.

“Excuse me,” said a deep, velvety voice. “May I join you?”

Ronnie froze for several seconds, her heart thudding madly, before she turned.

Yes. The face that went with that gorgeous voice. Mr. Mysterious. Wes Brody.

“It’s you,” she said.

His smoldering, dimpled smile flashed. “Yeah, last I checked.”

She studied him for a moment. “Are you following me?”

“I’m not tailing you from place to place like a maniac, if that’s what you mean,” he said. “I saw you walk in here, and I followed you inside. I don’t mean to be creepy. Or make you uncomfortable in any way.”

Ronnie was too numb to register discomfort, or creepiness. “It’s okay,” she said.

Brody studied her for a moment. “Are you all right?”

“No,” she said. “I’m wrecked.”

“Does this have to do with the guy I saw? The colossal butthead who whistles for you? Did you fight with him?”

“Big understatement,” she said. “We had a catastrophic difference of opinion.”

“I see. I know that this is none of my business, and that it’s a bad time to chat you up. But if you’d like to talk, I’m all ears.”

“Not smart,” she said. “I will not sparkle. In fact, I’ll probably snivel.”

“Warning duly noted, but your misery doesn’t scare me. What did that son of a bitch do to you? Want me to flatten him for you? I’m up for it.”

“Never mind him,” she said. “It’s a long, weird story.”

“If you tell it to me, will you be late to your own wedding?”

“No,” she said. “The wedding is off. Forever.”

His eyes lit up. “Damn, Dr. Moss. That’s the best news I’ve had in a long time.”

She couldn’t stop laughing. “Call me Ronnie. It’s terrible news. For me, anyway.”

“Then call me Wes, and why is it terrible news? I think it’s awesome. I could tell across a crowded room that guy was a massive jerk. You’re well rid of him.”

“Maybe so, but I had to get married today,” she admitted. “Or else screw up the lives and careers of the people I care about the most. And now it’s too late to fix it.” Her face dissolved. “And I did it out of spite. I can’t believe myself.”

Wes pulled a pack of tissues from his pocket. He tucked one in her hand and laid the rest of the pack on the bar. “Sounds like a hell of a story,” he said. “I’d love to hear it.”

Ronnie blew her nose, mortified. His eyes looked so warm. Sympathetic, fascinated. Not judging. “Really?” she said. “This story does not reflect well on me at all.”

“I’m as curious as hell,” he said. “May I sit?”

She nodded. Wes sat next to her, and signaled the bartender, pointing at her drink. “Two more,” he called out. He spun on the stool to face her. “So? Tell me everything.”

“It starts with my dad alienating everyone in my entire family,” she began.

It took a few rambling false starts, but Wes’s questions were intelligent, and the wheels were liberally greased by two more lemon drops. The story soon poured out of her.

“Anyhow,” she concluded. “That’s it. In a nutshell, I really love my aunt, and my cousins are like siblings to me. And I screwed them over and let my dad win.”

“Ouch,” Wes murmured. “Harsh. But I don’t get why you asked your aunt to include you in this mandate to begin with. What did you stand to gain?”

“Nothing,” Ronnie said bleakly. “Not a goddamn thing. I did it out of spite. I wanted it to be personal. I wanted him to know that when he had his prize snatched away from him, that I was the one who had done it.” She winced. “Ouch. Not my finest moment.”

“But besides that,” Wes mused. “Seems like a huge risk, just for a jab at Dad.”

“That’s the thing,” she wailed. “I didn’t think it was a risk! I thought I was safe! I thought Jareth and I were solid. He’d tried to get me to elope before, so I knew he was fine with a Vegas wedding. It never occurred to me that he’d crunch the numbers and decide to screw me over.” She paused. “Which makes me not only spiteful, but gullible, too.”

“We’ve all miscalculated a time or two when it comes to love,” Wes said.

“Yes, I know, but other people will pay the price for my miscalculation,” Ronnie said. “Which horrifies me. And there’s absolutely nothing I can do.”

“So you turn thirty on the stroke of midnight,” Wes mused. “Does this mandate stipulate that your marriage has to be specifically to the whistling butthead? Or would the conditions be met if you married someone else?”

The question threw her. “Ah…I suppose anyone would do. But I turn thirty in a few hours, Wes. It’s a little late to go husband hunting.”

Wes put his hand over hers. “I’ll marry you,” he said. “Where’s the chapel?”

End of Excerpt