The Professional Bride: Billionaire Marriage Brokers Book Three by Lucy McConnell Page A
Authors: Lucy McConnell
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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
***
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
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