The Organized Bride (Billionaire Marriage Brokers Book 2) (2 page)

Chapter 3

MaKayla stared at Pamela as if she’d spoken in Gaelic. She blinked several times before finally blurting out, “You want me to be a
wife
?”

“It’s not a swear word, darling.” Pamela folded her hands in front of her and rested them on the desk. “It’s a title of honor.”

MaKayla’s shoulders slumped. She’d had such high hopes for this position. There was no way she could become a wife. Marriage was the last thing she needed in her life. What she needed was an office, a reception area, and a business that could make enough money to pay rent. “I don’t understand. I thought you said I’d be working for you.”

“You will be, in a way.” Pamela stood up and walked slowly around the desk, talking as she closed the distance between them. MaKayla found herself scooting back in her chair. “I’m a marriage broker—a matchmaker, if you will, though I don’t like that term. I deal in short term business marriages.”

“Business marriages?” MaKayla was so confused. What the heck was a business marriage?

“Yes, darling. Successful marriages are based on what one partner can do for the other, like a business partnership. The marriages I broker are mutually beneficial. The husband’s and wife’s skill sets complement each other, and make for a more successful whole.

“In your case, you need a year to build your clientele, gain experience, and not worry about paying bills—am I right?”

MaKayla nodded warily.

“Gabe needs someone who can set up and run fundraisers and small dinners, plan meetings, and manage an expense account for several high-profile charities.”

MaKayla leaned forward. The work was right up her alley. And if they were high-profile charities, she’d be able to make enough contacts that she’d be running at a full sprint when she finally opened her business. Ideas started to tumble around. Realizing she was missing Pamela’s instructions, she straightened up and came back to their conversation.

“As a married couple, you would live together, so you won’t have to pay rent, utilities, or any other bills. All our brides are provided with pin money, their own bedroom—or suite, as the case may be—transportation, and grooming essentials. ”

MaKayla grabbed the sides of her chair. This meeting was a merry-go-round set to the highest speed, and she struggled to keep up. Really, a person shouldn’t be sideswiped with
marriage
. “Wait—pin money?”

“It’s an old fashioned phrase.” Pamela tapped her finger on her chin. “We should really change it to expense account, except that the money is yours whether you spend it or not, like a paycheck.”

MaKayla looked down at her white knuckles. She wanted to ask how much money they were talking about, but this was sort of a job interview and you weren’t supposed to talk salary at the first interview, so she held back her curiosity. Instead, she went for the other delicate subject, which made heat creep up her neck. “You said that I’d have my own room. Does that mean I don’t have to, that we won’t, um ...”

“I’m not that kind of broker, darling.”

Prying her fingers away from the chair, MaKayla shook them out and took a moment to think things over. She told herself she didn’t have to rush into this. There was no axe waiting to fall. She just had to think it through—logically.

Staying at the hotel was an option. Not an attractive option, nor was it cohesive to her long-term plan. However, it meant a steady paycheck. That was good.

Becoming a bride was also an option. A scary, insane, and strangely attractive option. The wife part wasn’t all that attractive, but the rent-free living, spending cash, and transportation were much better benefits than she got from the hotel, which amounted to forty percent off a room and leftovers from the events.

The new responsibilities were also attractive. From the sound of things, it would be an amazing experience. At the end of the year, she’d have a beefy resume and enough confidence to embark on her life’s adventure. Not that she could use “wife” as a job title. She’d have to work that over. Maybe she could use an acronym. Once she was in the job, she’d be able to put a better title to it than
wife
.

The reasons to accept Pamela’s offer piled up. The main reason to reject the offer was fear—fear of the unknown and of a strange situation. Fear of marriage. Fear of marrying a man she’d never met. MaKayla had never let fear stop her before. She was too logical. Gripping the seat, she slammed the mental doors on fear, she asked, “Okay, it sounds great. W-what’s the catch?”

Laughing, Pamela made her way back to her chair. “There’s no catch, but there is a code of conduct. If you’re ready to sign on, I’ll send you to Harrison’s office to get started. We can sign the prenup toward the end of this week, and you can be married Monday morning.”

Married Monday morning.

That was … fast.

When her parents had decided to live a beach comber’s lifestyle, they didn’t hesitate. They went for it. They were happy, and MaKayla could be too. A joyful life wasn’t a matter of wanting what you couldn’t have; it was about creating joy in the moment. What better time to get started on the journey than right now?

MaKayla pulled out her pad and tapped the calendar app. “I’ll have to give my two weeks to the hotel. Can we put this off until then?”

“I’m afraid Gabe is in need of help a bit sooner than that. However, you may be able to ease into the charity work and ease out of the hotel the same week.” Pamela consulted a calendar on her computer screen. “How about you give your notice today, and then we schedule the wedding for a week from tomorrow? That would only give you a week of overlap.”

“I think I can make that work.” A solid week at the hotel would give her a chance to wrap things up and for her boss to find a replacement. If his comments about her being replaceable were correct, then it shouldn’t take him more than a couple of days. She could train her replacement and work for Gabe the second week, doing half-days at both jobs. No one said transition would be easy, but she could make do for a week.

“We like to have the bride and groom sign the prenup together.” Pamela clicked a couple icons, and a new calendar popped up alongside the first one. “Gabe is available Thursday morning or Friday afternoon.”

“Sorry. Friday I have a junior prom to prep for, and Thursday there’s a huge awards ceremony that requires a beach scene for photographs. I’m booked. How about tomorrow? I could do early morning.”

“Nope.”

“Tuesday morning?”

“Okay, we’re going to have to change things up a bit. I will have Gabe come sign Friday and you can sign Monday.”

“Sounds good.” She added the appointment to her calendar and then stood to follow Pamela down the hall to meet Harrison.

Harrison was a good ol’ boy who walked her through the code of conduct with patience. He had that sexy middle-aged thing going for him, where the wrinkles around his eyes only deepened his male magnetism. His boyish smile served him well. MaKayla was soon at ease enough to ask questions. “Does he have to sign one of these too?”

“Everyone signs one.”

“What happens if one of us breaks the code?” MaKayla didn’t think she’d have a problem, but she wondered what would happen if Gabe turned out to be a drunk or threatened her physically.

“Once the incident is reported, you can expedite an annulment. If he’s the one who breaks the code, you’ll receive the rest of your pin money in one lump sum and he’ll be dropped as a client. If you break the code, you waive your right to any pin money, transportation, or housing benefits previously provided by your husband. Depending on the severity of the problem, you could also be served with a restraining order.”

“Yikes.”

“Yeah—don’t break the code.”

“Got it.”

As they finished up, MaKayla asked, “Can I get a copy of the prenup?”

“Sure.” Harrison pressed an intercom button and asked the receptionist to have a copy waiting at the front desk when MaKayla was ready to leave.

“I thought I
was
ready to leave.”

“Oh no, you still need to see Trish and Kimberley.”

“What for?”

“Trish is our style consultant, and she’ll kill me if I let you leave without an initial look-see. Kimberley handles the money end of things; she can set up your spending account. We’ll start with Kimberley.”

Kimberley was a bit on the hyper side, flitting here and there and attaching labels to files with incredible speed. She didn’t actually get up from her chair. The ergonomically correct seat had wheels and Kimberley put racing stripes across the floor. If the two-coffee stained mugs on the table had much to say about it, MaKayla figured Kimberley was running on a late-afternoon high that would have her crashing hard around seven.

MaKayla had made that mistake when she started working for the hotel: as her nights got later and later, she downed more coffee and her sleep cycles became all messed up. It took almost two weeks to get everything out of her system and for the headaches to stop, but it was worth it.

Kimberley handed MaKayla two folders, gave her a polite smile, and sent her off to meet Trish.

Trish squealed like a long-lost sorority sister when she walked into the room. “I love new brides.” She snatched one of the folders from MaKayla's hands and flipped it open. “What’s your wardrobe like?”

MaKayla looked down at her fitted tan slacks and oversized sweater. “Like this for day, and I have several dark suits for evening events.”

“Not bad. We’ll get you a few more so you have a selection. And you’ll need a wedding dress.”

MaKayla felt like someone had thrown a whole bag of baseballs at her chest. She clutched the folder as the room spun around her. She’d somehow ended up on the merry-go-round again.

“Hey.” Trish gripped her elbow and led her over to a yellow couch. “You don’t look so good. Here, sit.” Trish ran out and came back a minute later with a bottle of water. “What’s the matter?” she asked quietly.

MaKayla turned her body, so she faced Trish. “I’m getting married.”

Trish nodded. “Yep.”

“In a week.”

“Yep.” She kept nodding.

“I don’t even know what he looks like.”

“Nope.” Setting the file on the coffee table, Trish smiled. “Do you want to?”

“Is that allowed?”

“Sure! This isn’t the dark ages.” Trish pulled her laptop over and clicked open a file. In the top left corner was a photo, and MaKayla leaned in for a better look. “Hang on there, eager beaver,” said Trish. She double-clicked on the photo, and the gorgeous face of MaKayla’s fiancé filled the screen.

“Dang.” MaKayla pulled the laptop closer.

“I know, right?”

Gabe’s blonde hair was a bit on the shaggy side, not unkempt, but tousled. He had a square jaw and a small dimple on his right cheek, but it was his blue eyes that caught MaKayla in a web and held her there. “Dang,” she said again. Gabe was Polished with a capital P. Having worked with corporate types on a regular basis, MaKayla categorized Gabe as professional, smart, and strategic. He had no need to hire a matchmaker—er, broker, as Pamela liked to call herself—in order to find a traditional wife. So he must have come to BMB with an agenda. Perhaps putting on a good front for the public and avoiding scandal, and of course the charity donations were huge tax write-offs. The wedding must fit nicely into his financial and career goals. With her new assessment of Gabe, MaKayla decided as their personalities didn’t clash, working alongside Gabe could be enjoyable.

Trish laughed and pulled the computer back. “Feeling a little better about things, are we?”

MaKayla sighed with relief. “Little bit, yep.”

“Okay, so he’s a hottie. Let’s talk wedding day.” She pulled up a checklist. “We’ll have the wedding here. It’s not really a ceremony, as it’s just a justice of the peace and a couple of witnesses. The whole thing takes like fifteen minutes, and then you’ll be out the door.”

An office wedding? Were they kidding? MaKayla grimaced. “The irony.”

Trish’s forehead wrinkled. “What?”

“I’m an event planner.” She rolled her hand through the air, waiting for Trish to catch on. When she didn’t, MaKayla said, “A wedding is the biggest event in a woman’s life. I’m an event planner. There should be flowers and linens, and invitations, and save-the-date cards, a photographer, a limo, a pastor, and cake.”
Seriously, a five-tiered, almond chocolate cake with royal icing and Corneille lace.
“Not business associates and some justice of the peace.” She shook out her fingers. “I wanted to plan my wedding.”

Placing a reassuring hand on her arm, Trish said, “That’s not what we do here. Well, not usually; there have been a few elaborate ceremonies when the situation calls for it. But not for this account. I’m sorry, but this isn’t your chance to plan things out.”

MaKayla bit the inside of her cheek.

“Hey, this is temporary. You’ll get your chance to plan the big date.”

Nodding, MaKayla flipped off the nostalgic part of her brain that yearned for the wedding she’d dreamed about since she was nine years old, and flipped on the occupation part of her brain that helped her see this as a new job—not a wedding.