Page 1 of Fair Trade

Prologue

What. Have. I. Done?

I take a deep breath and try to fool myself into believing that it’s normal to hear my heart beating out of my chest.

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

I punctuate each word by slapping my hands against the marble countertop of the immaculate half bathroom I’m currently hiding in.

Like a coward.

Stalling seems to be the only play left for me. So I do whatever I can to keep myself distracted from what’s waiting for me behind the locked door.

The steady sounds of a growing crowd that have kept my racing heart company have come to a halt, and suddenly, all I can hear ishim.

Shit, shit, shit.

I’m running out of time to come up with an escape plan. And honestly, it’s futile, since there is no running from what I’ve done.

My ambition has blitzed my sense of reason, because surely there was another way out of this predicament without having to take such drastic measures.

His voice booms louder, yet my mind still struggles to comprehend how I got here.

Here, as in, hiding in a billionaire’s bathroom atmywedding reception.

Facing the inevitable, I finally allow myself to look into the mirror that’s been taunting me since the hair and makeup glam squad released me from their prickly fingers.

But instead of a blushing bride, I’m met with the reflection of a woman who is clearly unhinged.

Certifiable.

In need of the nearest padded room.

Because no woman in her right mind would sign a marriage certificate, lawfully binding herself to a man she can barely stand being in the same room with.

I mean, sure. I had my reasons for signing on the dotted line. But as I stare at my fitted white pantsuit, because like hell was I wearing an actual wedding dress to this sham, I can’t seem to figure out how I ended up married to the man who has been the bane of my existence for the past six months.

A man who has managed to get under my skin and take up residence in my mind. Specifically, the murderous part of my brain that wonders if twenty-five-to-life is really worth it.

The man who is the current owner of the New York Monarchs. The team I manage. Which technically makes him my boss.

Donned “hottest Black billionaire” by any magazine that has a decent spot on New York newsstands.

And last, my friend’s older brother, who must have been adopted, because there is no way that our sweet Daisy and that man share DNA.

The egocentric, conceited, and—it pains me to say—devastatingly handsome Nick Stonehaven.

As if my thoughts summoned him, I hear two hard knocks and realize that my spiral session has officially come to an end. I unlock the door and brace myself for his arrogant smile. Instead, I am taken aback by the white tuxedo jacket perfectly tailored to his broad shoulders and muscular biceps. The look is completed with a black dress shirt with pearly buttons in the same color. As well as his coordinating black pants and shiny shoes.

When our gazes lock, I am momentarily stunned to be met with warm eyes. They search mine before doing a quick sweep of my look, from head to toe. But clearly, I must have been imagining it, because that smug smile that I’ve become so acquainted with makes a swift return.

With more confidence than any one human should ever hope to possess, he leans in and kisses my cheek.

There’s no one watching us, and the deal clearly states that we only need to be affectionate in public. I move to lean back and remind him of this fact when he gently grabs my hand and threads our fingers together.

His touch brings back a flurry of memories. To a brief time when things were much simpler. When I was just a woman at a bar, and he was meant to be forever a stranger. A fond memory at most.

He must be a mind reader, as well as my personal shit disturber, because he simply smiles as he leans in and whispers in my ear. “C’mon now. It’s showtime,wife.”