CHAPTER ONE

Savage

“Let me in, lass. I need to ask you something.”

She sighed. “Fine. I was about to take a coffee break anyway. Follow me.”

We walked around the little house until we reached a converted garage, complete with a bakery truck with a logo splashed across the side that read BSB Bakery.

The delicious scent of baked goods was stronger over here, and my stomach growled.

“How do you stand it?”

“Stand what?”

“Working in these conditions? I’d eat it all and never sell a single thing.”

She shrugged. “I like money.”

“Fair.”

Music blared from inside the garage-turned-kitchen, and I caught sight of Scarlett working with a piping bag, her brow furrowed in concentration as she decorated a three-tiered cake.

“This is where you bake everything? And you sell out of that little truck?” I asked, disbelief coloring my words.

“For now, yeah. We’re leasing a space downtown, but our entire kitchen needs to be gutted and redone.”

“Sounds expensive.”

She took a tight breath, that tension returning to her shoulders and around her eyes. “It is.” Then she leaned in through the doorway and called, “Scar! I’m taking a coffee break.”

Her sister looked up from what she was doing long enough to give me a double take and then offered a thumbs up before going back to work.

“Come on. Coffee’s in the house.”

We went inside through a door around the back and came right into the cozy kitchen. Immediate warmth hit me. “Thank fuck. Heat.

“You’re a wuss.”

“You’re a yeti. You’re not even wearing a coat.”

She shrugged, then headed for the coffee shop on the counter, blessedly full, and grabbed two mugs. “Cream? Sugar?”

“Just a bit of cream.”

After getting us our coffees, she motioned to the kitchen table, and we sat facing each other.

“So what in the world brings the bad boy of Seattle hockey to my doorstep at seven in the morning?”

“I need you to marry me.”

She choked on her coffee, spitting it all over the table. “I’m sorry, say that again?”

“You heard me. I need you to marry me. Today.”

“Why would I do that? I don’t even like you.”

That stung, but I’d earned it. “Oh, come on, Tink. You like me at least a little. You’ve let me put my tongue—”

“Stop right there. That was a mistake I made. I might like your tongue, but the man attached to it leaves a lot to be desired.”

“What if I offered to pay for your new kitchen in exchange for your hand in marriage?”

“What is this, the Middle Ages? No.”

“Just in the name. We don’t have to... you know.”

“No, Taylor, I don’t know. What in God’s name could be so bad that you’d need a wife to get out of it?”

This was it. The moment of truth. I took a deep breath and raked a hand through my hair as I pulled together the words I wanted to say.

“Look, this app thing is getting out of control. They want me to be on some reality show next and sign a five-year endorsement deal.”

“Isn’t that just money in your pocket?”

“No. I mean... it is, but it’s also me being forced to use this bonkers app, date women I don’t like, then post about it, and, you know, sell my soul for profit.”

“Aw, you poor baby. You’re famous and being used by the big bad corporations for their financial gain. Must be hard.”

“I’m serious, Becca. I’ll pay for a state-of-the-art kitchen. I’ll take care of you.”

She sat back and crossed her arms over her chest. “I don’t need you to take care of me.”

“I know that. I just... I need help, and this is the only way I can get out of this bloody contract.”

“How long?”

“What?”

“How long do we have to be married?”

“A year, just to be safe.”

Her brows shot into her hairline. “An entire year? Are you crazy?”

“And we have to live together.”

“What? You said in name only. I can’t move off the island. I need to be close to the bakery. To Scarlett.”

I’d already thought of this. I’d thought of everything. “I’ll buy a house nearby. We can live there.”

“Why do we have to live together?”

“The contract with Cupid Stipulates the agreement is void if I’m married and in a committed, co-habitant relationship.”

She bit her lower lip and trained her gaze on the coffee mug in front of her.

“You’ll redo the kitchen exactly how we want it? No questions asked?”

“Aye.”

“I got my room?”

“Aye.” My chest tightened in anticipation as she wawar warmrwarmedea.

“One year living with you. Do I have to pretend to love you?”

“Only when we attend public functions. And we’ll need to post on social media now and then.”

“But other than that, can I go about my life?”

“Except dating. I can’t have my wife dating other men.”

“And you won’t see other women.” She said it like a statement, not a question.

“Aye, you’ll be my moon and stars, lass.”

“I don’t see how we’re going to do this today. We need a license, an officiant.”

I placed the envelope on the table. “Taken care of.”

She opened the flap and pulled out the marriage license I’d applied for, both of our names already written down. “Are you serious? You knew I’d say yes?”

“I hoped so. You’re a smart woman, business-minded, and even though you say you hate me, you don’t really.”

“I do.”

“Look, you already know your lines.”

She rolled her eyes. “Not helping your case, Taylor.”

“Fine, hate me. But I need you to marry me tonight before the auction, love me or hate me.”

“I suppose you’ve already booked an appointment at city hall too?”

I smirked. “Aye. And I’ve got a suit in my car.”

She took a heavy breath, then let it out in a rush. “What time is the appointment?”