The Billion Dollar Marriage

Alison’s visa expired in ninety two days.

Not that she was counting. Except she was, obsessively, the number burning in her mind every morning when she woke up and every night when she couldn’t sleep. Ninety two days until she got on a plane back to a country that had nothing left for her. No family, no job prospects, no life.

She smoothed down her pencil skirt and knocked twice on Eric Harrison’s office door. “Come in.”

His voice was clipped, distracted. She pushed open the door and found him exactly where she expected him, behind that massive desk, eyes locked on his laptop screen. He didn’t look up.

“Your ten o’clock is here, Mr. Harrison. The contracts from the Singapore deal are ready for your signature, and your mother called. Twice.”

That got his attention. His eyes flicked up to hers, sharp and blue and currently annoyed.

“What did she want?”

“She didn’t say. Just that it was urgent.” Alison kept her voice neutral, professional. Four years as his secretary had taught her exactly how to navigate Eric Harrison’s moods.

He muttered something under his breath that sounded like a curse. “Tell her I’ll call her back.” “I did. She said she’d call again in an hour whether you called back or not.”

His jaw tightened. Alison knew that look. Victoria Harrison didn’t take no for an answer, which meant Eric’s afternoon was about to get complicated.

“Fine. Anything else?” Ninety two days.

The words almost slipped out. She caught them just in time, swallowed them down with the panic that had been living in her chest for weeks.

“No, Mr. Harrison. That’s all.”

He was already looking back at his screen, dismissing her. She turned to leave. “Alison.”

She stopped, hand on the door. He never used her first name at work. Never. “Yes?”

“Close the door.”

Her stomach dropped. That tone, the one that said he’d noticed something and wasn’t going to let it go. She closed the door quietly and turned back to face him.

He was watching her now, really watching her, with that intense focus he usually reserved for hostile takeovers and bad quarterly reports.

“Sit down.”

“Mr. Harrison, your ten o’clock—” “Can wait. Sit.”

She sat, spine straight, hands folded in her lap. Professional. Composed. Even though her heart was hammering against her ribs.

Eric leaned back in his chair, still studying her. The silence stretched between them, uncomfortable and heavy. He was good at this, at waiting people out until they filled the quiet with confessions they hadn’t meant to make.

She’d seen him do it in negotiations. She wouldn’t break. “You’ve been distracted,” he said finally.

“I haven’t—”

“You scheduled my meeting with the Tokyo investors for the same time as the board presentation. You’ve never double booked me. Not once in four years.”

Her chest tightened. She’d caught that mistake, fixed it before anyone noticed. Or so she’d thought.

“I corrected it immediately. It didn’t affect—”

“Yesterday you brought me tea instead of coffee.” His voice was calm, matter of fact, which somehow made it worse. “You know I only drink tea after seven pm. It was two in the afternoon.”

Heat crept up her neck. “I apologize, Mr. Harrison. It won’t happen again.”

“This morning you printed the Anderson contract twice and left both copies on my desk. Last week you forgot to order lunch for the partnership meeting.” He ticked off each mistake on his fingers like evidence in a trial. “Small things. Things no one else would notice. But I notice.”

Of course he did. Eric Harrison noticed everything.

“You’re right,” she said quietly. “I’ve been making mistakes. I’ll do better.”

“That’s not what I’m asking.” He stood up, walked around the desk, and leaned against it, arms crossed. Closer now, close enough that she had to tilt her head back to look at him. “I’m asking what’s wrong.”

“Nothing’s wrong.”

“Don’t lie to me, Alison.” His voice dropped lower. “You’re the most competent person I know. You run my life more efficiently than I do. Something is wrong and it’s affecting your work. So tell me what it is.”

She should deflect. Should give him some excuse about being tired or stressed or anything other than the truth. But she was so tired of carrying this alone, of waking up every morning with that countdown in her head, of pretending everything was fine when her entire world was collapsing in ninety two days.

Ninety one now. It was past midnight when she’d finally fallen asleep. “My visa,” she heard herself say. “It expires in three months.”

His expression didn’t change. “Renew it.”

“I can’t.” The words came out sharper than she meant them to. “I’ve tried everything. My work visa was tied to my previous employer and when I switched to working for you, the transfer didn’t go through properly. There was an issue with the paperwork, and by the time we realized it, it was too late to fix. My lawyer says I’m out of options.”

“Get a new lawyer.”

“I’ve consulted with four different immigration attorneys, Mr. Harrison. They all said the same thing.” She could hear the strain in her own voice, the edge of panic she’d been holding back for weeks. “Unless I can find an employer willing to sponsor a new visa, which takes months I don’t have, or unless I qualify for a different visa category, which I don’t, I have to leave.”

He was quiet for a long moment, his eyes still fixed on her face. “Where would you go?”

“Back to Shanghai. My parents are both dead, I have no family there, but that’s where I’m from originally so that’s where they’ll send me.”

“And you don’t want to go back.”

It wasn’t a question but she answered anyway. “No. I don’t.”

Everything she’d built was here. Her apartment, small as it was. Her life. Her job. The thought of starting over somewhere else, somewhere that hadn’t been home in over a decade, made her feel hollow.

“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

“Because it’s my problem, not yours.” She met his eyes. “You hired me to manage your schedule and run your office, not to burden you with my personal issues.”

“You think I want to lose the best secretary I’ve ever had over a visa problem?”

“I think you have more important things to worry about than my immigration status.”

His jaw tightened again, that tell he had when he was frustrated and trying not to show it. He pushed off the desk, paced to the window, hands in his pockets. From here she could see the tension in his shoulders, the rigid line of his spine.

“There has to be something,” he said, more to himself than to her. “A work around, a loophole—”

“There isn’t. Believe me, I’ve looked.”

He turned back to face her. “What about marriage?” Her brain stuttered to a halt. “I’m sorry, what?”

“Marriage to a citizen. That would solve the visa problem.”

“I’m not—” She stopped, took a breath. “I’m not in a relationship, Mr. Harrison. And I’m not going to marry some stranger just to stay in the country.”

“What if it wasn’t a stranger?”

The air in the room changed. Everything went very still. “What are you saying?”

He walked back toward her, slow and deliberate, and she had the strangest urge to stand up, to put more distance between them. But she stayed frozen in her chair, watching him approach.

“I’m saying I have a problem and you have a problem, and maybe we can solve both.” “I don’t understand.”

“My grandfather died six months ago.”

She knew that. She’d sent flowers to the funeral on Eric’s behalf, had cleared his schedule for a week so he could handle the estate.

“His will had conditions. Specifically, I need to be married by my thirty third birthday or control of the company goes to my uncle.” His mouth twisted. “My birthday is in six months.”

Six months. Three months after her visa expired.

“Your mother has been calling about this,” Alison said slowly, pieces clicking into place. “She wants you to marry Rebecca Anderson.”

Rebecca Anderson, daughter of the Anderson Industries empire, who’d been in and out of Eric’s life since childhood. Beautiful, elegant, born into the same world of wealth and expectations.

“My mother wants a lot of things.” His voice was dry. “What I want is to keep the company my grandfather built. And I need a wife to do it.”

“So marry Rebecca.”

“I don’t want to marry Rebecca.” He said it flatly, no room for argument. “I don’t want to marry anyone. But I need to be married, and you need to stay in the country. It’s a practical solution.”

Alison stood up then, needing to move, needing to process what he was suggesting. “You want us to get married. For a visa and an inheritance.”

“Yes.”

“That’s insane.”

“Is it?” He tilted his head slightly. “People get married for worse reasons. At least we’d both get something out of it.”

“Marriage isn’t a business transaction.”

“This one would be.” He moved closer, and she could smell his cologne, something expensive and understated. “Think about it, Alison. A simple contract. You get to stay, I get my inheritance. We maintain appearances for however long necessary, then part ways cleanly when it’s no longer needed.”

“And if we get caught? Immigration fraud is a federal crime.”

“We won’t get caught. It’ll be a real marriage, legally binding. We just won’t tell anyone the reasoning behind it.”

Her head was spinning. This was crazy. This was Eric Harrison, her boss, suggesting they get married like it was nothing more complicated than signing off on a merger.

“I need time to think about this.”

“You have three months,” he said. “I have six. We’re both running out of time.”

She looked at him, really looked at him. His face was serious, no trace of humor or manipulation. He meant this. He actually meant this.

“I’ll think about it,” she said finally.

“That’s all I’m asking.” He glanced at his watch. “Your ten o’clock is probably getting impatient. Send them in.”

Just like that, back to business. Like he hadn’t just proposed a fake marriage in the middle of a Tuesday morning.

Alison walked to the door on unsteady legs. Her hand was on the handle when he spoke again. “Alison.”

She looked back.

“Whatever you decide, your job is safe. I meant what I said. I don’t want to lose you.” She nodded, not trusting herself to speak, and left his office.

Ninety one days until her visa expired.