Reborn Heiress: Escaping My Contract Marriage with the Cold CEO
Chapter 40: Otter Poop

Chapter 40: Otter Poop

VANESSA BELMONT

"You think we can skip our engagement party and stay here all night?" asked Nathan, rubbing my shoulder.

"You mean to sleep?"

He grinned. "No sleeping." He kissed me. "Hmm?" He went to kiss me again and I put two fingers to his lips.

"We have to go back. If we don’t, our families will lose face and that’s like cutting off a limb for them."

"What about after the engagement party?"

Well, that depended entirely on what Fiona did to make sure Nathan didn’t spend the night with me. But I had claimed him. I might as well have put a stamp on him. I looked at the strawberry mark on his neck. Heh. I put an actual stamp on him. One that Fiona would see and hate.

I have to admit it made my vengeful little heart happy to know how infuriated she’d be after seeing that love bruise.

"Vanessa?"

"Let’s sleep here tonight," I said. "Or not sleep."

"Maybe we can..."

"No. I have a to-do list."

Nathan blinked. "What kind of to-do list?"

"First action item," I said. "Carver Haynes was engaged to a woman named Claire. I need you to find her and make sure she’s at the auction on Friday."

"Carver Haynes? That guy from college?"

"Yes. He liked me, but I liked you."

Nathan sat up. He studied me for a long moment, then he nodded. "Okay. Will do."

"Second action item. I need you to find out about a man named Gregory Savage. He was saved from drowning in Prague five years ago. I need you to find out who saved him and then send Mr. Savage the information."

"This is a very weird to-do list," said Nathan. "But consider it done. What else?"

"Third action item. I need you to use your money and power to get someone from the Civil Registration Bureau here right now so we can get the certificate. But no one can know. Especially not Fiona."

"We don’t have to keep it a secret," said Nathan. "We’re actually supposed to get married."

"Trust me on this. Please." Making love to Nathan and marrying him on the spot was my two-pronged approach to binding him to me. I wanted him to feel loyal, to feel legally responsible for me and our relationship. It would be a good shield against Fiona’s machinations.

Nate took my hand and squeezed. "I will listen to you," he said.

"Then you make arrangements. I’ll get dressed and fix my make-up."

"What if you let me mess it up one more time?" he asked, pinning me to the bed. He slid on top of me, raising my arms above my head and clasping both of my hands with one of his. "May I?"

I felt an electric pull in my belly as he gazed at me. I nodded. "You may."

***|***|***|***|***

ANNABETH SAINT

I gripped the ballroom balcony’s stone railing and stared at the obsidian night. The lights shining from the windows of the Echelon Hotel barely pierced the cimmerian darkness.

Alone on the balcony, hoping this shadow-filled world would swallow my whole, I looked down, down, down. Here was a ready-made abyss I could fall into...

"Are you going to jump?"

Startled by the deep male voice, I stepped back from the railing and looked at the tall, well-dressed man standing nearby. He had short, styled brown hair and dark, dark eyes. The energy of this man was intense. So much so that I felt his presence like a gravitational pull. He was a planet. I was an insignificant moon circling him.

He lifted his eyebrows and nodded toward the churning ocean. "Hmm?"

"I haven’t decided," I answered. I wrapped my arms around myself and shivered. I’d been out in the cold wind too long. "But I have a Plan B, which is to stand here and freeze to death."

"Easy to do in your current get-up. That dress you’re wearing is ridiculous."

I put my hand against her chest in mock horror. "How dare you, sir. This ugly frock was picked especially by my stepmother. She wants me to stand out at the party."

"Mission accomplished. You look like a startled chicken."

I grinned. "Thank you. That was exactly the look I was going for."

The corner of his mouth lifted just enough to suggest a smile. With his formidable gaze pinned on me, he walked forward until he was mere inches away. He took a drag off his long black cigarette. He exhaled upward, and I watched the smoke drift away like forgotten wishes.

I shook the floofy edge of the knee-length orange monstrosity. Badly dyed feathers fluttered onto the balcony. "You think I could turn this dress into wings and fly out of here?"

"Chickens can’t fly." He studied my face for a long moment. He took a final drag off his cigarette and then flicked it over the railing. "Exit through the front door. Then burn your circus dress so no one else loses their eyesight staring at it."

I laughed, and felt the knot of anxiety in my chest loosen. It was odd to feel relief, even comfort, in the presence of this intimidating man.

I turned back to the stranger, lowering my voice. "I have to go now."

"See you around, Cinderella."

***|***|***|***|***

GRACE WITHERSTONE

I sat alone at my assigned table in the back of the Echelon Hotel’s ballroom—loser territory, clearly marked by the distance from the champagne tower and the distinct lack of Belmonts or Jangs within a twenty-foot radius.

Around me, society’s finest picked at their pistachio-crusted salmon (decent, but not pizza), roasted oysters (guess what? not pizza), and foie gras (absolutely not pizza). My own plate featured something spiky and green that tasted like lawn clippings marinated in diesel.

I stabbed at it with my fork. Is this a vegetable or a biohazard?

A deep voice cut through my internal debate. "Is this seat taken?"

I looked up.

Oh.

Tall. Impeccably tailored suit. Dark hair styled just enough to look expensive, not enough to look like he’d tried. He was playboy handsome--just like Ding Yu Xi and Wang He Di.

I waved a hand around. "Please, choose any chair you like. Fair warning: none of them are comfortable."

"Oh? Did you test them all?"

"Obviously." I patted the seat beside me. "Sit before you fall down. You look exhausted."

He blinked, then lowered himself into the chair with the controlled grace of a man who’d spent a lifetime pretending he wasn’t tired. "I flew in from abroad this morning, spent the day in meetings, and came straight here." He snapped his napkin onto his lap. "No one else noticed."

I nudged his water glass toward him. "Hydrate. Then we’ll get you real food."

One dark eyebrow lifted. "Bossy, aren’t you?"

"Only when I’m right. Drink."

To my surprise, he obeyed, draining half the glass in one go. His attention flicked to the green monstrosity on my plate. "What is that?"

"Best guess? Otter spraint."

A beat of silence.

"Otter poop," I clarified. "Chunky. Green. Suspiciously similar."

He laughed—a rough, unexpected sound that sent a jolt straight to my stomach. Dimples. Of course he had dimples. The universe was a cruel, unfair place.

"I’ll skip that particular delicacy," he said, still grinning.

"Smart man." I eyed his suit—custom, obviously—the Patek Philippe on his wrist, the jade ring on his thumb. Every inch of him screamed old money, the kind that didn’t just buy yachts but entire coastlines. "You don’t strike me as a back-of-the-ballroom kind of guy."

"Loser seating, you mean?"

"Precisely." I gestured to the high-status vortex near the entrance. "See the Belmonts and Jangs holding court? The closer you are to them, the more important you are. We’re in the exile zone."

"I had no idea."

"First time?" I offered a regal nod. "As the reigning queen of Loserdom, I welcome thee."

His mouth quirked. "Thank you, Your Majesty."

Danger, Grace. Danger! This was flirting. This was bad. Because the second he realized I was the fake daughter of the Witherstones—thanks to a malicious switch in the hospital nursery twenty-three years ago—that dimpled smile would vanish faster than my inheritance prospects.

His gaze dropped to my dress. Vintage pink silk, spaghetti straps, clinging in all the wrong places.

"I think it’s Carrie’s prom dress," I said, plucking at the fabric. "Pre-pig’s blood, obviously. But the night’s young." Leaning in, I stage-whispered, "Rumor is the heiresses are going to brawl over Marcus Lu."

He choked on his water.

"You okay?" I thrust my napkin at him. He waved me off, dabbing at his mouth with his own.

"Have you ever met Marcus Lu?" he asked, voice rough.

"Nope. Ghost of high society, that one. Been abroad for years. No photos, no interviews. Total mystery." I tilted my head. "You think he’ll show up at the Jang-Belmont engagement party?"

"Grace!"

Oliver King grabbed me by the shoulders and scared the crap out of me. "Have you seen Vanessa and Nathan?"

"No." I pointed toward a tall, skinny kid. "But there’s Kevin Jang. Maybe he knows where Nathan is."

"Shit. It’s my mother. If she asks, you never saw me." Ollie took off toward the front of the room, presumably to escape Mrs. King. Everyone knew Ollie’s mom was on a husband hunt for her only child. Ollie had no chance. My bet was that he would be married by the end of the year.

"I didn’t get your name," said my dining companion.

"Grace Witherstone. Yes, that Grace Witherstone. The recently discovered fake daughter of the Witherstones. Now you know why I’m in the losers’ section." I reached over and shook his hand. "And you are?"

He smiled. "My name is Marcus Lu."

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