Chapter 3 - Flying Back to Chicago: Playing the Ice King’s Desirable Bride
The Gulfstream G650 cut smoothly through the clouds at forty thousand feet.
Inside the soundproofed cabin, the atmosphere was thick enough to choke on.
I sat across from Graham at the wide mahogany worktable, dressed in fresh
designer clothes that his fixer had delivered to the Vegas suite at dawn. A
cream cashmere sweater, tailored trousers, and a diamond tennis bracelet that
felt like a set of golden handcuffs.
“Rule number one,” Graham said, sliding a thick manila folder across the table
toward me. “We present absolute unity. In public, Marcus will look for any crack
in the facade. You do not flinch when I touch you. You do not look surprised
when I hold your hand.”
I opened the folder. Inside were detailed dossiers on the Reed family, the
executive board members, and a completely fabricated timeline of our secret,
six-month whirlwind romance.
“According to page four,” I said, raising an eyebrow, “we fell in love during
the Tokyo transit summit last November over late-night ramen in Shinjuku.”
“You looked beautiful in the rain that night,” Graham murmured without looking
up from his tablet.
My heart skipped an embarrassing beat. “Graham, you were on conference calls the
entire time in Tokyo. We barely spoke outside of scheduling.”
He looked up, his gray eyes locking onto mine with an intensity that made the
cabin feel suddenly airless. “I noticed you, Avery. Just because I didn’t act on
it doesn’t mean I was blind.”
I swallowed hard, clearing my throat and looking back down at the papers. “Rule
number two?”
“We live together. The media will have photographers camped outside my Lake
Shore Drive penthouse within an hour of our landing. You will move into the
master suite.”
“Separate bedrooms,” I stated firmly.
“Of course,” Graham agreed, though his jaw tightened slightly. “My penthouse has
two wings. You will have full privacy. But the domestic staff must believe we
share the primary suite. Marcus has ears everywhere, including my building’s
maintenance team.”
“And rule number three?”
“Trust me,” Graham said, leaning forward, resting his forearms on the table. The
distance between us closed to mere inches. “Marcus is a cornered predator. He
will use every filthy trick in the book—scandal, blackmail, personal attacks
against your family, character assassination. If you ever feel threatened, if
anyone approaches you, you do not handle it alone. You come to me. Understand?”
I looked at the powerful lines of his face, the sharp cut of his jaw, and the
quiet ferocity in his eyes. For three years, I had viewed Graham Reed as an
unfeeling corporate machine. But sitting across from him now, wearing his ring,
I realized there was a fire inside him capable of burning the entire world down
to keep what was his.
“I understand,” I replied softly.
The intercom chimed with the pilot’s voice: “Mr. Reed, Ms. Reed, we’re beginning
our initial descent into Chicago O'Hare. Ground transportation and security are
waiting on the tarmac.”
May you like
Ms. Reed. Hearing the title spoken aloud sent a shiver racing across my skin.
The game had officially begun.
