Cole

Oh, sweet Jesus.

The ache in my head rouses me from my very peaceful slumber: that and the distinct smell of coconut and passionfruit. I shift to roll onto my side and frown when I feel a heaviness on my chest. I force my eyes open and wince from the sheer brightness of the sun beaming on my face. I glance down at the head of silky brown hair and get another waft of the coconut, passionfruit concoction. It’s her. I shift my head to the side and study the face of the girl currently sprawled across my chest. Not bad. I’ve woken up with worse. Her lips soft and pink, long dark lashes, perfectly shaped eyebrows.

What the hell happened last night? I can’t remember a damn thing. Who is this girl? I peel her arm away from my chest gently, detangle our legs, and she moans as I roll her off me, and she snuggles into the pillow with a sigh. I let my eyes wander over her naked body, half wrapped in the sheets while she’s sprawled out on her front, her long dark hair splayed out on the pillow. I take a closer look at her face and frown. Nope, don’t remember a fucking thing. Complete blackout. I look around the room. Our clothes littered haphazardly on the marble floor. Where the fuck are we? I pull my boxers on and walk over to the window. Why does the view look so familiar? Wait. Am I in fucking Vegas? I rub my hands over my face and look at the scenery ahead once again. Oh yeah, I'm in Vegas all right. I pick up my jeans off the floor and stuff my hands in the pockets hoping I’ll find some clue of what the hell went down. I pull out a piece of paper from my back pocket along with my passport and unfold it. It’s damp— come to think of it, so are my jeans.

‘Marriage Certificate.’

I stare at the words blankly for a long moment. No fucking way. I did not go and get married to a random girl. I read the rest of the document and curse. Oh fuck. ‘Marriage of Tristan Cole Hoult and Shayla Hart.’

If the certificate wasn’t enough proof, I had a gold wedding band on my finger. I lean closer and look at the girl in the bed, and she’s also wearing a diamond ring on her finger. We got married. We flew to Vegas and got married.

“Fuck.” I find my phone on the table by the bed and walk out of the room. I have to call my lawyer. I’m hoping— no praying this marriage isn't legal.

“Mr Hoult?” Franc—my lawyer's sleepy voice came from the other end. Of course, the time difference, it’s probably early hours there. "Everything okay?"

“Franc, apologies for waking you. Is marriage in Vegas legally binding?”

“Do you have a marriage certificate?” He responds. I snap a photo of the certificate and send it to him.

“I have something that looks like a marriage certificate. I’ve just sent you a photo. Take a look.”

I hear him fumble with his phone on the other end. “Well, yes, that's a formal document, so it’s legal, Mr Hoult.” He tells me and my heart sinks to the pit of my stomach. I stare at the certificate in my hand and sigh.

“Jesus Christ. I can't remember a damn thing after we left the club. It's completely blank. Surely there's a legal loophole to get me out of this? Please find it.”

“I’ll look into it. We’ll get the marriage annulled on the grounds of you both being intoxicated.” He says, and I nod pacing back and forth.

“Great. Keep me updated.” I say and end the call. What the fuck were you thinking marrying a girl you don’t even know, you absolute idiot. This is so unlike me. I don’t drink this much. Ever. Hell, I don’t even go out. My life is all about work, and when I do have time to blow off some steam, I have a couple of scotch’s then leave with whatever girl catches my attention that night. No, this is reckless and irresponsible, two things I most definitely am not. I’ve never gotten so drunk that I blackout and have no memory.

I turn around when I hear footsteps in the other room. I see Shayla wandering around the dining area of the penthouse, with a sheet wrapped around her body. A look of horror on her face as she tries to work out her surroundings. The first thing I notice about her was her eyes—a darker shade than my own. Almost olive green, lined with long dark lashes, not the fake kind girls wear, hers were natural. Her hair shiny and long cascading down her back in loose beach waves, albeit tousled from a night of wild sex.

I come up behind her and lean against the doorframe as she looks out the floor to ceiling window. “Good Morning.” I greet, and she jumps startled, lets out a little squeak, and turns to face me. Her eyes wide and confused, they rake over my topless torso and back up to my face again. “You’re finally awake.”

“Who are you?” She asks, backing up against the window. I sip my coffee and lick my lips. My head was still thumping unpleasantly and judging by the way she was rubbing her head. I’m going to assume she wasn’t feeling much better.

“I’m Cole.” I introduce myself, and she blinks up at me when I walk over to her. She averts her gaze from mine and wraps her arms around herself as if to shield herself away from my prying eyes, her fingers gripping the sheet tight.

“Um, where are we?” She questions glancing around the penthouse.

“Vegas, I believe.”

Shayla’s eyes go wide as she stares at me, unblinking for a good minute. She shakes her head and frowns deeply.

“Vegas?” She intones incredulously and I nod my head in response. “What the hell are we doing in Vegas?”

I shrug, “Beats me. I don’t remember a damn thing about last night. The only thing I recall was leaving the club with a girl. After that, it’s a blank. Do you remember anything?”

She shakes her head, “No, I-I don’t, I don't remember a thing. I was ludicrously drunk. I don’t even recall meeting you.” She explains chewing on her lip nervously. She drops her gaze from mine and brushes her slender fingers through her soft hair. “Um, why am I wearing a ring?”

I rub the back of my neck, and I hold up my hand and show her the wedding band on my finger. Her face falls. She looks down at the ring on her finger and then up at me again. “No, tell me we didn’t. Did we get married?" I nod and she blanches. "How the hell did this happen? How did we go from a club in London to getting married in Las Vegas?!”

I groan when an ache shoots through my skull at the volume of her tone. “Fuck, dial down the volume sweetheart; my brain is about to fall through my arse.” I sigh, rubbing my temples. “Honestly, I don’t know how this happened or how we would up here, okay? I didn’t exactly plan to get in a drunken stupor and marry some stranger I met in a club.”

Shayla scowls at me, “Oh, well, it's a good thing you didn't. Imagine what would have happened if you did! Also, you’re not exactly my type.” It was my turn to glare at her. Is this girl for real? She doesn’t have any idea who I am. I’ve not met a girl whose type I’ve not been.

“Oh, is that right? I sure as hell seemed like your type last night.” I point out and her eyes narrow to slits, and she takes a step toward me.

“Wait. You said you didn’t remember anything.” She says, pointing a finger in my face. I look at her finger and back at her again and roll my eyes.

“I don’t. But the state of the room, when I woke up this morning, was a very clear indication of a good night,” I take a step closer to her, and she cranes her neck to look up at me. “There was a trail of clothes from the door to the bed, which means we were too engrossed in our passion to give a damn about who was whom's type,” I state matter-of-factly and wink at her. “Not to mention you’re sporting my signature ‘fucked out’ look.”

Shayla’s green eyes grow wide, she huffs and takes a big step back putting some space between us. Raking her fingers through her hair, clearly frustrated.

“Wow. I’m not even going to dignify that remark with a response.” She stops pacing and looks at me again. “What are we going to do? Is this marriage even legal?”

“I’m afraid so.” Her shoulders slump, and she shakes her head.

“How? How did they even marry us while we were drunk? This makes no sense. Don't you need to apply for a marriage licence or something?” She questions, glaring at me. I shrug and set my cup of coffee down and take the marriage certificate off the table.

“That's the magic of this city. Anything can happen in Vegas. Here, I found this in my pocket this morning.” She takes the paper from me and unfolds it.

“What is this?”

“Our marriage certificate. Signed by us both, haphazardly.” I tell her, and she reads through the document before she looks at me.

“Oh my God, we’re actually married.” She mumbles, leaning against the dining table. I sigh and rub the back of my neck awkwardly. She looks upset, just staring at the floor and I don’t do well with consoling girls who are upset. I get uncomfortable and clam up.

“Hey, look, it’s not the end of the world. I'm sure we're not the first couple to drunkenly get married in Vegas. We’ll get an annulment and we’ll go on with our lives like it never happened.” I tell her, and she lifts her gaze to look at me, and I swear the sadness in her eyes sent a tremor through me.

She nods eventually and straightens, “Yeah, I suppose you’re right,” She sighs and looks around the room in bewilderment, then frowns a little, scratching her head awkwardly. “Uh,” She chews her bottom lip a little. “I can’t find my dress…” I let my eyes roam around the room. “I also need to figure out how the hell I’m going to get back home. ”

“Oh, I’ve sorted that. Our flight to London leaves in two hours.” I inform her, and she nods. “I’ve also arranged some clothes to be delivered for both of us. You look about a size ten. Coffee?” I ask, she stares at me, her mouth agape and nods before she sits on a chair at the dining table. I pour her a black coffee and set it down on the table in front of her.

She continues to stare at me, her brows knitted together. “Thank you. You didn’t have to do that. Please let me know how much I owe you, and I’ll pay you back.” She lifts the mug to her lips and takes a long sip, closes her eyes, and sighs Yeah, that first sip of coffee when you’re hungover is like heaven. I hadn’t noticed I was staring at her until she looks up at me and frowns.

I shake my head and shrug. “Don’t worry about it. It’s no problem. I’m sure you’d like to shower and refreshen up. I didn’t order breakfast, because I wasn’t sure what you would like to eat.” I tell her and disappear into the bathroom. “Why don’t you go ahead and order us some room service?” I suggest, and she blinks at me and nods hesitantly.

After a long, well-needed shower and a couple of business calls, Shayla and I ate breakfast to soak up the alcohol we consumed the night before. My stomach felt queasy, and the avocado toast I had helped settle it. Shayla showered and dressed in the clothes I had arranged for her. She came out of the bathroom looking refreshed in a pair of tight-fit light blue jeans, and a low-cut black tee. We left the hotel and made our way to the airport. Shayla gets out of the car as we pull up at my private jet and stares up at it. “Whoa, this is yours?” She asks as we walk over to it.

“Sure is, sweetheart,” I tell her and gesture for her to walk up the steps. I honestly cannot wait to get back home. I feel rough, and I have so much work I need to catch up on. I slide into a seat on the plane and watch as Shayla wanders around. She seems apprehensive, and I find myself wondering if she’s a nervous flyer. “You plan on standing there the entire ten hours of the flight? Take a seat. I won’t bite unless you ask.” I tease, and she shakes her head mumbles something under her breath and slides into a seat next to me, staring out of the window, her fingers fumbling in her lap while she nervously chews on her bottom lip.

I wish I could read her mind right now. There is something about this woman. I couldn’t put my finger on it, but she’s different compared to the women I go for usually, and this is by far the longest I have spent with any girl I’ve slept with ever. I don’t even stay the night with them. I usually leave right after we get done doing the deed. Like my best friend Josh says, ‘You fuck and duck out.’ Sounds awful, I know, but I don’t have time for relationships, between my workload and the travelling I do, there is simply no time for a girlfriend or a social life of any sort. After my last relationship of three years crashed and burned a year ago, I’ve made work my priority.

I stir out of my sleep when I hear the captain's voice over the intercom. I must have fallen asleep while reading. Shayla was asleep with her head resting on my shoulder, her arm wrapped around my bicep. I can smell her shampoo again and it’s becoming my favourite smell. I brush a strand of her hair out of her face gently. She’s stunning, even without makeup.

As the wheels of the plane touch down on the tarmac, Shayla jolts awake and lifts those olive eyes, and looks up at me. It takes her a moment to realise her head was resting on my shoulder and she pulls away and sits upright brushing her fingers through her hair, and she clears her throat, looking around uneasily. “How long have I been sleeping?”

“A couple of hours.” She looks at me and frowns a little before leaning over and pulling her shoes on.

“I’m so sorry. You should have woken me.” I smile and shake my head, watching her as she straightens her top.

“Don’t sweat it. I was asleep too. We must have been more tired than we realised.” Shayla nods and rubs her neck as she walks through the plane toward the exit.

“Tell me about it. It’s been a hell of a weekend. Oh god, I've got work in the morning.” She says as we make our way down the steps of the plane. She stops suddenly and looks at the car and then back at me. “Did we use this car last night?”

I nod, and she blinks and looks at the car again. “We left the club in this last night.”

“Huh, I remember the car but nothing else.” She replies and looks at the driver and frowns. “Actually. I remember him, too.” Gerald smiles and nods curtly at her before he opens the door for her to get in.

“Evening Miss.” Shayla eyes him sceptically before she gets in the car. An hour later we pull up at the address she gave Gerald. She steps out of the car, and I follow her out and walk around the vehicle.

“Well, this is me.” She says, looking up at her building and back at me again. "Thank you for getting me back home."

“Don't mention it. Here, this is my card. My lawyer has already started drawing up the divorce papers. We’ll meet up in a few days, and you can sign it. Sound good?”

Shayla takes my card and looks at it, she looks at me and frowns. “Tristan? I thought your name was Cole?” She questions.

“It is. I prefer to be called Cole outside of work,” She nods satisfied with my answer, and tucks the card in her pocket. Wow, she genuinely doesn’t know who I am. That actually makes a nice change.

“Well. I guess I’ll wait to hear from you. I will text you my number,” I nod, and we look at each other awkwardly for a moment unsure of what to say or how to act. Do we shake hands or hug? She turns to walk away but stops suddenly, takes the ring off her finger, and hands it to me. “We’ve never met before, right?” She questions looking at my face, her eyes narrowed.

I shake my head and shrug. “I don’t think so. I would have definitely remembered meeting you.” I answer with a smirk, and she blinks up at me surprised, her cheeks turning pink. Oh fuck. If that isn’t the sexiest thing ever.

Shayla clears her throat and nods, "Thanks again."

I smile at her, “Thank you for an eventful weekend, Shayla Hart.” Shayla nods, mumbles a goodbye, and turns to walk away. “I guess I’ll be seeing you in a few days…wifey.” She stops, turns, and glares at me unamused.

“Don’t call me that.” I chuckle and watch her disappear into her apartment building. What an eventful forty-two hours.

Shayla

I jump awake when I hear my alarm chirping away on the bedside table next to me. I reach over and feel around for my phone; eyes still closed, I managed to find it and snooze the alarm. Ahh silence. Just as I’m about to doze off again, I remember it's my first day at my new job, and I jump out of bed excited. It was seven-forty-five, and I had to be there at nine o’clock. Satisfied I had enough time I drag myself to the bathroom to shower and get ready.

I stare at my reflection in the mirror as I brush my teeth. Eyes bloodshot from lack of sleep and a weekend of heavy drinking had me looking like something out of the night of the living dead. After a steaming hot shower and two mugs of strong coffee, I was feeling a little better. I was trying to convince myself the fluttering around in my stomach wasn’t nerves. Why would I be nervous? I can do this job in my sleep. Ugh, butterflies explode in my stomach again at the thought of work.

I was applying my mascara when my bedroom door bursts open, and Jo walks in with Aimee in tow. I jump at the intrusion and get mascara all over my eyelid ruining my eyeshadow I spent a good ten minutes blending.

“Where in the seven kingdoms of HELL have you been?!” Jo hollers glaring at me, her eyes wide and hair tousled from sleep.

“Shayla we were worried sick! We thought something awful happened to you!” Aimee chastises me.

“Jesus Christ, you scared the bloody shit out of me. And you ruined my mascara!” I grumble annoyed, picking up a cue tip to remove the black blob on my eyelid.

“Stuff the mascara! Where the fuck have you been all weekend? We thought you brought that hot guy you left with back to the apartment, but you weren’t home.” Aimee explains walking over to sit on my bed. “Then we figured maybe you went back to his, and you’d be back Saturday, but you didn’t show up, and your phone was off.”

“Do you have any idea, how scared we were, that you were face down in a ditch somewhere,” Jo adds, placing her hands on her hips to illustrate her annoyance.

“You should have thought about that before you let me go off with a stranger. What the hell were you thinking letting me go off with some rando?”

“You seemed really into each other, and he was hot, so we thought you’d gone to get a little nookie,” Aimee says with a shrug and smirks. “Speaking of, how was the nookie? Must have been good if he didn’t let you leave all weekend.”

“Oh my god!” I pick up a brush and throw it at her which she dodges skilfully, and grins quite pleased with herself. “You know why I wasn’t back Saturday. Let me tell you why— because I was in Vegas.”

“Vegas?” They say in unison, and I nod. “As in Las Vegas…”

“Yes! Vegas, as in Nevada, Las Vegas!” Jo looks over at Aimee, who stares at me, her mouth agape. “I can’t remember a damn thing. I was so drunk I somehow ended up on a private jet flying to the fucking states.”

“With that guy?” Jo questions, a dumbfounded look on her face.

“Yes, with that guy,” I say, pulling my lacy black top on. “That’s not even the worst part, oh no, it gets better. We got married by Elvis. Like legally married.”

Silence.

They gape at me. “You…you got married?” Jo sputters, shaking her head. I nod and apply my lipstick.

“So, wait, let see if I got this right. You met a hot guy at a club, who flew you in his private jet to Las Vegas and married you?” I nod, and she chuckles in response and scratches her nose. “Tell me you at least putout?”

“Aimee!” I exclaim, rolling my eyes and hurl a bottle of primer at her; she falls on the bed and laughs heartily.

“Shayla. Who is this guy?” Jo asks, and I shrug. I pick up his card from the table and hand it to her.

“I don’t know who he is. All I know is his name, Tristan Cole something.”

Jo stares at the card, and her eyes grow wide. “Oh, my God. Shayla…” Jo gasps, staring at the card in her hand and looks at me. “Tristan Cole Hoult! That’s who you’re married to?”

“No fucking way!” Aimee howls, jumping to her feet and snatches the card from Jo. “I knew I recognised him! Oh my god. Shay, do you have any idea who this guy is?”

I shrug and shake my head, staring at the both of them in bemusement. “No, am I supposed to?”

“Um, yes!” They both shout together startling me.

“You of all people should know, Shayla! He’s a renowned architect and the man is also a billionaire! He’s the hottest and most sought after CEO in the country. Look, this is him, right?” She shows me a photo on her phone, and I nod.

I frown and look between them. My head was starting to hurt again. That’s why he looked familiar to me. I’ve seen him in magazines. Oh shit. “Yes, that’s him.”

“Oh my god, you lucky bitch!” Aimee hops up on my bed. “Not only did you sleep with him, but you’re also married to a billionaire, Shayla!” I roll my eyes and pick up my jacket. “I can’t believe it.”

“Jesus. I can’t deal with you two. I have to go to work. I don’t want to be late on my first day.”

“Don’t go. You’re rich now.” Aimee sings jumping on my bed and dancing.

“Aimee, get the hell off my bed! I just made it up.” I grab her leg; pull it, and she tumbles over and rolls off the bed.

“Ouch. I think you broke my arse.” She pouts, rubbing her behind gingerly.

“I have to go. I’m already running late. Fix my damn bed.” I say throwing my pillow at her head and walking out of the bedroom.

“Yes, Mrs Hoult,” Aimee calls out and giggles when I flip her off as I walk to the front door. I can’t even think about the whole Cole fiasco right now. My head was a scrambled mess, and I’m pretty sure I'm still a little drunk. I need to focus on my career if I ever want to make it as an architect. I can barely remember how to spell my name at the moment. I am never drinking again.

I make it to work with five minutes to spare. Please don’t ask me how fast I was driving to make it on time because I’m expecting a fair few speeding tickets in the post.

“Shayla.” I spin when I hear my name, and see the girl that greeted me the last time I came in. Heather, I think her name was.

“I’m Heather. If you’re ready, let me show you around first and then we can go through Mr Hoult’s schedule for the day.”

“Yes, of course. Sounds good.” I follow her through the glass doors, and we walk through an open plan office with several fancy cubicles, high-tech computers with two monitors that are for drawing your designs.

“So, this is your desk, and you already know where Mr Hoult’s office is.” I nod, smiling, my eyes taking in the office, as she continues to go on and on about his schedule. “He’s very peculiar and likes things a certain way. For example, he has his coffee black, with skimmed milk on the side, ready on his desk at seven-forty-five. He has a sesame bagel with smoked salmon, and fat-free cream cheese at eight o’clock every morning, religiously.”

“Got it.”

“Excellent. A little helpful advice, he works a lot, like around the clock. So, he’s often quite grumpy because he’s tired. If you see him loosening his tie, and rub his temples, it means he’s angry steer clear unless he calls for you. If he does— do not speak. I found nodding helps. Do not enter his office without knocking; wait for him to gesture you in. Understand?”

I look over at the empty office and gulp. Oh boy, this man sounds like a real headcase. It sure is going to be a hoot working for him. I follow Heather back to the open office. “Well, I think you’ve pretty much got the gist of the job. I’m sure you two will get along great. He should be out of his meeting shortly, and we can head over and introduce you to him.” Heather explains as we walk over to the kitchen area where the coffee machines and fridges stocked up with drinks and shelves stocked with snacks. At least they look after their employees.

I was enjoying my caramel latte and people watching when Heather came bouncing along. “He is out of his meeting. Let’s go and get you acquainted.” I nod and follow her through the office toward the CEO’s office. I was real baffled every time she said the words ‘introduce you’ like I hadn’t met him at the interview. Maybe she forgot.

We walk into the office I had my interview with the silver fox. The painting on the wall caught my eye, and I was admiring it when I just about noticed Heather say my name. “Mr Hoult, this your new executive assistant, Shayla.” I spin and look at him. Our eyes meet first. I let my gaze wander the length of him, and my heart sinks to the pit of my stomach.

“You.”