1

"Samuel Brighton Tucker?" His name was a question on my lips for good reason. He was the man of the hour, the question that had been asked, and the sex God that every single woman alive under the age of 50 wanted a private audience to worship. Hell, some of them probably wouldn't care about the privacy aspect.

"Is there a problem with his name?"

"Pansy-ass girly name," I mumbled as my father looked down his nose at me, even though I was standing, and he was sitting. I was short, just scraping in at five feet tall, but I wasn't that short. He was looking down on me figuratively. Still, I felt the impact and almost sent myself to the naughty girl corner or time out or wherever else bad little children were sent.

Only, I wasn't a child any longer. I was a nearly 21-year-old woman. My Bachelor of Arts in Comparative Literature and Cultural Studies was almost mine for the taking, once I finished this last semester. Then, I would have to figure out what the hell kind of job I could get with that particular degree. I used to want to be an agent or an editor of romance, mostly so I could reject all the fluffy, happy pieces and focus on making the darker side of romance a much bigger deal than it already was.

I'd been told that I was living a pipe dream though, and that it would be near impossible for me to do that, because major publications loved their fluffy romance stuff. Well, that might have rung a tad bit true, in some circles, but I was bound and determined to prove them wrong, even if I had to write the damn books myself. Oh, hey, not a bad idea.

"Mina!" My father's impertinent tone pulled me from my thoughts once more. "Have you even been paying attention at all? Brighton is a family name, not a 'pansy-ass girly name,' as you put it." I snickered at the thought of my father repeating those exact words back to me. He simply rolled his eyes. My father wasn't a bad man, or even a hard one to deal with. He'd been good to us kids and was even guilty of spoiling myself and my two older siblings a bit as we grew up. That was the whole reason I even bothered to entertain this hairbrained scheme that would supposedly save his business from complete ruin.

It wasn't that my father was bad in business, he simply had the misfortune of having a shitty partner. Uncle Max is what we called him growing up. Now, we called him 'that douchebag who swindled our father and absconded with a huge portion of their joint business funds'. That was where Mister Pansy-Ass Name, I mean Samuel Brighton Tucker, came in.

See, he was interested in propping up my father's business and becoming a partner, taking over where Max slinked out. At least, Samuel's father was looking forward to mixing our family's businesses. From what I understood, it was a way to get his son in line, so he could take over said family business eventually. I didn't honestly know the whole gist of it, because as my father liked to point out, I tended to get swept up inside my own head, which meant I tuned a lot of the details out. The senior Mr. Tucker had put heads together with my father and betrothed his eldest son to my father's youngest daughter. That would be me – in case you were wondering.

"So, I marry this Tucker guy, you merge your businesses together, and then what? I get a divorce?"

"Heavens no," my father sputtered. "Let's hope that you two learn to be companionable and that your marriage is lasting."

"Okay, but I'm not under some weird 'you can't inherit unless you marry by age 30 and pop out some babies' clause like Flynn was," I argued. My brother had been the eldest, and the unlucky recipient of that particular clause in our grandparents' Last Will and Testament. "So, why would I need to stay married to the guy?"

"Because the board will want to see that he has entered into, and remains in, a stable relationship before they'll be convinced that he should take the helm of such a prolific business empire. His grandfather, father, and I all wish to retire sometime before we're too old to enjoy retirement."

"Okay, so how long are we talking?"

"Mina, this isn't a time negotiation. If he's impossible to deal with, we'll work through it and get you out of the marriage, but I need you to go into this thinking that it's for the long haul." That was not exactly convincing me to go along with this hairbrained scheme. I thought it would just be a quickie marriage of convenience, not a life-long commitment.

My father must have read that particular concern from my face as he tried to pretty up the picture for me. "Look at your brother, he wasn't even close to ready to settle down and since his wedding, he's already managed to get his wife with child – two children actually, since there are twins." My father smiled at me. "They're content and I'm going to be a grandfather, which makes me immensely happy." My dad appeared absolutely giddy at the idea of becoming a grandfather. Of course, he would be. He loved kids and his three were all grown up now.

"That was a fluke, and you know it," I argued. "Besides, now our cousin won't speak to us, and your own brother is pretty pissed off about things too."

"I don't see why. It was Beckett who suggested the whole arrangement," my father argued.

"Well, he assumed he would get his girlfriend back after Flynn managed to procure his inheritance." I laughed, because I still thought he was an idiot for even suggesting what he did, but my brother and his new wife – my cousin Beckett's one time girlfriend, or was it fiancé – seemed happy together now, so kudos to them for taking a weird situation and making it great. "My situation isn't even close to the same," I argued. "I don't even believe in love and happily ever after, so that argument won't work on me anyway."

"Okay, then I don't see why this is an issue for you. Call it a marriage of convenience. You will be taken care of. There will be a prenup to ensure you will always be cared for, even if things don't work out. If," my father's face turned bright red as he spoke, "you so decide, you can even have an arrangement of discretion amongst the two of you."

I gasped – yes, it was fake. "You mean, my betrothed and I can have sanctioned affairs so long as we don't get caught?" I asked, while feigning being scandalized. "Whatever would polite society think of this?"

"Suddenly, this situation doesn't seem as unacceptable," a rather sensual voice called out from just behind me. My shoulders stiffened as my father puffed up his chest and got to his feet. I did not bother to turn around just yet because I wasn't sure I was ready to face the man who would be claiming my future.

"Behave," another man's voice muttered. This man, I could see as his reflection shown perfectly well in the window before me. He was tall, broad shouldered, and only the tiniest bit paunchy as if he spent a little too much time kicking back the beer while out on the golf course. He had to be out on the course, or maybe a boat, often since his skin was tanned to a nice, deep leathery look. His head full of silver hair did not detract from his overall appearance though. Despite any of his flaws that my eyes tracked, because I was looking for them, he was still incredibly handsome for an older gentleman.

"Mina!" My father nearly hissed my name, which was my cue that I was being rude by keeping my back to the guests who had arrived. I narrowed my eyes at my father as I spun slowly, facing him first. He had not bothered to tell me that my intended would be stopping by today. I hadn't even fully committed myself to this idea, and therefor hadn't planned on meeting the man yet. Much like the wedded bliss – and I use that term loosely – that I was about to have lobbed on me in order to save my family's company, I wasn't given a whole lot of choice.

Once I made the full revolution and faced forward, I refused to look at the younger of the two Tucker men in my presence. Instead, I chose to focus on the older gentleman. I held my hand out as I glanced up at him. "Hello, I'm Mina Robeson, youngest daughter of Sean and Margaret, and soon to be University graduate." I offered up my ridiculous pedigree and semi-resume just to be funny, but I gave the information in such a way that it appeared mannerly.

"Very lovely, my dear," the eldest Tucker responded as he quickly took my hand in his and pumped it once, very gently, as if my own would break off with any further effort on his part. Then he gave my father an approving head nod. How gracious of him to give his stamp of approval as if I were chattel being bargained for.

"Mina, this is Reginald Tucker and his son, Samuel."

I turned slightly while refusing to meet the eyes of the man I was supposed to marry. Instead, I stared at his chin, which was sort of intriguing all on its own. The damnable thing had a little dimple right in the middle, that under any other circumstances, I'd probably want to run my tongue over. Did I mention the slight stubble that covered his jaw made it appear as though his attempt at shaving had been for naught since his beard was determined to make its presence known? No? Well, it was, and I just so happened to have a thing for men with well-groomed facial hair displayed on their dimpled chins. Double damn it!

My once over of his chin, down his tailored suit, well-proportioned, if overly tall body, was met with nothing short of an awkward silence. It was probably obvious to everyone in the room that I refused to look the man in the eye, but I didn't need that kind of lust in my life. This man was going to be my husband, and while I might have made fun of his name earlier, I had also Googled him in advance. Hence the refusal to make eye contact with the sexier-than-Satan, playboy who stood in front of me.

He was just my type. Sadly. And when I say, 'just my type', I meant that in the 'I would totally have a one-night stand with this guy and forget about him after the hangover wore off', kind of way. It did not mean that I would be okay marrying the man, who would no doubt, be cheating on me as our nuptials took place, because that is how much of a player Google insisted that he was. Everyone knows Google doesn't lie about the important stuff, especially when there was a plethora of pictures to support the theory.

"Is there a problem, or is your lack of height that much of a challenge?" The sexy voice demanded an answer to his ridiculous question. Apparently, he wasn't going to let it go that I refused to look at the rest of him. I also refused to answer and simply shrugged my shoulders.

"Apologies," my father called out. "Mina wasn't expecting you here today. She's, well, um," I could have saved my dad the embarrassment of trying to come up with an excuse for me, but I decided to be a twat and let him stutter over his own words for a bit to see what he managed to come up with.

"It's okay. I'd prefer she stay quiet and unseen for the most part anyway," the asshole of the hour managed to spit out. The nerve! I glanced his way, and almost, accidentally made eye contact. If looks could kill, mine definitely would, and I wanted him to see that, but then I realized he'd been goading me for this very reason, to get me to react and look at him. I grinned as I pulled my evil-eye stare back and directed it at his chest instead. Childish? Maybe, but fuck him.

Instead of rising to the bait, I fluffed my dress out, curtsied like the proper lady that I had never been, and excused myself to go prepare some tea for everyone.

"I enjoy mine with sugar and cream," the assholish younger Tucker called out.

I didn't bother responding because I also hadn't planned on actually bringing them tea. He could wait, and then go away disappointed. It would be a precursor to the marriage that neither of us really wanted.