The Billionaire’s Delinquent Bride

Sofia's POV

My friends in America think I have the best brother in the world because he paid for a private charter plane to bring adult cream pies to one of my parties. But he's Machiavelli and Lucifer's bastard love child.

So for the good of mankind, I'm going to murder him. Then ask Dad for understanding and forgiveness.

It's too much to wait for the silver Mercedes to come to a complete stop. Or for my chauffeur/bodyguard to open the door. Seething, I jump out and march into the glossy skyscraper that houses the Golden Gate Group's headquarters in downtown Paris.

I walk through the vast lobby, the clacking of my Chanel heels like a metronome on the marble floor. My entourage follows. They're my mom's spies, but I tolerate them and pretend I don't know what they're really up to because they can be useful. Look at Exhibit One Ms. Katherine serves as my assistant when she isn't reporting my every move to my mom. She's rushing forward to hit the button for the executive elevator car to make sure that the doors are open and ready for me to step right in.

I'm not an executive at my family's giant multinational conglomerate, but I get to use the special glossy black elevator anyway because my doting dad, who's chairman of the Golden Gate Group, gave me access.

It's too bad Charles  hasn't received the memo. But I'm going to make very sure he gets it in the next few minutes.

The elevator doors shut, and Ms. Katherine hits the button for the thirty-ninth floor, where my brother's office is located. My temper is boiling, but I try not to scowl. What Charles did was infuriating, but it's not worth getting wrinkles for.

No. Instead of having fury create lines on my face, I'm going to unload on my older brother. He deserves nothing less.

How dare he.

The second the elevator stops and the door opens, I walk out. Ms. Katherine follows, along with two bodyguards.

Ms. Lucia, the most senior of Charles four executive assistants, starts to rise from her desk. She's also the most conservatively dressed, in a black skirt suit with pantyhose and heels. She even has pearls in her ears. Her face is covered in multiple shades of nude makeup, which, unfortunately, makes her appear oddly colorless.

"Ms. Ben," she says, her tone very circumspect. "Mr. Ben isn't available "

I raise a hand. "Don't. I know he doesn't have an appointment."

I have my own eyes and ears at the headquarters. Although I have no managerial power at the company, I have something better ready access to my father. He indulges me and lets me have what I want, as long as it's within reason. But "within reason" is pretty wide when it comes to my requests. Everyone at Golden Gate knows this, and they suck up to me some overtly, some subtly. And I use it to my advantage. I need, to survive cases like this.

Ms. Lucia bites her lip but doesn't try very hard to stop me. Getting in my way wouldn't end well for her.

I open the double doors to Charles corner office. It's enormous, the décor tasteful, with bright, neutral colors. Two entire walls are made of glass. They overlook the Seine River and the sprawling city that houses almost twenty percent of the country's population.

It's a massively urban landscape, complete with bustling crowds, snarling traffic, and distant hills. But one thing mars the vista a gigantic black-and-white billboard featuring a hot underwear model whose face is so gorgeous it's gotta be Photoshopped. Too bad for Charles, it's a male model...with a huge bulge, you can't miss. Too bad it doesn't glow neon pink in the dark. That'd serve my brother right, especially since he loves to work late.

Charles looks up from a black leather folio, a small frown on his face. Unlike me, he doesn't care much about getting wrinkles. But then, he's male and married to a perfect merger wife. He doesn't need to keep his face pretty anymore. He just has to be fit enough to look decent in the bespoke Italian suits he loves more than his spouse.

"Sofia," he says, his voice cool. "You don't have an appointment."

I point a finger accusingly. "I don't need an appointment to see my family! Especially when that family happens to be an irritating older brother who ruined my shopping! Do you know how humiliating it is to have all your cards declined?"

"Hmm..." He makes a show of consideration. "No. It's never happened to me. Coffee?"

My blood pressure skyrockets. I wonder if I can throw him against one of his giant windows hard enough to break it and drop him thirty-nine stories.

But the glass looks thick. So probably not, assuming my anger would give me the strength to toss my much larger older brother around in the first place. The only option left is punching holes in his head with my spiky stilettos.

Or better yet, poison the specialty snacks in the break room next door. Ms. Helen ordered them just for him, but I know a few things that would give him epic diarrhea.

"I don't want coffee!" I say. "I want to know why you froze my accounts!"

He leaves the chair and comes around the desk then gestures at one of the couches in the seating area.

Since I'm feeling pissed, I take his favorite armchair and cross my legs.

He raises an eyebrow but sits down on the couch to my left. One arm draped along the back of his seat, he regards me coolly. "You didn't go to the restaurant as I asked."

I pause for a second, wondering what he's talking about. Then I remember Ms. Katherine relaying a message about meeting Dossier #32 for a freakin' Matsun Date. I told her there was no way I was going on that particular type of blind date. Matsun Date is what you do when you're serious about considering the other person as a spouse.

"You froze my cards over that?" I stare at Charles in shock.

"Yes. I told you, Father and Mother want me to have you married by the end of the year. I'm going to do whatever it takes. I already had Ms. Helen order a dress and reserve a venue for you. All you need to do is show up with a groom."

"And I told you that the man isn't my type, and I don't want your assistant planning my wedding! You weren't listening, were you?"