The Billionaire's Budget Bride

He peeled off the snow pants. Then the fleece ones. Then the wool ones under those.

Then a layer of fire-engine-red long johns, because they were the warmest thing I owned.

The richest man in New York was four layers into undressing me and still nowhere near skin.

Static snapped off the acrylic in the dark and lit up his face. Cold. Unimpressed. The face of a man rethinking every decision that had led him to this bedroom.

Here's how a girl ends up gift-wrapped in a stranger's house in the dead of winter.

My father gambles. My father loses. And when the tab got bigger than both our lives put together, he handed me over to pay it down.

I did the math on the way across the city, somewhere between the third subway transfer and the frozen walk, and a billionaire's mansion beat freezing to death in ours. Grab what I could carry. Slip out before anyone counted it. Easy money.

I hadn't planned on him getting stuck at layer four.

He reached the red long johns, stopped, and let out a slow breath, like a man who'd hit bedrock.

"Husking corn is less work than this."

Chapter 1

"Good news, baby girl."

My father delivered it crouched against the wall, both hands jammed up the sleeves of an army-surplus parka, grinning at me through a nose that had frozen an hour ago.

"Your old man found you somewhere better to land."

"You sold me." I yanked my coat tighter and kicked him square in the shin.

"Sold? Who said anything about sold?" He went down on his backside in the snow and sniffled. "Voss himself took a shine to you. You know what that man is? He owns half this city. Snaps his fingers, grown men come running."

"Women line up around the block and he doesn't blink twice. And he picked you. That's eight lifetimes of luck cashing in all at once, and here you are kicking me over it."

"You want that luck so bad?" I planted my hands on my hips. "You go crawl into his bed."

"If I were a woman?" He didn't even flinch. "Baby, I'd already be unpacked."

The wind cut through and my skull ached with it. Twenty below outside. Twenty-one below inside, because we were too broke to run heat and the collectors had put a brick through the last of our windows weeks back. When you spend a whole winter shivering hard enough to bruise, central heating stops being a luxury and starts being a siren song.

"Quit being stubborn." He dug two crumpled bills out of his trapper hat and flicked them at me. "Man's waiting on you. Clean yourself up and go."

"Clean up with what? Look around, Wade." I threw an arm at the bare room. "The collectors took everything but the drywall."

Everything I still owned, I was wearing.

I patted him down anyway, hunting for a stashed twenty.

"Anything else in there?"

"That's it, I swear it." He turned his pockets out, shameless. "What's a couple hundred to you now? You'll be living off a man who spends more than that blowing his nose. So be smart. Scrape together whatever you can. And if he treats you wrong, you take the cash and you run."

I pocketed the two bills and gave it some thought.

"Yeah. Okay. That part tracks."

I was twenty-two and out of options. A billionaire's mansion beat freezing to death on a bare concrete floor. The rest of the math could wait.

"One more thing." He wasn't finished. "Rein in that mouth of yours. If you can keep it shut, keep it shut."

He sighed like a man who knew me too well.

"And if you can't, then argue. Don't swing."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah." I waved him off, then stopped. "What about you? What are you gonna do?"

He pulled the parka tighter around his shoulders and shrugged like it was nothing.

"Don't you worry about your old man. I've always got a play." He sniffed. "Figure I'll get myself picked up for a few nights. County lockup's warm, and they feed you three squares."

Chapter 2

The address my father gave me sat in the most exclusive gated enclave in the city, the kind of neighborhood where the gates have gates.

I'd heard about the Vosses my whole life, mostly from the gambler who'd just bet my future on one. If a nickel fell out of the sky over this town, it landed with their name already on it. The eldest son, Roman, ran all of it now. Young, they said. Ruthless.

Getting to his side of town took three subway transfers, two buses, and a rented scooter I nearly died on twice. A cab would've cost more than I had, so I froze instead. Economical.

I made it to the gates. Then I got completely lost inside them.

A guard caught me skulking around like I was casing the place. Fair assessment, honestly. He was already reaching for his radio to call the cops.

So I swallowed my pride and made the call.

"Voss. It's Wade Boone's kid. I'm, uh. Lost in your yard."

The voice on the other end was low, unhurried, with a rasp that did something inconvenient to the back of my neck.

"Where."

Not a question. An order.

I looked around. "I'm standing under a tree?"

The silence told me, a beat too late, exactly how stupid that was. The entire estate was trees. A hundred of them, black and bare against the snow. I was a needle in a very rich haystack.

"Stay exactly where you are."

I swear it sounded like an insult.

Two, maybe three minutes later, footsteps crunched up behind me.

"Josie Boone?"

I turned.

Tall. Long-legged. A black wool coat that probably cost more than my father's entire debt. Hard jaw, sharp nose, eyes that tipped up at the corners and moved over me like I was a line item he hadn't approved.

The man gave off the kind of thing they bottle and sell for four hundred dollars an ounce.

Well, damn. As if a stray mutt like me had any business looking up that high.

My father was right about one thing. Roman Voss clearly needed his eyes checked.

I fell into step behind him, and somewhere between the tree and the front door, a thought crept in and wouldn't leave.

Trailing after him like this, which one of us was supposed to be the payment here?

Chapter 3

Roman Voss walked me through the front door, and my whole body came back from the dead.

God, heat. Real, blasting, radiator heat. I could have wept.

I was toeing off my boots when he clocked the fire-engine-red socks and stalled for a second. Then he looked at me again.

"Do you want to... shower?"

The subtext wasn't exactly buried.

"Nope. Nope, I'm good." I pulled off the hat, the earmuffs, unwound the scarf, tugged the mask down, and flopped straight back onto the bed.

Look, I was motivated. I had never had it this good.

"C'mon, then, big guy."

He crossed to a switch and killed the overhead light, leaving one dim amber lamp glowing against the wall.

Huh. Man's got ambiance. Respect.

Then he came to the edge of the bed.

He got the long coat off. Then the sweater. Then he paused.

He peeled off the quilted vest and the thermal layer under it, and there it was: the big red thermal top, two fat gold koi swimming across my chest.

He stared at the koi like they had personally wronged him.

"So, uh. Red's my lucky color." I gestured vaguely at myself. "Keeps the bad luck off."

He said nothing.

"Go on, big guy."

He squared his jaw and kept going. Cotton pants. Fleece pants. A layer of acrylic wool that crackled and threw blue sparks in the dark, and I will be honest, the static lit up that cold, sharp profile in a way that felt frankly unfair.

Wool pants gone. Red thermal bottoms. Matching koi.

He looked at the full set, and his brows drew together like he was working a math problem he hated.

"Josie. How many layers are you wearing?" A beat. "A nesting doll has fewer."

"Heh. It's cold out. I run cold." I gave him my most winning smile.

He exhaled, long and put-upon.

"Husking corn is less work than this."

His hand hovered over the last red layer. Stopped. He held there a long moment, jaw tight, then set his hand back down.

"You know what. You shower first." His voice had gone slightly strangled. "Give me a minute in here. Alone."

"Sure thing, big guy. You go prep."

I bounced off to the bathroom.

I will say this for rich people: the plumbing is a different species. That bathroom put the priciest bathhouse in town to shame. Only thing missing was a decent scrubbing mitt.

I soaked. I scrubbed. I damn near buffed myself to a shine.

Clean, pink, and smelling like money, I climbed back into my thermal set and padded out.

"Okay, big guy, I'm done." I dropped back onto the bed.

He looked at me. At the red battle armor. At the koi.

He thought about it for a very, very long time.

"...I think I'll take a shower too."

Chapter 4

Roman disappeared into the bathroom looking like a man carrying the weight of the world.

I sprawled across a bed the size of a small country and could not believe my life. Wide, soft, sheets of actual silk that slid like water. I rolled around in them just to feel it, and my cracked, winter-dry heel snagged a thread clean out of the silk.

Great. A hog like me really can't handle fine grain.

The heat was cranked up gorgeous. Within minutes I was out cold. Our place back home leaked wind through every crack, and I had not slept right in days, so this was, hands down, the best sleep of my life.

I dreamed I was draped across some slab of muscle with an eight-pack, hands everywhere.

Then Roman woke me up.

"Josie. How long do you plan to sleep?"

Sweet mother, it was almost eleven. Had I really slept the whole night straight through? Where had he even slept after his shower?

The big shot was in a black loungewear set, and I let my eyes linger a beat too long.

He stood at the foot of the bed and gave me a flat, unimpressed look.

"Get up. Eat."

I snapped upright in one clean kip-up and swung off the bed, and only then did I see it: a whole spread of breakfast, laid out and waiting.

I short-circuited a little. Strange flicker of a feeling, like the big shot was the one paying off a debt to me.

Roman glanced up. His gaze drifted, again, to my red thermal set. To the koi.

He held it a second too long, and something crossed his face that was definitely not annoyance before he shut it down.

He sighed. "Just eat."

"Oh. Okay."

My whole brand is being agreeable. I put my head down and got to work.

I'll tell you, rich people's food even tastes richer. I went to town on that spread until I could barely breathe.

I had just finished when the doorbell rang.

"Mr. Voss. I'm the manager from" some label I would never in my life afford.

Then a whole team of private stylists started hauling rack after rack of clothes and shoes into the living room.

My jaw hit the floor.

Roman turned to me. "Pick whatever you want."

Wasn't this the kind of thing that only happened in romance novels? The man was a bona fide book-boyfriend billionaire. And generous with it.

The stylists took one look at the red set I had on and froze. Then the professional smiles snapped back into place.

For the next hour, I was a walking clothes rack. The big shot nodded, the card got swiped. Underwear, pajamas, shoes, everything inside and out. They filled a whole closet.

I was dead on my feet by the last outfit, which was exactly when I caught two of them whispering.

"My God. The man has taste like no one else."

"Right? Red long johns. Is that some new kind of kink?"

And then the big shot threw my red set out.

Said it made his eyes swim.

I looked at myself in the mirror, at the girl looking back, and had a genuine moment.

Damn. When did I get this gorgeous?

Turns out clothes really do make the woman.

Roman had changed into a dark-green suit, because of course the CEO type is a four-seasons suit warrior. My eyes slid over the long legs. The tight backside.

Hoo boy. And I slept through that. Rookie mistake.

Chapter 5

Once I was cleaned up, Roman drove me out to the Voss family estate.

The only elder left on his side was his grandmother, and the old woman lit up like a holiday the second her grandson walked in.

"Nana. Brought you a granddaughter-in-law." He nodded at me. "She pass?"

She got one look at me and her whole face folded into a grin.

"Oh, she passes, she passes. Would you look at this face."

She caught my hand in both of hers and fussed over me like I might blow away. "No wonder you turned down every single girl I lined up. Had one of your own tucked away this whole time." She shot him a look, then leaned in close, warm and conspiratorial. "You should know, sweetheart. You're the first girl he has ever brought through that door."

Even the butler, standing off to the side, sounded a little unsteady about it.

"The young master hasn't smiled like that in years."

Okay. Does this city not have its own material? Why did every line out of their mouths sound like something I'd read before?

Roman dipped his head close to mine, voice low. "Be sweet. Humor her."

Then let me go dust off my professional trophy-girlfriend credentials.

The old woman only warmed up the longer she looked at me. "What's your name, girl? How old are you?"

I put on my sweetest face. "Josie, Nana. Twenty-two. Graduating soon."

"And your parents? What do they do?"

"My mom left when I was small." I squeezed out two tragic little tears and gave her the highlight reel of my sad, sad life. "My dad raised me all on his own."

Her face crumpled with sympathy. "Oh, just like our Roman. Poor lamb."

"And how is your father these days? We ought to all sit down together sometime. I'd love to meet him."

The second she brought up my dad, my brain stalled out.

"He's, uh. Pretty busy. Might not have the time."

"Well, what line of work is he in?"

I thought about it and assembled some professional vocabulary.

"He's... in the correctional system."

"Oh, how nice. A state job. Good pension, very stable."

"Heh. Yep. Room and board included, even."

Once we'd cleared my father, she moved right along. "You're both so young. What are you and Roman planning?"

I lied through my teeth with a completely straight face. "We talked it over already. Soon as I graduate, I'll give you six big great-grandbabies."

"Oh, what a wonderful girl."

Six great-grandbabies put stars in her eyes. "Six! Lord, I'll have to live longer just to see them."

Roman looked at me, silent, brows drawn tight. He did not comment.

Nana all but sprang out of her chair to have the butler add dishes to Roman's plate.

The spread that came out was oysters. All of it. On the half shell, baked, stewed.

"Eat up. A job like yours drains a man." She kept piling them onto his plate. "And you've got a few years on our Josie. You'll want the stamina to keep up."

Roman stared down at the mountain of oysters like a man looking into his own grave.

"Eat," she ordered.

She looked ready to spoon them in herself. Only when he'd cleared every last shell did she nod, satisfied, and shoo us toward the door.

"Go on home, now. Get to the real business."

Chapter 6

Roman might have over-supplemented, because there were practically sparks coming off him by the time we got home.

He went straight for the bedroom and the shower.

He came out in nothing but a loose pair of sleep pants.

I took in that swimmer's build and swallowed. Something in me had gone a little overheated too.

Our eyes caught, and it was that first night all over again, static snapping off the wool, sparks in the dark.

His voice came out wrecked.

"Josie. You lit this. You put it out."

Then he crossed the room in a single stride, pinned me to the door, and kissed me.

God. What an arrogant kiss.

I loved it.

"You're the one who ate his weight in oysters," I managed, breathless, the second he let me up for air. "And who exactly promised your Nana six great-grandbabies?"

"Me. It was me. Happy?" His mouth was already back at my jaw. "Let's just go."

We were young and dumb and, fine, I was in a hurry too. My hands went wandering. He was burning up under them, faintly flushed, a thin sheen of sweat at his hairline.

"Hey. You nervous?"

He dropped his flushed eyes.

"Josie. Say my name."

"Roman. Are you... nervous?" I tried again.

"No." Low. Rough.

Not nervous, then. So the issue was, what, mechanical? Couldn't be. Look at him.

My hand slid to his waistband and dragged down the last thing between us.

Moment of truth.

I snuck a peek.

Well. The man was not exaggerating anywhere.

That did it. He caught fire, tore at my clothes, and since I'd worn a whole lot less this round, it went faster than the great onion-peeling incident. We rolled to the bed.

And then, not long after, he went rigid, reined himself back, and rasped:

"Josie. I'm not going to last."

After which the room went dead silent.

I lay there.

That... was it?

Three minutes? Ballpark?

I stared at the ceiling and quietly reassessed my entire model of the universe. So the novels were liars. All that big-shot-goes-seven-rounds-till-sunrise business. Turns out there's no such thing as a perfect man.

Whatever. I'm a canary who got handed over to settle a debt. Beggars, choosers, you know how it goes. Pretty to look at, light on horsepower. I could work with that. Day he gets bored and writes me a breakup check, I'll go book myself ten male models and call it aftercare.

I rolled over to sleep.

Roman sat back against the headboard, lit a cigarette, and brooded.

One hand held the cigarette. The other turned a lighter over, end over end, slow, again and again. Long fingers. That clean hard line of his profile in the low amber light.

It was, irritatingly, a good view. And something in it caught on me, a loose thread of familiarity I couldn't follow back to wherever it started.

I filed it away and went back to grumbling in my head.

All that production and he earns himself a cigarette? Sir. You did not outlast the smoke in your hand.

The quiet stretched out. Then, from nowhere:

"Josie. I think I need to explain something."

He looked like the words were costing him money.

I stared at him.

He hesitated a few seconds, then forced it out.

"It was my first time."

"As in. First. So it might have run a little"

"Hold on. You're a virgin?"

My jaw nearly hit the floor. No, seriously, had I gone and landed myself a blushing-virgin billionaire?

This. I'd struck gold. This was a genuine find.

"It's okay," I soothed. "Three minutes is a great start."

His face went dark.

"We do not say three minutes."

Chapter 7

He wound around me from behind and kissed the spot behind my ear.

"Again."

"Bring it!"

I honestly wanted to give the man another shot.

Which was the exact moment I clocked a developing situation.

"Su sumimasen..." I mumbled. Apparently I apologize in Japanese when I panic.

"I think my period just showed up."

And so, dead of night, the most powerful man in New York hauled himself out of bed with a face like a funeral to go buy me pads.

Then he crouched in the bathroom, stone-faced, hand-washing my ruined underwear.

I was beginning to feel like the sugar daddy in this arrangement.

I sleep like the dead. Head to the pillow, lights out. So I only half-clocked him getting up and padding to the bathroom and back, and back again, all through the night.

That kind of bathroom frequency, if I'm honest, is a little worrying.

Some men look sturdy as an ox on the outside. Gone soft as a rotted post on the inside.

Ah, well. Real shame about it.

Chapter 8

The big shot had been in a mood for days.

"When does the period end?"

"Five to seven days." I pressed a hand to my cramping stomach, head full of static.

"And how long until that's ready?" He jerked his chin at the pot simmering on the stove.

"A hundred and eighty seconds."

The big shot got moodier.

"Josie. Are you doing this on purpose?"

I mean. The number bothers you that much?

His temper was so foul those days that stray dogs got dirty looks on sight.

That night I changed into pajamas and lay down. Roman's eyes landed on the little camisole I had on.

"Who told you to wear that?"

Me, blinking. My period showed up. Did his show up too?

But you know how it goes. Under someone's roof, you keep your head down. I turned and changed into a different one, and he frowned like I'd insulted him.

"Why does that one show so much? And it's lace?"

"Big guy. You picked these. All of them."

He'd looked so smooth swiping that card. Where'd this face come from?

He looked at me and sighed. "Josie. Just put your red thermals back on."

"You threw out my lucky set weeks ago," I reminded him flatly.

The man's taste changed by the hour. Impossible to please.

I could see which way the wind was blowing, and the wind said scrape together some cash, fast.

Next day, the big shot took me shopping. We passed a row of high-end jewelers and he asked, "See anything you like?"

I grabbed his arm. "Gold. Get me gold. I love gold."

I marched into the goldsmith's and picked the heaviest chain in the case.

"This one."

Melt that down and resell it, and I'd be sitting on a nice little cushion.

Roman looked at the heavy, gleaming chain, and his frown dug in deeper.

"Josie. Should I get you a fur, too?"

I lit right up. "Now you're talking. Those things are warm."

I was happily sorting through my haul, gold chain on top, when he spoke again.

"You couldn't get me anything?"

The big shot sounded a little put out.

"Did you give me money?"

What CEO doesn't hand his girl a card with a seven-figure limit to swipe at will? Me, to date, had earned exactly zero dollars.

"Josie. In case it needs saying." He took his time. "Your father owes me two hundred grand. You're here to work it off."

Then he added, "Buying me a gift with my money. Does that even count?"

"I... I don't have money."

One of his shirts cost more than I'd get selling a kidney.

The big shot seemed unhappy.

So I did some research. The cheapest underwear in his world ran a few thousand dollars. Was this a hit? Were they trying to kill me?

I thought long and hard and finally found the answer on one of those bargain knockoff apps. Nine ninety-nine. Red boxers. Came in a nice little gift box, even. Very presentable.

I gave them to Roman, and he went still, touched, though a flicker of something like suspicion crossed his face.

"What is this?"

I explained, very seriously. "Their New Year line. Brings in money, wards off bad luck. Picked them out special for you."

He looked at them like they'd personally wronged him and didn't try them on.

Chapter 9

And so began my thrilling new life as a kept canary.

Wade got sprung from lockup after a few days, and since I didn't want him freezing to death, I handed over the gold chain I'd just bought.

"Go sell it. Turn it into cash. And if you gamble it away, I will personally take your hand off. Try me."

"Josie Boone, you little brat. I'm your father." Wade grumbled, weighing the chain in his palm. "This is it? Voss didn't slip you a few million?"

"I'm here paying off your debt, old man. I'm not his mistress."

I rolled my eyes and couldn't help muttering, "Cheap as they come, that Voss."

Still hadn't seen a cent.

Word got around that the big shot had taken a woman, and the society ladies threw a luncheon and made a point of inviting me. I had to get there on a rented scooter. Thank God for the fur. That wind was murder.

A society luncheon, in plain terms, is a bunch of rich women running a flex-off.

As the big shot's woman, most of them gave me my due.

Except for one. Coco. Supposedly Roman's childhood sweetheart, and never not rolling her eyes at me.

"This is a limited-edition Herms Birkin. I imagine some backwoods girls have never seen one." She gave me another once-over down her nose.

Oh, this temper of mine.

"Nope. Can't say I have." I smiled. "Hey, though, I hear Herms is hiring on the sales floor. With a way of looking down on people like that, sweetheart, you'd be wasted anywhere else."

A ripple of laughter went around the table. Then one of the women glanced at what I had on.

"Wait, Josie, is that the limited drop? The one that isn't even out yet? Already on you. Roman really does spoil his girl."

A chorus of agreement followed. Someone couldn't resist. "Coco, your dear Roman never got you one?"

I was starting to understand that this little operator got on everyone's nerves.

She ground her teeth and cut her eyes at me. "Dressed like that, who's she trying to seduce?"

I have never lost a fight that took place in my mouth.

I flipped my hair and smiled sweet. "Your dad. Figured I'd make a nice stepmom for you."

She lunged to rip my hair out.

Here's the thing about growing up around every two-bit hood on the block. What I learned best was how to defend myself. I caught her wrist and twisted it back before she got anywhere near me.

"Who exactly are you swinging at, sweetheart? That mouth's been running all night. Somebody find it an off-switch."

She shrieked. The whole table cracked up, which, humiliated her right over the edge, and all at once she was performing tears.

"You're all... you're all ganging up on me. Josie, fine, I'm scared of you. Happy now?"

I stared. No wonder the woman couldn't buy a friend.

I waved it off. "Relax. I've had my rabies shots. You can't hurt me."

She pointed at me, too wound up to land a full sentence. "Josie, you, you how could Roman ever want someone with no class?"

Buddy. For what he pays me, he wants class on top?

Class is extra.

She pulled herself together and went right back to peacocking, waving a waiter over with great elegance.

"The top-grade foie gras."

I copied her eye-roll down to the letter. "Chicken-fried steak."

She let out a slow, pitying sigh. "Sweetie. This is a fine dining establishment. They don't do... peasant food."

And there went the last of my temper.

"What, did chicken-fried steak run over your dog? This fancy place discriminates now?"

The waiter nearly tripped over himself. "Ma'am, please, no need to get upset. We can make it, we absolutely can make it."

He swore up and down. "Chicken-fried steak, pot roast, chicken and dumplings, loaded fries, we've even got peach cobbler. Mr. Voss left specific instructions. Said the missus has a soft spot for all of it."

Somewhere down the table, a voice piped up. "Aw, hon, you a Midwest girl?"

"Born and raised."

"I just got back from a lake house up that way. Been dreaming about real food ever since."

After that, a few of us tore into the plates and the drinks like we meant it. Coco sat in her corner quietly swallowing, stabbing at two fingernail-sized bites of foie gras to keep up appearances.

A few rounds in, half the table was calling me their sister.

"Josie, don't listen to that little snake. She's all show. Goes around claiming she and Roman are childhood sweethearts. Truth is their families are friendly and tried to set them up. Your man wouldn't look twice at a girl like that."

"Right? Everybody knows Roman didn't come back to the Vosses till he was eighteen. Childhood sweethearts, my foot."

That stopped me. "Wait. Roman wasn't with the Voss family before that?"

"You didn't know?" She dropped her voice. "Word is he got snatched as a little kid. Out with his mother one day, and gone. Didn't turn up again until he was eighteen."

"Heard he had it rough out there, too. Then he comes home and inherits ten figures, just like that."

So the big shot's story ran a lot deeper than I'd figured.

Ten figures. Where was my once-in-a-lifetime jackpot?

Then it hit me all over again. The man's got billions and won't hand me a dime.

One of the sisters leaned in with a tip. "Honey, a woman who knows how to be sweet gets the designer bags. You turn on the charm, your big shot will be throwing seven figures at you."

I blinked. "How do I turn on the charm?"

"Easy," she said. "Call him 'daddy.'"

"Low. Breathy. A little baby voice. No man alive can take it. Try it."

So I gave it a shot. I aimed for sultry and purred, "Daddy."

The table recoiled as one.

"Why does it sound like a trucker doing phone-sex with strep throat?"

"Josie, honey, please stop. That's genuinely dangerous."

Oh, I was heated. My baby voice was plenty babyish, thank you very much.

Somehow the talk drifted, the way it always does, straight to the bedroom. Someone poked my arm.

"Spill, Josie. What's the big shot actually like in bed? Man looks like he could go all night."

Must have been the wine. Behind me, without my noticing, the chatter had started to thin. A couple of the women went still, smiles freezing, eyes climbing to something just past my shoulder.

I noticed none of it.

I held up three fingers, and let out a long, world-weary sigh.

Chapter 10