Accidentally in Matrimony

CHAPTER ONE

It had been a hectic day for Cassie. Besides juggling a million tasks as her father's Social Media Manager at Hunter Enterprises—a job she genuinely enjoyed despite what everyone assumed about nepotism—she was determined to plan her entire wedding alone. No help, no meddling, not even from her mother, who had been dropping hints about "proper wedding planners" since the engagement announcement hit the society pages three months ago. She wanted to prove she wasn't some damsel in distress, wasn't just another trust fund princess playing at having a career. To cap it all off, she now raced to a 3:00 PM meeting with the country's top real estate firm, desperate to find the perfect venue for her reception. Cassie Hunter was never late; punctuality was one of the few things her father had drilled into her as a kid that she actually appreciated.

The morning had started with a crisis over their biggest client's Instagram campaign, followed by two conference calls with influencers who thought they could negotiate their contracts mid-campaign. Then her maid of honor had called in tears about her dress fitting, her florist had informed her that magnolia's were "absolutely impossible" to source in June, and her fiancé, Jake, had texted to cancel their lunch date. Again. The third time this month.

Normally, she'd use the company car and driver—a sensible black sedan that screamed "corporate responsibility." But today she'd opted for her Panamera Turbo GTS, the one purchase that had made her father nearly choke on his morning coffee. Masculine? Maybe. But she loved its bold statement, the way it purred beneath her hands, the way it made her feel powerful when everything else in her life felt carefully orchestrated by someone else.

The downtown traffic had been murder, construction blocking two lanes on Pritchard Street, and she'd had to circle the block twice to find parking. Her heels clicked an urgent staccato against the marble as she strode into GC Holdings' sleek lobby—all glass and steel and intimidating modern art that probably cost more than most people's houses. She checked her watch—2:58 PM. Close, but she'd made it.

The elevator doors parted like theater curtains, and time froze.

Greyson Christianson stood inside, one shoulder propped against the mirrored wall with the casual confidence of a man who owned the world. Dark blond hair that looked like he'd run his fingers through it, storm-gray blue eyes that seemed to see straight through her carefully constructed armor, a powder-blue dress shirt that clung to his athletic frame in a way that should be illegal. The society pages never did him justice; their photos couldn't capture the magnetic pull of his presence.

Their gazes locked across the small space, and her heart performed an Olympic-level somersault. Heat crawled up her neck.

Get a grip, Cassie. You're engaged. To Jake. Remember Jake?

She smoothed her own powder-blue pencil dress—damn, they matched like some twisted couple's costume—and marched to reception with all the dignity she could muster. Behind her, Greyson's low voice carried through the lobby, phone pressed to his ear in a heated discussion. His eyes kept darting her way, and she felt each glance like a physical touch.

"I'm here for Meagan Christianson," she told the receptionist.

"Of course, Miss Hunter. Please, have a seat."

Cassie perched on the edge of a leather chair, checking her phone. No response from Jake about their dinner plans at Tony's. Other clients filtered in and out while she sat, increasingly aware of Greyson's voice, the way he laughed, rich and warm.

She texted Meagan: Running late? It's 3:15.

The reply came instantly: OMG so sorry! Family emergency. My brother Greyson's covering your appointment. He's honestly the best!

Cassie read the message twice. The universe definitely had jokes. She'd specifically requested Meagan to avoid complications. The kind of complications that made her forget her own name.

Finally, the lobby emptied. Greyson ended his call and approached.

"Miss Cassandra Hunter?" His voice was even more devastating up close.

She stood, chin lifted. "Cassie. And you're Meagan's brother?" She put just enough emphasis on the relationship.

His smirk could have melted glaciers. "Guilty as charged. Though, you're not quite what I expected. Preppy little socialite booking appointments at downtown nightclubs?"

She bristled. "The club hosted a charity auction. The proceeds went to buying books for underfunded schools. Not that it's any of your business."

"Ah." His gaze raked over her again. "Still can't picture you slumming it."

"Let's just focus on why I'm here. I need to view three properties by five. I have dinner reservations, and I don't like to be late."

"Tony's?" He barked a laugh. "How refreshingly predictable."

The elevator dinged. They stepped inside together, the small space suddenly feeling microscopic. Tension crackled between them like live wires. They looked like a twisted bridal photoshoot in the mirrored wall—all wrong angles and suppressed energy.

She was just opening her mouth to make a cutting remark when the lights died.

The elevator car jerked violently. Greyson crashed to the floor. Cassie grabbed the handrail, her bag exploding, contents scattering. Complete darkness swallowed them.

"Dammit!" Greyson's voice cracked. Fists pounded against metal. "HELP! SOMEBODY GET US OUT OF HERE!"

The panic in his voice was raw, primal. Cassie's training from her college psychology classes kicked in. She fumbled for her phone, tapping the flashlight on. Greyson was pressed against the corner, eyes wide with terror, chest heaving.

"Breathe," she ordered, dropping to her knees beside him. "In through your nose... hold it... out through your mouth. With me now."