The Wife Situation: A Billionaire Age Gap Marriage of Convenience Romance (Billionaire Situation Book 1)

As he stops at the intersection, I notice he’s on edge.

I clear my throat. “Does it bother you, being watched and followed like that?”

“It comes with the territory,” he says. “You learn to get used to it.”

“I understand, but that wasn’t my question.”

He nods. “Do you have plans tomorrow?”

I turn to him, watching how his hair blows in the breeze. He loosens his tie and has that old-money, James Dean vibe going. I realize I’m staring.

“Funny story. This asshole got me fired, so I don’t have anywhere to be until I find another job.”

This makes him smile as we head toward the city’s outskirts. “I want to take you somewhere.”

“Luckily for you, I love surprises,” I admit.

He glances at me. “Truth?”

“Yes. The more surprised I am, the better, because I’m usually two steps ahead of everyone or I have really shitty timing. I’ve lost count of how many times I ruined Christmas.”

“Interesting. So, I’m curious, when was the last time you were caught off guard and shocked?” he asks.

“Easy. The moment I crashed into you at the Tower. And you?”

“Same for me.”

I swallow down the lump that formed in my throat. Before that … I don’t want to talk about it. Some things are better left unsaid, and some skeletons deserve to stay in the closet.

The engine revs, and we’re cruising over a bridge after a few more blocks. I place my hand out the window and look up into the sky to see two stars and the moon. At home, there would be an ocean of them.

“I think I skipped timelines or something,” I say, grinning. It’s genuine, the kind that hurts. I don’t remember the last time I felt this way. “How old are you?”

He glances at me, and I’m frozen in place. “I turn forty in thirty-eight days.”

“An elder millennial. Yikes.”

“What was the yikes for?” He makes a face.

“Your generation is a different breed,” I tell him.

“I’d argue my generation is full of the coolest people in the world. Britney. Channing. Serena. Beyoncé. Prince Harry.” He scoffs. “We’re the G.O.A.T. generation.”

This has me laughing. “You call them by their first names like you know them.”

“I do,” he says like it’s nothing. “Do you date older?”

“I don’t date anyone,” I explain. “Anti-love, remember?”

“Ah, right.”

The engine echoes off the buildings, and I try to make mental notes of different landmarks that might give away where he’s taking me. I realize we’re close to Central Park. We turn into a private garage, where he scans a card to enter. My eyes wander as we drive down to the basement level of a building.

“You live here?” I ask, feeling like we’re entering Batman’s cave. I have to hold back laughter.

“Sometimes,” he says. “Depends on my mood.”

I shake my head—him and that damn mood.

“What?” he asks, scanning again.

“Nothing,” I say.

We drive into a storage area that’s the size of the building. He gets out of the car and opens the door for me, and my jaw hits the floor when I see handfuls of vintage cars in every color—some with racing stripes, others not.

I run my hand across the hood of a black Chevelle SS. “A 454?”

He nods. “Impressed.”

I walk around to the back of it, and all the emblems are shiny, not a smudge on them. “Four hundred fifty horsepower. Why didn’t your brother choose this one?”

He chuckles. “He chose correctly.”

I know that means something. “Do you name them? Is that what it is?”

“No, and you’re not driving it,” he says, leaning against a vintage Aston Martin. Next to him is a Mercedes-Benz 300SLR. All of this is unbelievable, especially being here with him like this.

I bend over, peeking inside to see the Benz with light-tan leather and wood grain accents. “I told your clone this earlier, but my dad was into restoring old cars. We used to go to car shows on the weekends. It was a good time.”

“You said was,” he says.

“Yeah, he passed away four years ago,” I explain, checking out the Aston Martin he’s modeling for me with his arms crossed.

“I’m sorry.” He gives me a sad smile, not taking his eyes off me.

“Thanks.” I don’t know why I feel the emotions begin to bubble, so I change the subject. “You’ve never let anyone drive these?”

“Only me and my mechanics. Well, I can now add Weston and you to that list.” His mouth tilts into a sideways grin.

I walk back over to him. “This was great. You have anything newer than a 1970?”

“Ah,” he says.

Then, he clicks on the lights in the other half of the building. Motorcycles galore. Half looks like a vintage museum, and the other half looks like a luxury car lot.

My mouth falls open when I see several Lamborghinis and Rolls-Royces parked beside one another. The only difference is the color. “Are you kidding me? One wasn’t enough?”

“Depends on my mood,” he says, and I notice he smiles.

I give him my full attention. “Really? So, what mood do you have to be in to drive the Mustang?”

A smile lingers on his lips. “Do you play chess?”

“Not since my dad died,” I admit. “But I used to be pretty good.”

“Well, I look forward to learning how strategic you are,” Easton quips, leading me to the private elevator.

He scans his phone across it and the doors slide open. We get inside and I lean against the wall with my thumbs tucked into my pockets, focusing on the floor numbers and how fast we zoom upward.

I feel him watching me, so I glance at him, and he shakes his head.

“You’re too trusting, Alexis.”

I don’t correct him because he expects me to. “And why would you say that? Do you plan on luring me to your billion-dollar dungeon?”

He chuckles. “The one located inside the Red Room.”

“Wait, you’ve read Fifty Shades?” I do a quick memory scan through scenes and snort, covering my mouth.

He can’t deny it. The look on his face gives him away. Guilty.

“Oh my God, you did. Why? Don’t you have better things to do?”

He shrugs and relaxes. “A while ago, I had to learn about the guy the tabloids kept comparing me to.” The elevator grows silent for a few seconds. “I hate to be a disappointment, but there’s no sex room.”

“Any room can be a sex room with enough creativity,” I say. “Do you read a lot?”

“Yeah. I do,” he admits. “And I’m aware of book boyfriends.”

“You’re referring to my shirt at the park. And what about them?” I lick my lips, knowing this man almost has me believing love might exist.

“They’re fictional.” He pushes off the wall as the elevator doors open, and the hallway is nothing but windows, like we’re suspended in the air.

“So is love, but I have a feeling you still think it exists,” I say.

“An anti-love, hopeless romantic, a pessimist, and an extrovert. What a fucking combination I’ve found.”

“I’m a realist, not a pessimist. Get my list right.” I grin, then stop and admire the city’s golden glow.

It’s a triplex penthouse with a multimillion-dollar view. I walk to the end of the hallway, and my eyes can’t scan over the area fast enough.

“Gorgeous,” I whisper, knowing only the lucky can experience this view and this adventure.

“Agreed,” he says, his deep blue eyes locked on me. “It gets better though.”

“How is that possible?”

He grabs my hand and my heart lurches forward. Easton Calloway might be my biggest mistake.

I move beside him as he unlocks a door. He steps aside, allowing me to enter first. A winding staircase greets the entrance and leads to the top floor.

I move forward and run my fingers across the grand piano keys. They ring out in tune. I follow him past the formal dining and living rooms, and he pushes the door open. We’re standing on a glass-paned balcony overlooking Central Park.

“Wow,” I whisper. “Okay, I’m shocked. Next time someone asks me when a moment blew me away, I’ll say this one.”

“This place has a three-hundred-sixty-degree view from above. But from the ground, if you look up, the balcony hangs over, and the blue windows make it shine⁠—”

“Like a diamond in the sky.” I smile. “I’ll have to look up the next time I’m in the park after the sun sets.”

I stare out into the night, and so does he.

“To answer your earlier question … it does bother me, always being tracked and watched,” he tells me, and I know it took being vulnerable to share that.

“I noticed,” I say.

“Only my brother knows that,” he admits, moving his gaze from me because it grows too intense. “How did you know?”

I smile and interlock my fingers. “I saw it in your eyes. The window to your soul. But don’t worry; your secret is safe with me. Along with having a heart—oh, and being a Christian Grey fanboy.”

He chuckles. It’s a nice sound, one that he should share more often. “Thanks for hanging out with me.”

“You should be thanking your brother.”

“Do you prefer that version?” he asks, but I see how his jaw clenches tight.

“No,” I admit, turning my attention toward him. “Truth,” I confirm so he knows I’m serious.

He glances away.

I chuckle. “Too much of a good thing, ya know? I can’t be out here, falling in love. Like right now, I’m not worried about you and me.”

That laugh returns, but it’s sarcastic, like he doesn’t believe me.

I make a face. “I’m not, especially not with your inability to date anyone longer than two-weeks.”

Easton shoves his hands in his pockets and turns to me. He leans his head against the glass. I can’t help but smile as I tuck hair behind my ear.

He studies my lips. “You should marry me.”

I look at him like he’s lost his mind. “What?! Are you feeling okay?”

“Better than ever.” He places his hand on my shoulder. His hot breath is on my skin.

“I don’t understand,” I say, knowing I’m being pranked.

“I can explain everything, but I need you to sign something first.”

Then, I realize what he said. “Are you seriously asking me to sign an NDA?”

His beautiful face cracks into a smile. “Yes, I am.”

“You’re playing dirty, Mr. Calloway.”

“You set the standard, Alexis. That’s how you got the keys to my car.” He crosses his arms over his chest and smirks. “And if you want to know more, you’ll sign on the dotted line. And if not, well, goodbye, Ms. Matthews.”

“I’m amazed at how quickly you can turn the asshole on,” I say, thankful for the reminder.

“I’m a pro,” he tells me.

It’s confirmed that I’ve met my match. Extremes, willing to fight, and loves a game, otherwise we wouldn’t be here right now. But there is no way I’m walking away without more information. Curiosity will eat me alive.

“I’ll give you some time to think about it, but one thing you should know: I always protect my assets.” He walks inside, leaving me to myself as he goes upstairs.

He wasn’t joking about the glass windows. From this vantage point, I can see all three stories of his penthouse. I watch him climb the stairs, loving how he moves, pure muscles and man. When he glances over, our eyes meet, and I turn around as if I wasn’t staring. We both know I was.

I inhale the fresh air and close my eyes for a few seconds. We’re suspended so high that I can see the lights from the city reflecting off the water, and I look up at the moon. The hint of his cologne still lingers, and I pinch myself to confirm I’m not dreaming.

I pull my phone from my back pocket and unlock it. After I open my camera, I snap a selfie with the skyline behind me. I’m tempted to post it online, but it’s a moment I want to keep to myself.

Movement in the kitchen grabs my attention.

Easton changed into black joggers that sit low on his hips, and he’s shirtless, grabbing a glass from the cabinet. With his back toward me, I admire the tattoos across his body. My temperature increases when he turns around, removing a cork from a bottle. If I could stare at him all night, I would. He’s artwork.

More ink is etched across his chest, and it all perfectly connects. The tattoos stop where a suit would no longer cover them. Everything about Easton Calloway screams professional on the streets, bad boy in the sheets. The man looks like a rock star with a V that points down to his package.

Pulling myself from my thoughts, I realize he’s staring back at me with a smile. When I snap out of it, he waves me inside.

I grin, giving myself the biggest pep talk of a lifetime as I make my way to the double doors.

He’s right; I want to know the secrets he wants to share. But at this point, it might be a need.