Snow - Accidental Rebel: A Marriage Mistake Romance

Accidentally hitched to a dream. Now for the catch...

I didn't even say "I do."

One crank call and I'm insta-wife to a tattooed behemoth and mother to his kids.

He's paying my idiot boss a fortune for the perfect lie.

Because trouble found Miller Rush, and he found me.

A rock hard, overprotective rebel with a cause.

Father of the century.

Abs wound tighter than his attitude.

A broodylicious bull stomping around my house, barking orders.

Something's got to give, okay?

But it won't be me.

Not my courage, even when my nosy mother smells drama.

Not my heart set on helping two little angels and their perma-grump dad.

Definitely not my body screaming Mayday because his bedroom eyes are magnets.

Deep breath.

It's only a few weeks.

It's only a whole mess of freaky secrets.

It's only pretend and I'm so not letting Miller run off with my heart.

Riiight. Why didn't anyone warn me some knots can't be untied?

1

Ring-a-Ling (Gwen)

O h, for Heavens sake! I slap my desk with both hands so hard the round plastic holder full of pens and pencils nearly topples over.

This damn ringing is officially driving me nuts.

With writerly things still clinking together, I shove my chair back, letting out a loud huff. Remind me why Im here again?

All the hours of unpaid overtime recovering data from a computer that mustve been on Noahs Ark is punishment enough. Ive put up with rudeness, last minute requests that add on hours to my day, every nuisance imaginable since working here, but this...

This constant freaking ringing? I think Id rather spend all day spraying nests of angry hornets.

Ive had it.

Standing, I stretch angrily and march across the room to yank open Mannys office door.

Every room of this oh-so-prestigious gag me law office is smaller than most broom closets. But thats life. Its also my tragic joke of a job.

Im an ass-ociate of Stork, Storkley, and Associates. A place where the Storkley part is fictitious and so are the associates.

Manny Stork, Esquire, is the only real lawyer here, and its a stretch to say that. And, well, as the only other soul here who could be called an associate in the vaguest sense, I havent done anything but kept my nose shoved in an ancient computer for weeks doing data recovery.

Beggars cant be choosers, they say.

But Im wondering if Id be getting better job experience rattling a cup for loose change on the street. Too bad this was the only legal job available in Finley Grove, Minnesota, one more small town among the pines.

Unless I wanted to sell out waiting tables, playing overnight cashier at the gas station, or working a fast food drive through, the choice was clear.

This is the part where I wish Id taken a better look at my choices. Because right the heck now?

I think anything would beat Stork, Storkley, and Associates.

Growth pains. I could blame it on them.

Apparently, Im still 'growing into my feet.' A phrase Mother loves using to describe my almost comical mess of a life and six-foot-tall height.

So Im not the most graceful person.

Waitressing? Been there, done that. It didnt work. My one and only paycheck went to cover all the dishes Id broken.

And I think those little drive-thru gas pumps are even more claustrophobic than Mannys law offices. They can also be dangerous.

I may be tall with a head full of untamable red hair that at times could scare the pants off any would-be robber, but Im a chicken at heart. So cashiering overnights at a convenience store wasnt up my alley either.

Then theres that pesky paralegal certificate on my resume. The thing Id shelled out good money and years of my life for, telling myself law would be stable. Glamorous. Exciting.

Right. Lets just blame it on too many Law and Order reruns and cut our losses.

My losses. Anyway...

So here I am, following an obnoxious nonstop ringing in the stuffy office of a lawyer who has more side gigs than real clients on the books. That much Ive figured out from the data Im recovering.

Part of me wonders exactly what some of his gigs are all about. Admittedly, Im intrigued, which is probably the only reason I havent handed in my resignation yet.

The noise is coming from Mannys desk. Just a constant, steady basic bitch ringtone that only goes quiet for a few seconds before it goes off like an air raid siren again.

Sighing, I pull open the desk drawer. My brows knit together as I glare at the obnoxious phone thats been blaring for the last hour.

The rest of the metal drawer is empty. God.

No wonder this thing sounded like an elephant stampede echoing off the walls.

Odd. Its one of those disposable pay-as-you-go cell phones. Some off-brand Ive never seen or heard of before. I frown.

This isnt like my illustrious boss. Manny has a sleek new Android phone thats larger than his palm and forever glued to it.

I lift out the phone just as it quits ringing again.

Honestly, I dont know if Im happy or disappointed.

The stupid plastic device just shattered my last nerve. To think I was looking forward to planting the tip of my heel in the screen, pressing down with a satisfying crunch, and putting an end to this insanity.

My finger taps the button on the front, turning it on.

Seventeen missed calls? I whisper out loud, reading the screen. At least seventeen. More like seventeen hundred. I scroll down. Twenty-two text messages? Again, at least.

All from Unknown. Damn spammers.

I flip the phone over, looking for the off button, when it buzzes in my hand again. My fingers shake so violently I feel like Im holding on to a restless frog trying to leap away.

Its another text. Mr. or Mrs. Unknown again.

Confirmation needed on tomorrows meeting ASAP. Answer me.

I shake my head, pursing my lips and staring at the message. I almost feel sorry for Unknown.

Whoever they are, theyve put an awful lot of confidence in this firm. And if theyre stupid enough to believe Manny Stork is as good a lawyer as he believes he is, thats their problem, not mine.

The message disappears, and I notice the time. 7:15? Christ. Maybe Im the stupid one. There goes another four hours Ill never be paid for.

Saying it confirms how done I am with this day.

Ive been here since seven this morning. I grit my teeth. As my boss, Mr. Asshat, Esquire himself, has said in the weeks since Ive been here, working long hours doesnt always equal smart hours.