His Surprise Package

By Ashlee Price

Am I really married to a billionaire!? This must be some mistake. Or is it… Being married to a handsome, chiseled, rich hottie is every woman's dream come true. But playing the role of Aaron Walsh's wife felt more like a nightmare. He's my husband but why is he so ice cold? I spend most of my time trying to figure him out. Yet, there we were, peeling back the layers of our true intentions. Discovering that no matter how hard we try, we can't deny our magnetic attraction. Maybe we can be more than just married on paper. Despite the odds stacked against us. After all, a twist of fate brought us together. And things are getting real between us. Fast. Actually, this could turn out to be my favorite mistake ever.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Ashlee Price
• Release date: Feb 20, 2019
• ISBN: 9798227314185

Book preview

Book Description

Am I really married to a billionaire!?

This must be some mistake.

Or is it...

Being married to a handsome, chiseled, rich hottie is every woman’s dream come true.

But playing the role of Aaron Walsh’s wife felt more like a nightmare.

He’s my husband but why is he so ice cold?

I spend most of my time trying to figure him out.

Yet, there we were, peeling back the layers of our true intentions.

Discovering that no matter how hard we try, we can’t deny our magnetic attraction.

Maybe we can be more than just married on paper.

Despite the odds stacked against us.

After all, a twist of fate brought us together.

And things are getting real between us. Fast.

Actually, this could turn out to be my favorite mistake ever.

Prologue

Aaron

Marjorie?

I call my sister’s name a second time. When she still doesn’t answer and I hear no rustle of fluffy slippers scurrying to the door, I slip my key into the knob and step inside the apartment.

Sweaters on the couch. Magazines on the coffee table. No sign of Marjorie.

Is she out?

The lights are on, though, and the whiff of Indian spices from the orange boxes in the kitchen tells me she didn’t forget it’s our evening of the month. The fact that they’re still sitting on the counter and not in the trashcan means she’s still waiting for me. So where is she?

Marjorie, I’m sorry I’m late, I say as I walk to her bedroom. Are you mad?

No sign of her here, either. I do see her glasses on the bedside table, though. There are only two reasons why she’d take them off. Either she’s asleep—which she isn’t—or she’s in the tub.

I lean outside the bathroom door.

Marjorie?

Still no answer. I press my ear against the door. The silence from beyond it sends bubbles of worry to the surface of my thoughts.

I knock. Marj?

I grip the knob and turn it. It doesn’t budge. A knot forms in my throat as worry becomes fear.

Marj!

The knob rattles in my hand. My shoulder clashes with the wood.

Fuck. Right now, this door feels like a mountain standing in my way. Well, I won’t let it.

I take a step back and raise my leg. I put all my strength into my heel as I drive it into the door just next to the knob. Its defeat resounds through the apartment in a crash.

I step inside but stop two feet away from the tub. It’s filled almost to the brim, the water topped with white froth that smells like vanilla and coconut. And on one end, just beneath the faucet, ten toes stick out, each nail painted bubblegum pink.

My lungs deflate. For a moment, I can’t move. Then I rush towards the tub. My knees crash against the tiles, the cold seeping through the flannel. Bubbles fly into the air as my arms plunge into the water, my hands frantically searching for something to hold on to.

When my fingers bite into a pair of slender shoulders, I lift my arms. Marjorie’s body emerges from the water. Soap clings to her ebony hair that falls over her glassy eyes—empty, dull jade orbs. Her lips are bluish, her skin cold and numb. As I press her icy cheek to mine and place my hand against her neck, I feel no pulse.

My own heart stops. No!

I pull her into my arms as my mouth opens in a silent scream.

~

Aaron!

I don’t lift my head at Hank’s voice or turn my eyes towards him as I hear his footsteps approach. My shoulders still feel heavy. My hands still feel cold clenched against my chin. They still smell of vanilla and coconut.

But I doubt she does anymore. The coroner will have washed it away by now and she’ll smell just like everything else in this damned hospital—of death. Another corpse waiting to be disposed of.

Aaron. Hank’s hand weighs on my back as he catches his breath. Is Marjorie really—?

Lying on a cold table in the morgue? I finish.

He squeezes my shoulder. I’m sorry, man. I—

Tell me you’re going to make this right. My hands clench tighter.

Hank sits beside me and sighs. I’m a lawyer, man, not a fucking magician. I can’t undo this.

I turn my head and look into his eyes. Tell me you’re going to put the man who did this behind bars.

The man who did this? Hank’s eyebrows go up. Aaron, I thought—

She didn’t kill herself, Hank. My head shakes. She would never do that.

Hey. Hank’s fingers bite into my shoulder once more. I know this can’t be easy for you. This is messed up. And I understand why you’d want to believe Marjorie didn’t do this.

She didn’t do this.

But—

Innocent until proven guilty. Isn’t that what the law says, Hank? I get off the bench so I can face him. Why should Marjorie be any different? Why should it be assumed she took her own life just because I found her in a tub with no one else around?

Calm down, Aaron. Hank gets on his feet and raises his hands. I’m on your side. You know I am. No one is assuming anything.

I snort.

There may not even be any deliberate intention here, he goes on. It could have been an accident. It happens.

I narrow my eyes at him. An accident?

People drown in oceans by accident all the time. And even in tubs. Do you know someone drowns in a tub nearly every day in this country? And that’s not intentional.

This wasn’t an accident.

Aaron shrugs and lifts his hands in defeat. Fine.

I sink onto the bench and rub my temples. No way. There’s no fucking way she just slipped into the water and stopped breathing or that she did it on purpose. Because if that was the case, then—

Mr. Walsh?

I lift my head to see a woman in scrubs walking towards me. Her mask is tucked beneath her chin. Thick glasses sit atop her nose.

Yes? I stand up.

I’m Dr. Lascoe, the coroner, she introduces herself. We found out something.

And it’s important, or she wouldn’t be telling me.

I glance at the paper in her hand. What?

Your sister was two months pregnant.

My gaze drops to the floor. Pregnant? I did notice she was eating more than usual and that she had gained a bit of weight. I thought it was just because of all the stress from school, like she said.

Marjorie was pregnant?

I turn to Hank. Now tell me she took her own life.

Hank shrugs and says nothing.

I thought so.

You think someone killed your sister? Dr. Lascoe asks me.

I nod. My hands curl into fists at my sides. And I think I know now who did.

~

I’m sorry, Mr. Walsh. Judge Holden captures my gaze from behind her imposing podium. But while there is evidence that Marjorie Walsh was murdered, I do not believe there is enough evidence here for the state to try Mr. Colby for that murder.

My jaw drops. No.

I feel like I’m back in that bathroom standing over that filled tub that has my sister’s cold body in it. Numb. Helpless.

Mr. Colby, you’re free to go.

I look at the man sitting at the defendant’s table. His shoulders fall as he lets out a deep sigh of relief.

Max Colby. The man who dated my sister. Who knocked her up. And who killed her.

I know he did.

The gavel pounds. Court is adjourned.

Still, I stay in my seat, my gaze of icy daggers piercing into the back of my sister’s murderer as his lawyer gives him a hug.

My fist tightens on my lap.

The prosecutor, a light-bearded man in his forties, turns to me. Again, Mr. Walsh, we’re sorry for your loss.

Sorry? It’s not what I want to hear.

If any new evidence turns up, I assure you, we—

Don’t bother.

He sighs. Mr. Walsh, I should also warn you not to take the law in your own hands. I’d hate to see you on the opposite side of the courtroom.

Don’t worry. I glance at him. I’m not as incompetent as you are.

He replies with a look of disbelief.

Hank taps my shoulder. We should go.

My gaze goes back to Max, following him as he exits the room. For a moment, our eyes meet. Sadness glimmers in his before he looks away. His head hangs low.

He doesn’t fool me. I know he killed Marj. He may be walking away now, but one day, one way or another, I’m going to come after him and I’m going to make him pay for what he did.

He’s going to wish he was behind bars, because now, there’s nothing keeping me from sending him to hell myself.

Chapter One

Teri

Seven years later...

I pause halfway through the final flight of stairs and lean against the railing to catch my breath. My lungs feel on fire. My knees feel like they’re wrapped in barbed wire. My feet ache, too.

I look down at my black leather flats. I should have worn my Air Max or my Keds. Then again, I didn’t consider the possibility of the elevator being broken so I’d have to climb several flights of stairs.

Not that I would have had time to change. I came through the front door and Pam, my sister, shoved a box of her homemade French macaroons at my chest, saying they had to be delivered in the next hour or her client would be in trouble. She would have delivered them herself but Cody was having a stomachache and she couldn’t just leave him.

What could I say? That I was tired? Pam never buys that. After all, every day, she brings Cody to school and fetches him, and in between she does the laundry, cooks the meals and bakes pastries for her business. She’s the one who’s tired. Me? I’ve been trying to find a stable full-time job, a job at an interior design firm.

Since I graduated from design school, I’ve applied to every firm in Pennsylvania, plus a few in Baltimore, DC and New Jersey, and I still haven’t heard from most of them. I heard from one, and I went for an interview today, but I can already tell that’s not going to work out. I bet they threw my application into the trash the moment I left the building.

You’re too young.

You don’t have enough experience.

Your ideas don’t sound new.

Your designs look too plain.

That’s all I hear. They won’t even give me a chance to prove them wrong.

So here I am, Pam’s delivery girl again. Maybe I should just apply for the job permanently. Her pastries seem to be selling well and she definitely needs the help.

But I probably wouldn’t get paid. If I asked for payment, she’d ask for rent, which is only fair. I’ll still end up empty-handed.

Besides, I don’t think I’m cut out for delivery.

I make my way up the last few steps. Thank goodness the client only lives on the fifth floor and not on the tenth. I scan the doors lining the hallway until I spot the one that says 504. I smooth my hair just a bit and ring the doorbell.

After a few moments, the door opens and a woman with coffee brown skin, frizzy red hair and large silver hoop earrings swaying above her shoulders appears. One glance at the box I’m carrying and the corners of her full red lips turn up into a smile.

Darling, you’re a lifesaver. She turns around and grabs her purse. My sister’s arriving tonight and I promised her the best macaroons in town.

I smile and shrug. Well, these are the best macaroons I’ve ever tasted.

I know. She continues searching through the contents of her purse. Actually, my sister was supposed to arrive tomorrow afternoon, which was why I originally told Pam to deliver these tomorrow, but all of a sudden, she calls me up and says she’s already on her way. What is up with that? And so I just...

I’m no longer listening. I don’t really care why she wants the macaroons. I just want her to get them and pay for them so I can leave. How much longer is she going to go through that purse? Is her wallet really even there?

Finally, she fishes it out and hands me three twenty-dollar bills.

I look at them with arched eyebrows. Um, do you have the exact amount? Because—

Oh, keep the change, sweetheart, she says. And tell Pam I really appreciate her sending these babies right over.

I grab the bills as I hand her the box of macaroons. Okay. I get a $12 tip. Not bad.

I slip the money inside my pocket. Thanks, Mrs. Beaty.

Thank you. And until next time. Take care.

The door closes and she’s gone.

I rub my hands together as if shaking some imaginary dust from between them. Another smooth delivery from Teri Flynn.

The only thing that wipes my grin away is the thought of taking the stairs again. But hey, it’s easier going down than up. Gravity’s on my side this time.

I’ve gone down just a few steps when my phone vibrates in my pocket. I take it out and read the message from Pam.

Were you able to deliver them? I’m going to the hospital because Cody threw up. They might keep him for the night or two. I’ve told Ron though he’s still in Detroit. You have your keys. Don’t forget to lock the front door.

I let out a sigh. Poor Cody. It seems like another case of the stomach flu.

I type my reply.

Hope Cody will get better fast. I’ve delivered the macaroons and am headed home. Don’t worry about me.

I send the message. Well, maybe that last bit is unnecessary. She’ll still worry about me anyway, even though I’m just four years younger than her, even though I’m not even her real sister. She’s always been that way.

I put my phone back in my pocket and proceed down the steps. Home alone for the night, huh? What to do, what to do...

Well, I’ve got a bunch of Netflix shows to catch up on. Or I can finally finish embroidering that lampshade, that little project I’ve been working on. Or maybe tidy up the kitchen. Again.

I’m still considering all those possibilities as I take my time going down the steps. I stop in my tracks, though, as I hear a man’s voice from below.

Haven’t I heard that voice somewhere before?

Then I hear him give a throaty laugh and my heart stops. One glance over the railing at a head of red hair and I know who he is.

Well, I don’t know exactly who he is. All I know is that once, I agreed to help a friend of mine decorate a house for a couple’s anniversary party. I was invited to the party, too, as thanks, and I didn’t have better plans, so I went. Everything was fine until I went to search for the bathroom after a few glasses of champagne. I found it, alright, but I found someone else inside, too, a man stroking his own dick. This man. I know because while I was standing in the doorway with my mouth gaping, he turned to me and asked me to join him. Then he laughed.

That same hoarse, throaty laugh.

Besides, he’s wearing the same white suit. He must be a waiter for a catering service. Or someone’s driver.

At any rate, he’s definitely not someone I want to cross paths with again.

Now what? My feet start climbing back up the steps before I can come up with a plan.

Sure, I could just run quickly past him. Who’s to say he’d recognize me? It’s been months and he only saw me for a few seconds. I don’t want to take that risk, though, because if I’m wrong and he does recognize me, I’ll be in trouble. He’s a fucking pervert, after all.

So what? Just keep going up so he doesn’t catch up to me? But what if he lives on the tenth floor?

Back on the fifth floor, I look around for a place to hide. None. Doors are all that’s on this hallway. No tables or couches to crouch beneath or behind. It’s likely the same on each floor.

Should I just knock on the door to 504 again? Ask Mrs. Beaty to let me use the bathroom, maybe? She seems like a nice woman.

The quickening footsteps coming up from behind me send me into a panic. I climb up the next flight of stairs instead of racing down the hall. It’s too late to turn back now.

I go up and up without glancing back. I just keep my ears open, hoping that soon the only footsteps I hear climbing the stairs will be mine. But no. He keeps following me, and when I reach the tenth floor and still hear him climbing, my heart begins to hammer in fear.

So he does live on the tenth floor, which means he can easily drag me into his apartment without anyone knowing.

Should I send Pam a text? She can’t help me, though. She’ll just worry, and she’s got enough to worry about.

So what?

As his approaching footsteps nearly match my racing heartbeat, I look around.

Think, Teri. Think.

Maybe I can just knock on the door near the end of the hall and then hide behind the door when someone opens it. But my timing will have to be perfect. And what if that creep lives at the end of the hall? He’ll still see me.

Should I just knock and ask to be let in? Maybe if I explain my situation, they’ll understand. It sounds troublesome, though. And risky.

The footsteps keep coming. My heart pounds faster.

Come on. There must be something...

Suddenly, a door near me creaks open. Loud music escapes from inside, along with a woman who rushes towards the end of the hall with phone in hand. She doesn’t see me.

I’m tempted to run after her, but then I realize I can still hear the music. The door the woman came from is still slightly open. And it’s closer to me.

Without another thought, I seize my chance. I push the door open just a bit more and slip in. I find myself in a spacious apartment, one with a loft where people are dancing beneath the splattered lights of a dizzying disco ball. There are some people down here, too, on the couches, busy chatting, drinking and flirting.

So it is a party. Good. Maybe I can just slip out as easily as I’ve slipped in.

I take a peek out the door just in time to see the man I’m running away from coming down the hall.

Shit. He lives on this side? Wait. What if he’s headed to this party?

I move away from the door and try to blend in with the shadows in a corner. My gaze rests on the knob as I hold my breath.

Please don’t come here. Please don’t come.

The moments pass. The door stays closed. I exhale.

I’m safe.

I jump, though, when I feel a tap on my shoulder. With my hand on my chest, I stare at the man in front of me wearing a striped sweater and jeans.

Do I know you? he asks.

Uh-oh.

I rattle my brains for an answer. Maybe I can say I delivered something? Or that I stepped inside the wrong apartment?

His thick eyebrows furrow as he glares in suspicion. I swallow.

He doesn’t look stupid or forgiving, but I sure hope I’m wrong.

I...

She’s with me, a voice comes from behind him.

When he steps back, I see another man. Taller, with a more muscular frame. His dark hair is swept back above his wide forehead, the tips of some of the wavy tendrils hanging above broad shoulders. His eyes are dark, too, deep-set but not sunken. Together, the hair and eyes lend him the look of a savage beast, and when his thin lips pull back into a smile to reveal perfect white teeth, it’s almost a snarl. Even so, my breath catches. Who would have thought a snarl could be so charming?

I am charmed—fascinated—as he walks towards me with powerful strides, like a predator about to claim its prey. I should probably run, but I don’t feel fear at all. In spite of his rather wild appearance, I sense intelligence and mystery in his ebony eyes, and they pull me in. As he stands in front of me, I notice that his skin looks smooth beneath that layer of hair coating the edges of his chiseled cheeks and square chin. He may look a bit rough, but he’s neat. His olive green shirt looks crisp and even expensive, the V-shaped neckline dipping low enough to give a glimpse of some curls sticking out of his chest. And I have to say that is a manly chest sitting atop sculpted abs, the muscles threatening to burst through the cotton.

He clears his throat and my eyes go back to his face. His eyebrows arch.

Y–yes, that’s right, I say as I fight off a blush. I’m with... with him.

The man in the striped sweater turns to him with a questioning look. Is that right, Aaron?

Aaron, huh?

Yup, he answers coolly before bringing his glass of whiskey to his lips.

Well, this is new. The other man puts his hands on his hips. It’s not like you to bring a woman. Usually, you just find—

Don’t you have other guests to see to? Aaron pats his shoulder.

Right. He turns towards me and offers his hand. Pleased to meet you...

Teri, I say as I give him mine.

James. He shakes my head. But Aaron must have already told you that. Enjoy.

James wanders off and Aaron steps forward. He’s even bigger standing in front of me, towering over me. I catch a whiff of spicy cologne.

So, Teri... He leans against the wall beside me and finishes his drink in one gulp. Enjoying the party so far?

He’s still playing this game, huh?

Well, I can’t.

We both know I’m not with you, I tell him.

You don’t want to be?

Again, my breath catches. My chest feels warm. Why can’t I answer? I should just say no and leave. The coast should be clear by now. Is it because the answer is yes and I’m just too embarrassed to say it out loud?

He’s unlike any man I’ve met, after all. Frankly, those have all been disappointments in varying degrees. But this man, Aaron—something tells me he doesn’t know how to disappoint. This is a man who knows how to please, but he’s by no means docile. No siree.

Well, did I pass? Aaron asks.

I give him a puzzled look. What?

You’ve been sizing me up and ticking those boxes in your mind. Did I pass?

Just as I thought, he’s intelligent. Perceptive. Now I’m blushing.

I wasn’t—

It’s fine. Just tell me if I passed.

Does he have to ask?

Aaron, why did you cover for me? I ask instead.

His back leaves the wall. In the next second, he’s in