Kiss Me Quick

Chapter 1-1

1

It's all fun and games until you wake up married…

…in a heart-shaped hotel bed, on top of the covers, next to a pretty girl checking her watch. "Time to get divorced!" the girl announced cheerfully.

It had been such a whirlwind night that it took a few moments for Chase to remember who she was.

"Cindy. Cindy Tran."

She reached for the bedside table to snag her glasses, vintage cat's-eyes with rhinestones. They went perfectly with her whole retro vibe, which was somewhere between smart-ass and badass. She was still wearing her clothes from the night before--except for the wedding veil.

"Well, it's Cindy Tran only because I insisted on keeping my name. If you had it your way, I'd be Cindy Merriweather by now. Which makes me sound like some kind of suburban dream trophy wife, which, hello, I'm obviously not."

Chase sat up and rubbed the sleep out of his eyes. "No need to be so hard on yourself."

She snorted. "I'm sorry, did you think 'dream trophy wife' is something I aspire to? Believe me, I have bigger and better goals in life."

Chase eyed her with a mixture of fascination and wariness. He'd never met anyone quite like Cindy Tran before. Since he'd first located her last night, she'd confused, infuriated, and amused him more than anyone he'd ever known.

"I have no idea what you aspire to. We've known each other, what, fifteen hours?"

"Yup, which makes it about time for the divorce."

He laughed, running his hand through his hair. "I don't know. That sounds kind of rushed. Maybe we should give it more time. Like, have breakfast first." His stomach rumbled with hunger. The action-packed fifteen hours since he and Cindy met hadn't included any food.

She c****d her head at him and eyed his hair. "Okay, what's with the perfect bed-head? I thought you rich boys had to pay big bucks to get your hair to look like that."

"What makes you think I'm rich?" His stomach growled again. "I could really go for some waffles. You like waffles?"

"Who doesn't like waffles? And I know you're rich because you're an unpaid intern who offered to get my parents' house out of foreclosure. And you insisted on getting us this bitchin' honeymoon suite with the free mini-bar. Remember?"

He squinted as the memory came swimming back through a fog of Long Island Iced Teas. "Oh yeah. Well, the offer still stands."

"The waffles or the house?"

"Both."

"Forget it, rich kid. I don't want your money, but I'll take breakfast. Waffles, then divorce. It's a plan."