The Runaway Mail-Order Bride Read Online Alexa Riley (Mail-Order Brides #3)

Categories Genre: Alpha Male, Billionaire, Erotic, Romance Tags Authors: Series: Mail-Order Brides Series by Alexa Riley
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Total pages in book: 24
Estimated words: 21996 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 110(@200wpm)___ 88(@250wpm)___ 73(@300wpm)
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The doctor freezes.

I turn my eyes, meeting the chest of a man in a dark suit. My eyes follow the suit, up, up, up, and land on the darkest eyes I’ve ever seen.

Chapter 3

Dane

I’ve just finished one meeting and the next one is about to start. Andrew, my personal assistant, stands at my side, holding out a phone for me to take. I eye it and with one look from him, I know it’s my mother. I roll my eyes but take the phone anyway, because I know she’s just going to call back if I don’t.

“I’ve got about four minutes before my next meeting. What couldn’t possibly wait until dinner tonight?” I say, shuffling papers on the table in front of me.

“I’m going to pretend you’ve had an aneurysm and you’ve forgotten that you don’t speak to your mother that way.”

I fall down in my seat and lean my head back. I let out a heavy sigh and try to apologize for my tone.

“Mom…” I begin, but she’s not having it today.

“Dane, what in the hell have you done?”

I sit up in my seat as blood rushes to my ears.

“Did you think I wouldn’t find out?” She goes on without letting me speak. “How could you do this to me?”

“Mom, it’s not what you think,” I try, but I can hear her pacing.

“Your father would be rolling in his grave if we didn’t have him cremated.” She lets out a grunt of frustration, but it sounds like she’s stopped pacing. “A mail-order bride, Dane? What is this, the eighteenth century?”

“I don’t think that time period is correct,” is all I can manage to say in response.

“Watch your mouth, smart ass,” she grumbles.

“How did you find out?” My back straightens and I worry about information leaking to the press. If my mother can find out, maybe someone else will.

“Calm down,” she says, like she can sense where my train of thought is going. “Paul came over here this morning to look over my new contract and I accidentally saw the folder in his bag.”

I sigh, knowing good and well she probably snooped in my lawyer’s bag for it. The woman has no shame.

My mother should know better than anyone why I’m doing this. She’s been hounding me for years to find a wife and settle down, even going so far as to get women to pop in on me, hoping that I’d take a shine to one of them. Every time I turn around she’s got another “friend” she wants to introduce me to. It’s gotten so bad that I refuse to go to her house anymore because of all the extra guests she would invite when she’d have me over for dinner. It’s becoming maddening. Not only that, but I need to be seen as a family man.

I’ve made my business what it is today, and I’ve built an empire. My company is a financial investment firm, and people who want to invest with me want to be able to trust me. It doesn’t matter how smart I am or that I’m the best in the business. At the end of the day, they are signing on with someone they intend to be with until their grandkids have grandkids. I’ve also become a bit of a celebrity after making People magazine’s most eligible bachelor list. I didn’t want to do it, but my marketing department pushed for it, saying all press was good press. But having women in prison send you letters is a bit creepy.

I want to end all the talk about me being single and get back to what I do best—business. I don’t have time for a wife and family. But a fake marriage? Sure, I’ve got time for that. I found an agency that prized discretion. Once I found a young woman willing to meet my terms it was set. My mother doesn’t need to know the details, or that in five years I’ll be single again. All she needs to know is that she can stop trying to set me up, and the rest of the world can go back to ignoring me.

“It’s honestly just a dating service, Mom,” I hedge. I don’t want to give her the whole truth yet. “I’ve agreed to meet with a few prospective clients and see if any offer a good return.”

“How romantic,” she says, and I can practically hear her eyeroll.

“You know how I am.” I look up and see people enter the room. “We’ll discuss this later.”

“I’m sure we won’t. But I’ll keep pestering you until I get the whole truth.”

“I love you, Mom,” I say, and hear her say it back before I end the call.

My mom is one of those old romance authors and she’s got it in her head that I’m going to magically meet someone and fall in love. She thinks she’s a fairy godmother in a Disney movie, and I haven’t been able to convince her otherwise.



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