The Billionaire's Favourite Mistake: Billionaires and Bridesmaids 4 by Jessica Clare Page A

“Good. I’m going to walk you back to your car. You need to get out of this heat. And then I want you to go home and eat a big meal. Lots of proteins and carbohydrates. Then, when you’re done with that, take a hot shower and relax for the rest of the day.” He picked her glasses up and held them out to her.
    She plucked the glasses from his hand and scowled at him. “Don’t tell me what to do. I have entirely too much going on to take a day off. I have to call a dozen caterers and see who can squeeze us in, and then there’s staff for valet parking for the day of the wedding, and I need to call about cakes, and—”
    When she stood, he stood, too, and tried to pick her up in his arms again.
    She batted at him, angry. “What are you doing?”
    “If you’re not going to relax and take it easy, I’m going to force you to.” He ignored her flying, ineffective fists, and cradled her against his chest. “The wedding can’t go on if the planner passes out all day.”
    “Fine,” she bellowed, shoving at his chest. “Fine! You win! I’ll go home and eat an enormous meal and then spend the rest of the day in bed.”
    He put her down.
    “With my phone,” she amended. “And my laptop. But in bed.”
    Small victories.
    ***
    Even though Greer swore she was fine, Asher insisted on following her home and didn’t relax until she was pulling her rental car into the driveway at the Dutchman castle. Only then did the breath he’d felt like he was holding all afternoon escape him.
    God, he’d felt as if he’d aged a hundred years in an hour. Seeing Greer collapse like that had made him realize just how delicate she was . . . and just how much she meant to him. They’d been such close friends all through college and he’d taken her for granted: the late nights she’d stayed up studying with him, the times he was sick and she’d made him chicken noodle soup, the unwavering support she’d given him, the way they both liked the same sappy black-and-white movies.
    Seeing her faint had just clinched in his mind that she was his, and he’d do anything to win her back. It was clear that his Greer had a spine of solid metal under that sweet, demure exterior, though. He mentally replayed her quiet removal of his hand from her knee over and over again.
    He needed a plan to win her back.
    All right, then. If he was going to create a fake wedding just to get her closer to him, he’d take advantage of that closeness.
    If Greer was around him daily, there was no way he couldn’t break down those barriers she’d erected. She’d loved him once; he could get her to love him again.
    He hoped.
    He needed more than just being around her to win her back, though. Hell, he’d been around her today and where had that gotten him? She’d been so stressed she’d forgotten to eat and had nearly passed out at his feet. Furtive meetings weren’t the answer.
    They had to be together, and constantly. It was so easy for her to shoot him down, now that she was convinced he was terrible at sex.
    All right, then. He’d have to convince her otherwise. But how?
    As he drove back to his hotel on the strip, a plan began to form in his mind.
    ***
    “Augusta, what’s this meeting on my schedule at noon?” Greer studied her phone, frowning, as she headed into her father’s personal assistant’s office on the second floor of the Dutchman castle.
    Augusta looked up from her laptop, a pinched frown on her long face. “Mr. Sutton asked me to set that up. It’s a daily check-in on the wedding proceedings. Make sure you and the brides and the groom—or his stand-in—are all on the same page.”
    “Ah.” She stood there like an idiot as Augusta went back to work, her gaze returning to her computer. “And . . . is Mr. Sutton going to be there?”
Please say no. Please say no
.
    The look on Augusta’s face was something between
Really?
and
I don’t have time for this shit
. “Of course.”
    “Of course,” Greer echoed, and turned and