Black Tie Optional (Wild Wedding Series Book 1) Read online

  The Proposal meets Two Weeks Notice in Ann Marie Walker's new standalone romantic comedy, Black Tie Optional.

  Everything about billionaire Coleman Grant III oozes power and sex. And not the perfunctory kind either, but the sheet clawing, heart stopping, gasping for air after you’ve screamed so loud you can’t breathe kind. From his dark wavy hair that stands in an artfully rumpled mess, to the blue eyes that sear your skin, to his full, sensual lips - on the surface he’s pure perfection. Too bad he's an asshole. An arrogant, uptight corporate raider hell bent on destroying the environment one species at a time.

  Everything about Olivia Ramsey screams hippie humanitarian. From her blond hair tied in a sloppy bun, to her faded jeans with the Bonnaroo patch sewn on the thigh, to her combat boots still splattered with mud from the previous day’s site visit.

  So it makes perfect sense that they would get married. In Vegas. Stone-cold sober.

  Cole needs a wife. Olivia needs to save an endangered species. But what starts as a marriage of convenience soon turns into a battle of wills and sexual tension. Love is a game, and Olivia and Cole are ready to win.

  Praise for BLACK TIE OPTIONAL

  “Adorable, romantic, funny, and sexy!”

  ~Kirkus

  "Sweet, funny, steamy, and at times laugh-out-loud funny, this latest from Walker is an entertaining and fun read."

  ~ Library Journal

  "A sexy, hilariously entertaining solo debut!

  Coleman Grant is one hell of an alpha hottie with a side of sweet that will make you swoon."

  ~ NYT Bestselling Author Helena Hunting

  "A fun, sexy romp that will keep every

  reader entertained!"

  ~ NYT Bestselling Author Jennifer Probst

  Also By The Author

  Wild Wedding Series

  BLACK TIE OPTIONAL

  ICING ON THE CAKE

  SAVE THE DATE

  Chasing Fire Series

  REMIND ME

  RELEASE ME

  RECLAIM ME

  EMBRACE ME

  BLACK TIE OPTIONAL

  A WILD WEDDING NOVEL

  Ann Marie Walker

  BLACK TIE OPTIONAL

  Copyright © 2017 by Ann Marie Walker. Excerpt from ICING ON THE CAKE © 2018 by Ann Marie Walker. Excerpt from SAVE THE DATE © 2020 by Ann Marie Walker.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without prior written permission of the author, Ann Marie Walker.

  This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  Trade paperback ISBN: 9798633760453

  St. Martin’s Press ISBN: 9781250163738 (out of print)

  Cover Design by Simone Renou/In My Dreams Design

  First Edition

  Contents

  1. Chapter One

  2. Chapter Two

  3. Chapter Three

  4. Chapter Four

  5. Chapter Five

  6. Chapter Six

  7. Chapter Seven

  8. Chapter Eight

  9. Chapter Nine

  10. Chapter Ten

  11. Chapter Eleven

  12. Chapter Twelve

  13. Chapter Thirteen

  14. Chapter Fourteen

  15. Chapter Fifteen

  16. Chapter Sixteen

  17. Chapter Seventeen

  18. Chapter Eighteen

  19. Chapter Nineteen

  20. Chapter Twenty

  21. Chapter Twenty-One

  22. Chapter Twenty-Two

  23. Chapter Twenty-Three

  24. Chapter Twenty-Four

  EXCERPT: ICING ON THE CAKE

  EXCERPT: SAVE THE DATE

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  For my kids

  I’m so proud to be your mom

  Chapter One

  Just like clockwork, Olivia thought. She watched the gas-guzzling SUV roll to a stop alongside the curb, its hazard lights blinking as if some sort of justification for bringing a full lane of Chicago’s morning rush hour to a grinding halt. Every day the sleek black car stopped in exactly the same location, so the almighty Coleman Grant III could get the same extra hot, double shot Americano from the same big-chain coffee shop, bypassing the smaller, neighborhood establishments trying to stay afloat as corporate America runs them into the ground.

  A mountain of a man in mirrored aviator shades jumped out of the front seat to open the rear door, giving Olivia a clear view of the luxury vehicle’s interior. Two leather captain’s chairs with fold down keyboards and armrest tablet holders sat facing several television monitors mounted above what appeared to be a full-service bar. Forget running a business, it looked as though Coleman Grant ran NASA from his backseat. Honestly, what could possibly be so important that it couldn’t keep until he got to the office? The commute from his Gold Coast penthouse to his Loop headquarters was less than two miles. Hadn’t the guy ever heard of just chilling out with some tunes?

  Olivia approached the car just as Grant climbed out of the backseat. He paused to button the jacket of his navy-blue Tom Ford and for a moment she forgot he was an arrogant, self-righteous prick hell bent on destroying the environment one species at a time. For a moment, she allowed herself to take in the physical perfection standing in front of her. From his dark wavy hair that stood in an artfully rumpled mess, to the blue eyes that seared her skin, to his full, sensual lips—everything about Coleman Grant oozed power and sex. And not the perfunctory kind either, but the sheet clawing, heart-stopping, gasping-for-air-after-you’ve-screamed-so-loud-you-can’t-breathe kind. But then his eyes narrowed, and his lips curved into a knowing smirk and Olivia remembered exactly who she was dealing with.

  “Mr. Grant,” she began.

  The bodyguard moved to step between them, but Grant waved him off. “Ms. Ramsey, what a surprise,” he said, not at all surprised since this was the eighty-third day in a row she had approached him. Not that it mattered. She had no plans to stop these sidewalk sessions until he either agreed to her demands or filed for a restraining order.

  He made his way toward the coffee shop with Olivia tight on his heels. “You know, most people simply make an appointment with my assistant.”

  “I’ve tried that, Mr. Grant. But for some reason your schedule is always full.”

  “Pity,” he said, his voice void of all emotion. When he reached the glass doors, he yanked one open. “Please, after you.”

  Bastard. Normally he charged in like he owned the place, never mind if she or anyone else got a face full of door. How dare he try to throw her off her game by acting chivalrous? As if the man had a courteous bone in his body. Olivia stood frozen in place, debating how best to handle this latest twist in their balance of power. As she did, Cole’s gaze raked over her, from her blond hair tied in a sloppy bun, to her faded jeans with the Bonnaroo patch sewn on the thigh, to her combat boots splattered with mud from the previous day’s site visit.

  She hated to admit it, but the scrutiny of his gaze was unnerving. And it wasn’t just the laser-like focus. There was something about his expression, as if he wasn’t looking at her fully clothed in a shop brimming with customers, but rather undressing her with his eyes. She shifted in place, debating if she should call him out for his piggish behavior or simply stick to the topic at hand.

  “Suit yourself,” he finally said, stepping through the doors and leaving her alone on the si
dewalk.

  Not so fast. Olivia took a deep breath and joined him at the service counter. “Mr. Grant, as I’m sure you’re aware, the northern long-eared bat was recently granted protection as a threatened species under the Endangered Species Act.”

  “Rather difficult to forget given your daily reminders. Although I must say, Ms. Ramsey, you disappoint me. No visual aids today?” he asked, his tone dripping with smug sarcasm. He turned away from the counter with his extra hot, double shot Americano to find Olivia standing behind him with an 8 x 10 glossy in her hand. “Ah, it seems I spoke too soon.”

  “This particular species of bat has been the most impacted by white-nose syndrome and the resulting decline in their numbers is what—”

  “Those really are the most vile creatures,” Grant interrupted. “Have you ever considered taking up the cause of a more appealing animal, say a manatee?”

  “There aren’t any manatees in Lake Michigan.”

  “Precisely.” He smirked. “Perhaps you could move? I’m sure you could find some poor, unsuspecting Floridians worthy of your attention.” He raised his left hand, and for the first time Olivia realized he was holding a second cup. He thrust it in her direction and without thinking she took it, dropping the photograph as she did. “You seem like the type who would order your latte with a hundred and one specifications, but hopefully skinny vanilla will do.”

  Olivia blinked. He bought her a coffee? What the actual fuck? First the door and now this? Did he really think he could charm his way out of the hot seat? She had spent her entire adult life and most of her teens speaking on behalf of those who couldn’t. It was going to take a lot more than a few random acts of fabricated kindness to get her off his back.

  She was about to tell him not only where he could stick his latte but how in her twenty-eight years on earth she’d never ordered a “skinny” anything, when he turned toward the door. She bent to scoop up the photo then hurried after him, fast talking her case all the way to the curb where his bodyguard stood waiting with the door already open. As usual, Grant didn’t say a word, much less defend his stance. Instead he simply flashed a grin that would have made her drop her latte, not to mention her panties, if she didn’t find him to be lacking in not only morals and ethics but quite possibly a soul.

  He gave her a quick nod before ducking into the car. “Until tomorrow, Ms. Ramsey.”

  With that, the door slammed shut and the SUV pulled into traffic to the sound of protesting horns.

  “Asshole,” Olivia muttered under her breath. “Gorgeous asshole, but still.” She turned on her heel and started down the street with her head held high. Coleman Grant III might have been trying to make a mockery of her attempts to persuade him, but their standoff was far from over. A slow grin curved her lips as an idea began to take shape. She’d just pulled her smartphone out to send herself a reminder when it started to vibrate in her hand.

  “Are you bringing your swimsuit?” her best friend asked before Olivia had even managed a hello.

  “To the desert? You’re joking, right?”

  “I wasn’t sure.”

  “Cassie, I know you’ve had your head buried in cookbooks for the past few years, but surely you can remember how a vacation works . . . lounge chairs, suntan oil, blended drinks with tiny umbrellas that make you say ridiculously inappropriate things to cabana boys.”

  “I have never said anything inappropriate to a cabana boy. And that’s sexist by the way.”

  “Cabana person?” Olivia laughed at her own joke. “I’m playing. But you’ve got to lighten up a bit. We’re headed to Vegas, Sin City, what happens there stays there and all that.”

  “You sound like a tourism ad.”

  “All I’m saying is come tomorrow you better be ready to party Hangover style.”

  Cassie snorted. “Yeah, ’cause that worked out so well for them.”

  “I promise I won’t leave you stranded on a hotel roof.”

  “This is a bad idea. I should be staying here and looking for a job.”

  “You’re the sister of the groom. You can’t very well ditch out on the bachelor/bachelorette festivities. Besides, if I can break my ‘Harass Coleman Grant’ streak for a few days, then you can certainly give the stand mixer a rest.”

  “How’s that going by the way?”

  Olivia groaned. “New day, same story.”

  “Maybe it’s time to—”

  “Move on? No way.” While it was true that working freelance allowed Olivia a certain amount of latitude, she prided herself on never giving up. There was no way Coleman Grant was going to blemish her perfect record. “I’ll just have to double my efforts.”

  Cassie laughed. “I’m actually starting to feel sorry for the guy.”

  “Don’t be fooled by the looks. He might be hotter than Ryan Reynolds and Ian Somerhalder combined, but underneath that perfect exterior beats the heart of an ogre.”

  “Sounds like someone has wet panties.”

  “Why Cassandra Miller, is that smutty talk I hear coming out of your mouth? There may be hope for you yet.”

  “Don’t change the subject. You’ve got the hots for this guy.”

  “Hardly. He’s eye candy all right, but he’s also a spoiled, self-centered asshole who thinks it’s his way or the highway. Not this time, though.” Olivia nodded to herself. One way or another he was going to give in to her demands. Coleman Grant III had finally met his match. He just didn’t know it yet.

  Chapter Two

  Cole’s driver lowered the partition between the front and back seats. “To the office, sir?”

  “No, I need to swing by the hospital first.” Cole settled back against the tan leather seat as Jonathan maneuvered the car into the steady stream of traffic. He could still see her—head held high, arms wrapped tightly around that ever-present bundle of propaganda. Didn’t the woman have anything better to do with her mornings than accost him on a daily basis? Surely there was some tree that needed hugging or maybe a hot yoga class to attend. That seemed like the sort of thing a woman with a Bonnaroo patch sewn onto her thigh would do.

  He groaned.

  The VIP section at Lollapalooza was barely tolerable but three days sleeping in a tent in a muddy field? Who would voluntarily submit themselves to that type of torture much less advertise it on their jeans? Cole’s gaze instinctively shifted to the denim in question and his eyes roamed from the gentle curve of her waist to the sassy sway of her hips to the . . .

  Fucking hell, Grant, cut the shit. Not your type and definitely not worth the aggravation.

  He chuckled softly to himself as he imagined post-coitus with the tenacious Ms. Ramsey. No doubt she’d produce a picture of some disease-ridden rodent from under her pillow.

  Christ, what the hell was wrong with him? Two weeks without sex, that’s what. His latest acquisition had kept him in the office into the wee hours, and a horny Cole was an irrational Cole. How else could he explain thoughts of Olivia Ramsey sprawled out beneath him, her wild blond curls fanned out across his sheets as her glistening body bowed off the bed. Or maybe on all fours with her hair fisted in his hand. His fingers curled as he imagined yanking her head back to muffle her cries with his tongue while his cock took her again and again.

  Fuck, it was worse than he thought. He needed an afternoon with his trainer and an evening with someone from the roster and he needed both ASAP. He pulled his smartphone out of the inside pocket of his suit jacket and had just begun scrolling through his contacts when the car rolled to a stop.

  “The usual, sir?”

  Cole nodded but didn’t bother looking up from his phone. He knew exactly where they were, and his driver knew exactly what to buy. Even though he would pass the flower shop as he made his way to the elevator, Cole preferred to let Jonathan handle the purchase while he remained in the car. Otherwise something as simple as picking out a bouquet would turn into a fifteen minute conversation with one of the guild volunteers who would no doubt tell him yet again how cute he w
as as a toddler at the hospital’s groundbreaking, how much he loved the little toy shovel his mother had brought for him, and how he’d grown into the spitting image of his father, “God rest his soul.” No, thank you. He much preferred to skip the incessant small talk and use the time to set up dinner with Courtney. Or maybe just drinks. Late drinks. Only not with Courtney, but Brittany. Yes, Brittany.

  His cock twitched as he thought of their last evening together. They hadn’t even made it out of the limo. Now that was an idea that bore repeating. In fact, if he played his cards right and took her to a place that wasn’t too close to her apartment, maybe he could fuck her senseless on the ride home and still be in bed—alone—in time to catch the end of Colbert.

  He’d just started typing when the rear door of the SUV opened to reveal Jonathan holding a lovely arrangement of pink roses. So much for multitasking. Brittany would have to wait.

  Cole stepped onto the sidewalk and buttoned his jacket against a cool September breeze. According to the calendar, it wasn’t quite fall yet, but the Windy City didn’t give a damn about the almanac. “Keep her running. I won’t be long.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  The automatic doors opened with a swoosh.

  “Mr. Grant,” a familiar voice called to him. The sound of heels click-clacking across the marble floor grew closer. “Mr. Grant, might I have a moment.”