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Bought for Protection (Bought by the Billionaire #3)
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This sexy billionaire doesn’t need a bride, but he finds himself buying one anyway.
Garret Hansen is focused on business, and getting married is the last thing on his mind. Then the woman his company is tasked to protect without her knowledge visits a discreet matchmaker, and it gives him the perfect excuse to provide her with close security…as her husband.
Keaton Michaels desperately wants to get out from under her father’s thumb. Finding a suitable husband is the perfect solution because her wifely duties would take precedence over being a politician’s daughter.
Their marriage was supposed to be temporary, but love and babies have a way of changing plans.
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I thought once I graduated from college, I’d finally be able to break free from my dad. But nope, he wanted me to go work for him. I blamed myself almost as much as him. “Why did I agree to a minor in political science?” I flopped back on my mattress and pulled a pillow over my face to scream into it.
My dad was a popular senator, so his security was always tight, but lately, it felt impossibly so. Probably since I was living under his roof again—well, one of his roofs, anyway—after four years of living on campus and having a tiny taste of pseudo-freedom. First in the dorms as a freshman, and then in the sorority house for the rest of my time in college.
“I told you it wasn’t a good idea,” Ashley reminded me.
I lifted the pillow off my face and whipped it at her. It wasn’t the first time I’d thrown something at her, and I was sure it wouldn’t be the last. We were best friends, after all.
“Hey!” she yelped. “You almost made me spill my nail polish.”
“That’s what you get when I need real advice and you give me an ‘I told you so,’ instead of something constructive.”
“Talk about cutting off your nose to spite your face.” She twisted the cap back onto the bottle and shook it at me. “This shade would so not go with your duvet.”
I glanced between the metallic blue polish and the lavender material covering my bed and shrugged my shoulders. “I can live with a splash of color on my duvet, but I can’t handle my dad being in control of every aspect of my life anymore.”
“So get married.”
“Get married?” She said it like she had the perfect answer to my problem. And she stated it casually, like she was telling me the weather…as though getting married was super easy.
“That’d be a possible solution, but only if there was someone I could actually marry,” I retorted. “My dad scares off any guy who’s even remotely interested in me with his background checks and lectures about upholding the Michaels name.”
“And those are only the ones you haven’t already scared off yourself.”
I sat up and glared at her. “What do you mean by that?”
She flung her arm out toward me and waved it up and down. “You’re drop-dead gorgeous, which is super intimidating to most guys.”
“Oh, please,” I huffed. “If I’m gorgeous, then why do guys hardly ever hit on me?”
“They do. All the time. But they go down in flames because you don’t notice. Talk about a hit to the ego. I swear, you’re totally clueless when it comes to guys being attracted to you.”
“Even if you were right”—I narrowed my eyes at her when she smiled like she thought I was conceding victory—“it’s not like it’ll even help, because meeting a guy and dating him won’t get my dad off my case.”
“I know. That’s why I said you should get married. Then your dad won’t have much of a say in your life anymore.”
There she went again with the husband suggestion, as if it were that simple. “But then I’d just be trading my dad in for a husband. It might be like jumping from the frying pan into the fire.”
“Unlike your dad, your husband will only have as much control as you’re willing to give him.” She wagged her brows. “And if he’s hot, you might even enjoy giving him a lot of it, if you know what I mean.”
I loved Ashley like a sister, but she was impossible—although she might have had a point about a husband being easier to handle than my dad. And having one might help me with the press, too. “Where exactly am I supposed to find a husband?”
“That’s easy.” I stared at her with raised brows as she climbed off the mattress, padded across the floor, dug through her purse to pull out a cream-colored business card, and crossed back over to the side of the bed to hand it to me. “Call this woman and tell her you need to get married. There’s no way she’ll say no. Not with your looks, education, and background.”
I glanced down at the card and read aloud, “Julia Connor, Luxe Connections—discreet matchmaking services. What is this? Some kind of mail-order bride thing?”
“No. Why would you even ask me that?” She dropped onto the mattress, propping her chin up with her hand as she stared at me. “Do you really think I’d put you in touch with a place that ships brides off to like—Russia or something?”
“I’m pretty sure you have that backwards and Russia is the one sending brides to the States.”
She rolled her eyes at me. “You’re completely missing the point. I’d never steer you wrong like that.”
“True, but you’ve also never steered me toward a matchmaker before.” I pointed at her bare ring finger. “And it’s not like you’ve used her services, since you’re as single as I am. So how do you even know about Luxe Connections in the first place?”