“Luke, seriously, I’m talking here now as a friend who only has your best interests at heart. You need to listen to me, and understand what I’m saying. You fucked up, you made a mistake, and it’s time to move on from it. Let me handle the girl, you focus on—”

I hold up my hand and cut Brock off, genuinely pissed at him.

“She’s my wife, not just ‘a girl’. And I’m not going to have you dictate to me what I can and can’t do in my personal life, okay?”

He throws up his hands in despair. “You’ve only known her for one night, Luke! I’ve seen you with dozens of girls over the years. Why is this one so different?”

I stop and think for a moment. Why is she different? It’s hard to say, but there was just something about her last night—her lust for life, her willingness to be different, the fact that she wasn’t slobbering all over me just because of my money and my fame.

I don’t really feel like opening up to Brock right now though, so I just opt for the flippant response.

“I didn’t marry any of those chicks, Brock, that’s the difference. How could I call myself a good man if I didn’t treat the sanctity of marriage seriously?”

He rolls his eyes at me. “I don’t think you’re taking this as seriously as you should be, Luke. If your new wife decides she wants half of your shit, we’ll have one hell of a fight on our hands. That kind of uncertainty and instability is exactly what the markets don’t like, and it is bad news for your business interests.”

I yawn and shovel a generous slice of pancake into my mouth. All that running around last night has made me seriously hungry.

“She doesn’t strike me as the money-grubbing type, you know? I don’t think I’ll have any issues with that. And besides, why are you talking like this marriage is doomed to fail? We obviously did it for a reason. There was a real spark there.”

He’s getting seriously agitated now, and I can’t help but be slightly amused at how wound up he’s getting.

“You don’t even know her, for fuck’s sake. She could already be married with kids for all you know. She could be a pro, with a team of expert divorce lawyers already on retainer, just ready to suck you dry. A guy in your position, with your assets, just can’t go around getting married willy nilly to any random strange woman who catches your eye.”

He clutches his head in despair.

“Am I going insane? Am I the only one around here who understands the gravity of the situation you find yourself in?”

I stand up and go over to him, putting an arm around his shoulders and guiding him to a couch. “Brock, my man, you need to relax a little. Seriously, this shit will age you. Sit down, have a drink, and let me handle my wife.”

He glances at his watch. “A drink? It’s 10 a.m.!”

“So? We’re in Vegas, dude. It’s allowed.”

I open a $3000 bottle of Grey Goose Magnum and pour him a generous measure. He looks at the proffered glass doubtfully, then downs it. A sigh escapes from his lips as he leans back into the couch.

“Now, as your boss, I’m ordering you to sit there, have a couple more drinks, and just chill the fuck out. I’ll deal with my marital affairs.”

Brock looks defeated. He knows how stubborn I can be, and he knows that it’ll be pointless to argue with me. He’s right—those traits are what’s allowed me to be so successful; my instincts rarely prove to be wrong.

And my instincts tell me that I want to find out more about the mysterious woman who is now my wife. Trouble is, she’s playing hard to get and not answering my calls.

I thought the honeymoon period was supposed to last longer than a single night.

As I’m mulling over how best to find her, my phone vibrates in my pocket. Not my personal cell—I switched that to silent as soon as I woke up because it was ringing off the hook non-stop. No, this is my work phone.

I turn it on and see an email sitting in my private inbox.

This is weird, because I specifically told Chris, the intern who’s doubling as my personal assistant, not to forward me any work emails while I’m off. The inbox should have remained empty until I returned to work after this Vegas trip.

Apparently, though, Chris thought this was either urgent or didn’t count as a “work email.” Maybe it’s time to hire a new personal assistant.

Intrigued, I open the email. Embarrassingly, my heart does a little flip as I see who it’s from.

I open the email with bated breath. It’s short, and only takes me a minute to read.

Liaise? Damn, this thing reads like a fucking business email, not something from my wife.

No way, I decide, can we just leave it like this. I had one of the best nights of my life last night, and I’m not about to just let that go without even trying to make it work.

I type up my response.

I add my work cell number to the bottom of the email, and within seconds she calls me. I pick up with trembling fingers.

Damn, how did this girl get her hooks so deep into me after just one night?

“What do you want from me?” She sounds pissed.

We’re off to a good start, then.

“Nothing at all,” I reply. “If you truly want to ditch me, I won’t stand in your way. I just feel like . . . well, last night meant something to me. You mean something to me, and I won’t just destroy that without even trying. So, meet me, we can talk about things, and then decide what to do.”

“I’d really rather not.” She sighs deeply. “Look, Luke, I had a good time last night, I really did. I’m sure you’re a great guy. But we don’t even know each other. I’ve got a new job, I need to leave Vegas, and I just don’t have the time or energy to make this any more complicated than it needs to be. Help me out here, please?”

I mull it over, but I just can’t let her slip away this easily.

“Sorry,” I say, “but no deal. You know, they say communication is the most important thing in a marriage.”

It’s a bad joke, but I just can’t help myself. She just hangs up on me.

Great, real smooth, idiot.