What Happens in Vegas...: The Heiress and CEO's Shotgun Wedding

Cora paced the length of her art studio, her mind racing. The kiss. That kiss. It had been hours since it happened, and she still couldn't stop thinking about it.

"What the hell was that?" she muttered, running a hand through her mouth.

She'd left the penthouse in a hurry, needing space to clear her head, but no matter how far she walked or how many paintings she stared at, the memory of Jace's lips on hers wouldn't fade.

Meanwhile, Jace sat in his home office, staring blankly at his laptop screen. He hadn't gotten a single email written since Cora left. All he could think about was the way she'd kissed him back, the way her hands had gripped his shirt, the way she'd looked at him afterward—confused, breathless, and… something else he couldn't quite name.

"Get it together, Jace," he muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose.

But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't shake the feeling that he'd crossed a line—one he wasn't sure he could uncross.

Cora's phone buzzed, snapping her out of her thoughts. She glanced at the screen and frowned. It was a number she didn't recognize.

"Hello?" she answered cautiously.

"Miss Hayes?" a crisp, professional voice said on the other end. "This is Marge from Mr. Harold Whitmore's office. He'd like to meet with you to discuss a potential investment in your gallery."

Cora's eyes widened. Harold Whitmore was one of the richest men in the city, known for his vast art collection and his even vaster bank account.

"Uh, yes, of course," Cora said, trying to sound professional. "When would he like to meet?"

"This afternoon at 3 p.m.," Marge said. "I'll send you the address."

Cora hung up the phone, her heart racing. This could be it—the break she needed to make her gallery a success.

That afternoon, Cora arrived at Harold Whitmore's office, dressed in her most professional outfit and armed with a portfolio of her gallery plans.

"Miss Hayes," Harold said, standing up from his desk and extending a hand. "It's a pleasure to meet you."

"The pleasure's mine," Cora said, shaking his hand and forcing a smile.

They sat down, and Cora launched into her pitch, explaining her vision for the gallery, the artists she wanted to feature, and the impact she hoped to make on the art world.

But as she spoke, she noticed Harold's eyes glazing over. He nodded politely, but it was clear his mind was elsewhere.

"That all sounds… very interesting," Harold said finally, leaning back in his chair. "But tell me, Miss Hayes, how's your father? I haven't seen Robert in years."

Cora blinked, caught off guard. "Uh, he's fine. Busy, as always."

"And your husband," Harold said, his tone casual. "Jace Hart, right? I've heard great things about his company. Maybe we could set up a meeting sometime."

Cora felt a flicker of frustration, but she forced another smile. "I'll let him know. But about the gallery—"

"Yes, yes, the gallery," Harold said, waving a hand dismissively. "I'm sure it'll be a great success. With your family connections and your husband's business acumen, how could it not be?"

Cora's jaw tightened, but she kept her tone polite. "So this is what this meeting was about... Thank you, Mr. Whitmore. I'll be in touch."

As she left the office, her frustration boiled over. She'd worked so hard on her gallery plans, only to be reduced to her family name and her fake marriage.

That evening, Cora found herself at a trendy bar, nursing her third martini. She'd come here to drown her frustrations, but the alcohol was only making her feel worse.

"Why does no one take me seriously?" she muttered, swirling the olive in her glass.

Her phone buzzed on the bar, and she glanced at the screen. It was Jace.

"Hey," she answered, her words slightly slurred.

"Cora?" Jace's voice was sharp with concern. "Where are you?"

"At a bar," Cora said, taking another sip of her drink. "Why?"

"You're drunk," Jace said, his tone firm. "Tell me where you are. I'm coming to get you."

Cora hesitated, then sighed and gave him the address.

Twenty minutes later, Jace walked into the bar, his expression a mix of frustration and concern. He spotted Cora at the bar, her head resting on her hand as she stared into her empty glass.

"Cora," he said, walking up to her. "Let's go."

Cora looked up at him, her eyes slightly unfocused. "Jace. You came."

"Of course I came," Jace said, his tone softening. "You're drunk, and you shouldn't be alone."

Cora stood up, wobbling slightly, and Jace caught her by the arm to steady her.

"I'm fine," Cora said, though her words were still slurred.

Jace sighed and guided her out of the bar, his hand on her back to keep her upright.

Back at the penthouse, Jace helped Cora to the couch, where she collapsed in a heap.

"You're a mess," Jace said, though his tone was more amused than annoyed.

"And you're… you're…" Cora trailed off, her eyes narrowing as she tried to focus on him. "You're really handsome, you know that?"

Jace froze, his expression unreadable. "Cora—"

But before he could say anything, Cora leaned forward and kissed him.

The kiss was sloppy and uncoordinated, but it was full of the same passion they'd shared earlier. Jace hesitated for a moment, then kissed her back, his hands gripping her waist as he pulled her closer.

When they finally pulled apart, Cora looked up at him, her eyes wide and her breath coming in short gasps.

"Jace," she whispered, her voice barely audible.

Jace stared at her, his expression a mix of desire and frustration. "Cora, you're drunk."

"So?" Cora said, her tone defiant.

Jace sighed and stood up, running a hand through his hair. "We'll talk about this in the morning."

Cora pouted but didn't argue. As Jace walked away, she leaned back against the couch, her mind racing.