The Billionaire's Daughter-in-L-law

The richest man in the country wanted me. Not for himself, but for his son.

He wanted me to be his wife.

My job? To whip his spoiled, playboy, trust-fund-baby of a son into shape.

He asked if I was up to the challenge.

Are you kidding me?

From this day forward, if that brat so much as looks at another girl, I’m breaking his legs.

1

I was at a dive bar with my best friend, demolishing a plate of BBQ wings.

She was scrolling through her phone, making little "tsk-tsk" sounds. "Look at this," she said, shoving the screen in my face. "The nation's golden boy has a new girlfriend. Again."

I glanced at the screen. It was an article about David Brown, son of the wealthiest man in the country. The accompanying photo showed a guy more handsome than any movie star, with an air of effortless privilege that screamed "old money."

Too bad the guy was a complete train wreck.

He went through a dozen girlfriends a month. With his looks and money, women lined up. He never said no, and when he inevitably broke up with them, he’d pay them off with a hefty "severance package."

"So what?" I said, downing another beer. The room was starting to spin.

My friend nudged me, raising an eyebrow. "What would you do if he were your husband?"

"What would I do?"

That question sobered me up real quick.

"If I were married to that moron?" I slammed my glass on the table. "If he even thought about another woman, I’d break both his legs!"

"And don't get me started on his 'investments'!" I continued, getting louder. "He buys a stock, it tanks. He touches a company, it goes bankrupt. If he were my husband, I’d lock him in a closet. He wants to go out and burn through my money? I’d kill him!"

"And look at those dark circles under his eyes! How many kidneys does he think he has to burn through at this rate?"

Halfway through my rant, my friend’s eyes went wide with terror. She stared at something behind me, blinking frantically.

I let out a boozy burp. "You got a twitch?"

"And his dad! His dad's an idiot too! He’s got one son, and he’s letting him run wild like this? What a mess!"

"If I were his mom, I’d give him a good smack upside the head, then hurry up and have another kid. Start over with a new character!"

I was getting worked up, losing control of my volume.

Suddenly, a hand tapped my shoulder.

"I think you have some excellent points," a calm voice said. "Would you be willing to manage him for me?"

Who?

I squinted and turned around.

Crash.

The beer bottle slipped from my hand and shattered on the floor.

Standing behind me was a middle-aged man in a crisp white shirt. His gaze was sharp, his posture impeccable, and he looked incredibly familiar.

Harrison... Harrison Brown? The richest man in the country?

Can someone please tell me why the richest man in the country is eating at a dive bar on a Tuesday night?

My friend covered her face and made a swift exit.

"Don't be alarmed," Harrison Brown said, his expression serious. "I meant what I said. I think you're right. Would you be willin...