A Convenient Marriage (The Billionaires’ Reunion #5)

Chapter 1

In a world that demanded every second of him, Wade Stone clung to the last fifteen minutes that belonged to him, even as his phone vibrated in his sport coat pocket.

He didn’t need to check his watch. It wasn’t eight yet.

Somehow, he juggled his roles as an actor, director, producer, and investor.

But each day, something unexpected altered his routine, and different elements fought over his time as if it were the rare script everyone coveted but couldn’t contract.

The buzzing continued.

He reached into his pocket, his fingers brushing the smooth jacket lining and his elbow grazing a stranger’s in the cramped elevator.

The phone could wait. Some people clutched their phones like lifelines.

Others juggled coffee cups. Mingled scents of coffees and colognes lingered, and voices overlapped as they debated deals gone wrong or right.

He tracked the changing floor numbers. Each ding of their ascent carried him closer to a battlefield of deadlines and demands.

The moment he stepped out, he began losing the battle between time and priorities.

His phone, vibrating again, matched the production office’s frenetic energy—phones rang, keyboards clacked, and voices clashed like an orchestra out of sync.

Crew members wove through the maze of desks, their hurried steps tapping the polished floors.

The energy usually invigorated him. Not today.

“Wade!” Novi’s voice sliced through the noise.

Always midcrisis, midsolution, she closed the distance, her dark hair barely contained under her headset.

The headset’s control button flashed. He doubted she ever took a break.

“Hold on.” She muted her headset. Her gaze pinned him in place. “Espinoza called. Again.”

Wade’s jaw tightened. He moved toward the table where his PA usually sat.

The computer screen cast faint light over the ringing phone beside it.

“If he doesn’t straighten things with Max by tomorrow, I’m not stepping in.

” He’d take on the role if he got desperate.

People without integrity were exhausting.

“We’re set to film in three weeks. I’m not playing the savior. ”

“We’ll—”

“Is that Stone I hear?” A booming voice cut through, and a head of dreadlocks rose beyond the maze of desks. The cinematographer. “Hazel’s expecting you. ASAP.”

“We don’t have an appointment.” He’d checked today’s agenda twice before leaving home. The accountant wasn’t on it.

“Hazel has an update about the budget.” Novi scrolled through her tablet. “And Max’s put on fifteen pounds since last month.”

His shoulders tensed, his muscles tight despite his morning workout.

He gripped the table, knuckles blanching.

“What exactly is Espinoza planning to discuss tomorrow?” His gaze shifted to the floor-to-ceiling windows framing the camera equipment—a setup as rigid as his schedule, both things he’d shove aside if he had the power.

But Espinoza was Max’s agent, a part of the talent Wade needed.

“The trainers… the timeline…” Novi didn’t look up, her finger swiping as she read her endless list, undeterred by Wade looking at his watch.

His phone buzzed in his pocket. It could wait.

Another crew member hovered nearby, needing Wade’s time.

He already had his obligations to fulfill.

Like keeping his word to return the call of a fresh-faced actress needing a bit of direction and dropping a good word to the director about a budding scriptwriter.

At least the PA appeared from the elevator in time to take the crew member off his hands.

“Oh, and Lynn from editing needs to see you before the preview—”

Wade’s sharp exhale cut her off. He rubbed the tension coiling at his neck.

His phone buzzed again. With a promise to catch up with Novi in a couple of hours, Wade strode toward his office.

The enticement of coffee and pastries from the communal table punctuated his path.

He didn’t drink the stuff, but the scent was oddly comforting.

“Stone.” His writing partner sidled up, pastry in hand. “Holt needs to meet before the preview.”

“I’ll see him at the preview—in two hours.” He drew out a breath to keep his tone measured.

“Says it’s urgent.”

“Of course, it is.” Wade snatched a grape from the tray and popped it into his mouth, more to curb his irritation than his appetite. His words tripped through the bite. “Isn’t everything?”

“I know you hate last-minute changes, but…” She winced. “Forget it. Holt can wait.” She waved her pastry in surrender, earning his brief nod.

At thirty-seven, he’d mastered the industry’s game of urgency, or so he’d thought.

Fifteen years in, and holding his focus required a never-ending scramble.

Some days, he felt like he was still young, game for every unpredictable twist. Other days, he felt every ounce of weariness.

Now, it was down to who could grip his attention long enough to matter.

With the movie preview looming, relaxing was out of the question. In three weeks, the inspirational sports romance was set to roll, and the lead wasn’t ready. Plans, promises, and everything he’d plotted could all come undone.

He slumped into his chair, anxiety clawing to the surface as if he hadn’t prayed that morning. Stability had become his fortress in an industry ruled by chaos. But with each new twist in this project, that fortress crumbled.

This film was his passion project—something he’d written and planned years ago.

From casting to training to driving a transformation, he wanted it to inspire as much as entertain.

Now? It spiraled into disaster. Espinoza had promised top trainers.

Sworn to keep his client accountable. And yet, weeks before shooting, the lead actor had gained fifteen pounds instead of losing the fifteen he’d committed to shedding six months ago.

Wade pushed himself up and paced to the window. His gaze drifted toward the Los Angeles skyline. The calming view didn’t seem appealing now. Could he replace the lead? The role demanded a physical transformation, a hard-won redemption arc, the kind of thing the audience needed to believe in.

The role was too demanding—a martial artist who’d fallen out of shape after an injury, now trying to regain his former glory.

The physical transformation was at the heart of the character—the redemption, the fight, the proof of worth.

Without it, there was no story. And Wade? He was out of options, out of time.

Such setbacks had him second-guessing his attempt to help emerging talent break into the industry. He tried to give new actors and actresses a chance, but it often ended in letdowns. Though he’d seen this play out before, every misstep stung like a fresh betrayal.

A knock tapped his door, and the cinematographer peeked in. “Ready for our meeting?”

Wade squared his shoulders, pretending he hadn’t almost forgotten about it. “I’ll be right there.”

This was his day now—meetings he barely remembered scheduling and calls he’d been avoiding. He even carved out time for a check-in with his assistant, hoping to avoid any last-minute surprises. Yet, no matter how much he planned, surprises sneaked in.

Two hours later, Wade sat rigid in the last row of the dim theater, surrounded by press, industry insiders, test audiences, and a sprinkling of public figures for buzz.

The projector’s hum penetrated the silence, but his heartbeat thundered louder.

He shifted in his seat, his blazer scratching his neck.

The rough cut of Vaulting Hearts played out on the screen, its imperfections glaring under the audience’s scrutiny.

His so-called inspirational movie was due out in November, a little over two months from now.

The heroine with a troubled past had been intended as a symbol of resilience, overcoming loss to face her greatest challenge.

When the credits rolled and the lights came on, his fingers curled around the armrests. The audience’s reactions trickled in—low murmurs, polite nods. A couple in the front exchanged a glance, their lips pressed tight.

He sank lower in his seat. Was anyone moved by the story? Not even sniffles or the misty eyes he’d hoped might show when the lights turned bright. He rubbed his sweaty palms on his jeans, his throat tightening. The blazer clung to him, heavy and suffocating in the warm room.

His gaze darted toward the glowing Exit sign. He could leave now? No?

Novi stepped forward, announcing where everyone could grab the comment cards. Bits and pieces of conversations floated between rows, fragments he couldn’t ignore.

“Could’ve used more emotion.”

“Yeah, something was lacking. I didn’t know who to root for.”

“I like the plot twist with the orphan, but what’s her deal, anyway?”

His jaw tightened as he remained like a statue. Now he’d normally put on his usual charismatic front, chat with the room, and soak in the rare praise from film enthusiasts and the press. That wasn’t going to happen.

The Exit sign beckoned again. The idea of slipping out before getting cornered became too tempting to resist, and he shot out of his seat.

He wove through the sparse clusters of people. His stride quickened toward the hallway lined with movie posters of past previews, his focus straight ahead to avoid their glossy, inspirational titles.

“Not so fast, Stone!”

Wade winced at the familiar voice and paused midstride before turning to Holt, the studio manager. Tall and grizzled with gray in his beard and hair, Holt stood stiff, his expression unreadable.

“Solid job, Stone.” Sarcasm came in thick. “But it’s not the kind of inspiration we were hoping for.”

Wade forced a smile, shifted his weight, and thrust one hand into his coat pocket. “I can’t control how it’s perceived.”