New York Times bestselling author Janet Chapman “melds great characterization, sparkling humor, and spicy adventure” ( RT Book Reviews ) in this sizzling romance about a woman who suddenly inherits a business dynasty—on the condition that within three months she must marry one of the three brothers who were expected to take over. When Willa Kent rented a cottage to the funny old man who showed up at her door in rural Maine, she never expected that Abram Sinclair would turn out to be the owner and CEO of a shipping empire. Or that he’d ask her to go to New York City to give his proxy vote for a new CEO. Or that he’d ask her to choose which of his handsome, intelligent, and very eligible bachelor grandsons should succeed him. When Abram suddenly dies, Willa is further shocked to discover that he’s left everything to her—but only if she marries one of his grandsons within three months. Otherwise, the company will be sold at a loss to their arch enemy. Willa flees on Abram’s yacht to think things through, but soon runs into Abram’s oldest grandson, Sam, a self-made millionaire in his own right, who finds, to his surprise, that his grandfather’s offbeat scheme is growing more attractive by the moment. But Willa isn’t about to let Sam steal her heart until she knows his true motives. If the man wants to marry for money, then first he must fall in love. "Janet Chapman melds great characterization, sparkling humor, and spicy adventure into a perfect blend." ― Romantic Times A native of rural central Maine, Janet Chapman (1956–2017) lived in a cozy log cabin on a lake with her husband, three cats, and a stray young bull moose. The author of the hugely popular Highlander time-travel series, she also wrote numerous contemporary romances. The Man Must Marry Chapter One Sam Sinclair stood beside Tidewater International’s reception desk, waiting for the elevator to reach the thirtieth floor. The bell finally pinged, and whatever expectations Sam had, the woman revealed by the opening doors was…she was… Good Lord, Abram had sent them a partridge! Her hair, which had probably started out as a neat bun, was disassembling around her face. Though she couldn’t be a day older than thirty, the shapeless brown suit she was wearing was more appropriate for someone twice her age. Half of her blouse hung out below the jacket. Both of her stockings had runs, the overnight bag at her feet the likely culprit. The woman truly resembled a partridge, her plain brown feathers rumpled and sadly outdated. She looked exactly like a Willamina. Frozen in shock, Sam watched as her monstrous purse fell into the lobby when she bent down to pick up her yellow overnight bag. She scrambled out of the elevator with a muttered curse, unsteady on two-inch heels, and retrieved her purse just as the elevator doors closed. Her overnight bag was still inside. The straps to it, however, were in her hand. Instead of the doors reopening as they should have, the elevator softly pinged again, and the handles rose up along the crack in the doors. They stopped at the top, the woman frantically tugging on them. Sam heard the unmistakable sound of cloth ripping, and Willamina Kent fell to the floor with a yelp of surprise, the handles of her bag still in her hands. Several people in the decidedly stunned audience finally rushed over to help her, and the floor beneath Sam’s feet shifted at the sight of the warm, shy, sincere smile she bestowed on her rescuers. God help them, they’d been invaded by an angelic frump. This was not what they needed right now. The shareholders meeting today, to decide the new CEO of Tidewater International, was going to be a circus. And it was all Bram’s fault. Abram Sinclair had sent a terse cable from Maine that morning, stating that he was sending Willamina Kent in his stead. Miss Kent held Bram’s proxy vote, which would decide who would be succeeding him as chief executive officer. His grandfather had entrusted the fate of a multibillion-dollar business to a woman who couldn’t even exit an elevator without causing an uproar? Several Tidewater employees were gathered around her as Miss Kent zealously explained the absurd chain of events that had ended with the bag-eating elevator. Sam edged closer. “I flew in on one of those commuter prop planes. My seat was right between those huge propellers,” she explained, tugging her ear, “and now my ears won’t stop ringing. You’d think they would have put the airport closer to the city, too. The cab ride was nearly two hours! Heck, I could have rented a car for the fare I paid.” Ten to one, the cabbie also had found Willamina Kent a plump partridge and had given her the scenic tour. What was usually a mere hour’s drive in midday traffic could take nearly two hours if the victim didn’t know her way around Manhattan. “Miss Kent,” Sam said, moving forward and grasping her elbow. “The meeting is ready to begin, if you are.” He ignored her subtle tug for freedom. “But