"I need a husband by sunrise," I told the guy fixing a jukebox at the world's saddest casino bar. Not the sentence I imagined saying at 2 a.m., but bankruptcy has a way of lowering your standards for how you meet people.

My investors want proof I'm "stable." My lease is due Friday. And apparently the fastest way to save the bakery I've poured my entire life into is a legally binding marriage to a stranger named Cade who smells like engine grease and looks like he's never lost a bar fight.

Ninety minutes, one Elvis impersonator with an unsettling amount of enthusiasm, and a chapel called Ring-a-Ding-Ding later, I am a married woman. For ninety days. Strictly business. He gets a favor cashed in from a friend of a friend, I get a fake husband on paper, and neither of us has to actually like each other.

Which would all be fine, except Cade doesn't fix jukeboxes for a living. Cade owns the company that manufactures them — along with, I discover approximately four days too late, roughly a third of the Strip.

So now I'm not just married to a stranger. I'm married to a headline. Photographers outside my bakery. A gossip column with theories about my "whirlwind romance." And a fake husband who's supposed to be staying on his side of the penthouse but somehow keeps ending up in the kitchen at midnight, stealing frosting off my finger and looking at me like I'm the best decision he's ever made by accident.

The plan was simple. Ninety days, no feelings, get an annulment, never speak of the jukebox again.

Nobody warned me what happens when your fake husband starts feeling like the realest thing that's ever happened to you.

VOWS, VEGAS, AND A VERY BAD IDEA is a laugh-out-loud, scorching-hot standalone romantic comedy with a secretly-a-billionaire hero, a fake marriage that won't stay fake, and a happily ever after that started with the worst decision of her life.