Grace’s hazel eyes go wide, and her face pales. “I-I don’t understand,” she stutters. “You’re— Are you asking me tomarryyou?”
I blow out a long breath. “Yes.”
Her eyes pinch together as she thinks that over for at least twenty seconds. “Why?”
“The why is a longer, more personal story.” I don’t feel like diving into the details of my family and the iron-clad rules my father has put in place, and she doesn’t need to know any of that to do this job. “You would just need to play the role of a lovely, doting fiancée and then wife. After that, we'll have a clean divorce. You’ll be paid for your time and have access to a credit card to pay for anything you need or want during the arrangement. It should all be done by the New Year.
“Wait, wait.” Grace shakes her head a little, like she can’t understand the words coming out of my mouth. “You want to be married, but only for the year?”
“That's right.”
“I don’t understand?—”
"You don't need to understand," I cut her off, maybe a bit too sharply.
Grace purses her lips and crosses her arms over her chest. “That's not fair.”
“And why is that?” I ask, holding in the laugh that wants to escape me. I don't allow anyone to talk back to me, but Grace looks like a puppy with a high-pitched bark, and something about the scene makes me smile.
“I need to know,” she says, even though she sounds unsure. “I won't simply trail after you like some obedient pet!” Her arms fling down to her lap with emphasis.
But what if I want you to be an obedient pet?I get the feeling Grace would love to be obedient for me.
I relax back in my chair, stroking my thumb along my jaw as I debate how much I’m willing to tell her. “Fine,” I relent, and she perks up. “My father has a stipulation that whoever takes over the company as CEO must be married.”
Tugging her bottom lip between her teeth, she bites down while she thinks that over.
“So, Miss Morgan, is that arrangement agreeable for you?”
“You said I’d be paid…”
Just as I thought. When you don’t have money, suddenly it becomes the most important thing in your universe.
Though, I guess even when you do have it, it’s still the most important thing. After all, I’m staging a fake proposal to be handed a billion-dollar company.
“I did. Would a million be sufficient?”
Her eyes widen comically as her jaw nearly unhinges. I can’t help but smile at her reaction.
“A milliondollars?” she squeaks.
“Is there a different currency you’d like to be paid in?” I question.
“N-No.”
I like the way she stumbles over her words when I make her nervous.
“So I assume, one million in U.S. dollars is acceptable, then?”
She’s back to wringing her fingers, and her teeth gnawing at her lip once more.
“Miss Morgan?”
Her eyes flash up to meet mine. “Yes?”
“Is one million acceptable?"
4
