I stay silent, letting her form her own conclusions.
She searches my features and nods. “You do think I have potential.”
“I do.”
A big smile splits her face in two. “Took a lot for you to admit that, huh?”
The brightness of her features entrances me. My heart stutters. My stomach tightens.
The grin on her face unravels me just enough to make me forget how careful I should be. My stomach knots, my chest hammers, and all I can think is how dangerously distracting she is.
I slide the unlit cigarette into the pack and stuff it back in my pocket.
My fingertips encounter the familiar elastic of the hair tie. I brush my fingers over the smooth surface.
It helps settle the nervousness inside me.
"Then there's the money." I keep my hand in my pocket, using the hair tie to self soothe.
I can't let her see that, I have zero leverage.
The business is the prize, but what’s more important than that is her.
I can’t lose her.
It has to be her. I’ve spent my life looking at people as variables and tools, but I can’t even fathom the idea of anyone else in this role as my wife, fake or real.
This isn't just about saving my restaurant anymore. This is about my future, my legacy, my sanity.
It all hinges on a yes from her.
"The money?" She frowns.
I lower my hand to my side. "Once you’re my wife, you’ll also share in the profits from my businesses."
She stills. “How much…" She clears her throat. "How much would that entitle me to?" Her eyes flash with interest.
“About a million pounds a year."
She draws in a sharp breath, then coughs. Her eyes water.
I pat her back, until she manages to compose herself.
Feeling the warmth of her skin through her clothes sends a shiver of delight up my spine. I hastily drop my hand. Then I take a step back to ensure I’m not tempted to touch her again.
"A…a million quid?" she exclaims.
"That’s what our agreement would entitle you to."
"Agreement?" She frowns.
I square my shoulders. "I thought it best to draw up one that outlines expectations for both of us for our upcoming marriage."
She firms her lips. "I haven’t agreed to this arrangement."
"But you’re considering it?" I try to keep my desperation at bay. But I can’t stop myself from sounding hopeful. Pleading even.
I have demanded. I have threatened. I have never pleaded with anyone since I became a chef. She’s the cause of many firsts.
