“He’sserious, you know what I mean? Terrifying honestly, and that’s part of the appeal. It’s really sexy the way he looks at you like he wants to murder you while fucking you? Like a sort of sexy murder-fuck-suicide-thing? I know that sounds creepy, but I mean, he’s all surface when it comes to women. I’ve gone out with him like five times and I seriously don’t know anything about him aside from he likes to drink, can dance better than you’d think, and fucks like a pagan god. His dick makes Thor’s hammer?—“
“I get the picture.”
“A relationship with him would be like marrying a mannequin. It’d be like staying single.”
“What if he were offering money? And the marriage was only for show?”
“That’d be tempting…” She trailed off and let out a long sigh. “But no, I couldn’t do it. Imagine living with a guy like that? It’d be like waking up every morning to a stranger in your house. Sorry, but no, I don’t think he could pay me enough.”
He probably could, but I didn’t keep nagging.
Because the problem was… I understood what she meant.
I’d been working for Prime for years at that point, and I still didn’t think I knew him any better than his dates. I saw his schedule, knew his habits, understood some of his preferences, but past that?
He never lets anyone in.
No thoughts, feelings, dreams, emotions besides humor and horniness.
There’s always a hint of something darker around him, an aura of danger and terror… but I have no clue why.
Which is why I’m in a nasty mood this morning.
Because I feel like I’ve let him down.
“You need to focus,” I say, not letting him off the hook. “I havethreepotential girls, okay? That’s all, only three.”
That gets his attention. His brow knits as he puts down the screen for the first time all morning. “How many names did I give you? Dozens?”
“Hundreds,” I grumble, waving my clipboard in the air. “And of those hundreds, onlythreewere remotely interested.”
“You offered them money, right?”
“I offered them more than you authorized.”
“I’m deeply insulted right now.”
“Get over it. Truth is, you fucked around so much, most of these women don’t want to marry you.” I scrub a hand over my scalp and close my eyes. “Alright, I’m not being totally fair. The majority of them are either in relationships already or are somehow not able to get married. More than a few live abroad.”
“I do love an accent,” he says with a nostalgic sigh.
“Gross. Focus.” I toss the clipboard down in front of him. “Three options. I’ve written up a very detailed rubric for you to scorethem. Beneath that, I’ve provided a short dossier on each girl, listing physical attributes, family history, work history, dating history, and just about anything else I could get them to tell me.” Which was a minor undertaking in itself, putting that much information together.
Prime barely skims the pages. “No pictures.”
I jam my thumb against my forehead. “Damn it, Prime?—“
“I’m just saying!”
“They’re here, okay? You’ll get to judge their appearance in person. Stop being shallow.”
“I need a wife I can parade around town and show off. I need atrophy, not a fucking brain surgeon. Their appearance matters.”
Damn it, he’s got a point. I reluctantly wave a hand at the door. “They’re all gorgeous, okay? Can I please send in the first candidate?”
“Fine. Sure.” His eyes graze over my body. “Just so you know, I only taste attractive women.”
A shiver runs down into my toes. I’ve been thinking about that night on the pool tablea lotduring this process, but I do my best to push that deep down into the black pit where I stash all my most horrific memories.
