“Because that’s my job,” I said, trying to get the difference through that thick head of his. “Being your temporary wife isnotmy job.” It wasn’t just paperwork and posing and ticking boxes. Not for me. If I ever stood next to someone and made those kinds of promises, I’d want it to mean something. Marriage was supposed to be choosing someone, but Weston wasn’t choosing me, he wasusingme.
“It’s not like you have a life outside the office.”
His words landed like a blow to the chest. It took me a second to catch my breath. “Excuse me?”
Weston ran a hand through his dark hair. “I’m serious. When’s the last time you went on a date, Lena? When’s the last time you interacted with someone who doesn’t work here?”
My face went hot. “That’s none of your business.”
He rolled his eyes. “Oh, get off your high horse. I’ve called you at two in the morning and you’ve answeredevery time—and I’ve never once heard a man’s voice in the background. Let’s be honest here. It’s not like you’re drowning in other offers.”
I could feel myself go crimson, but I wasn’t sure if it was from embarrassment or rage. Or both. Probably both.
“Are you saying you asked me because you thought I wastoo desperateto say no?”
At this, he finally seemed to realize he might have misstepped. “I didn’t say desperate,” he hedged.
“No, but it was what you meant,” I shot back, fuming.
Rather than addressing that, he chose to change the subject. “Let’s talk terms. Duration, financial arrangements, living situations during the transition period.”
Oh, look at that. It turned out I actuallycouldget angrier after all.
“Financial arrangements, Weston? Seriously? Are youbuyingme to be your bride? Do you honestly expect me to say yes to that? No wait, I can’t say yes because you still haven’taskedme. You’re just acting like it’s a foregone conclusion that I’ll go along with this.”
He had the audacity to look confused by my reaction. “Of course you will. You always do. All that’s needed now is for us to settle the terms. This is how business works, Lena. We negotiate, we agree, we execute. You know this.”
Something inside my chest cracked like a fault line. Seven years. Seven damn years of sixty-hour weeks, of canceled vacations, of missed birthdays because he absolutelyneededme at the office. I was the most efficient assistant in Houston, and this was how Weston Kincaid thought he could treat me?
Well, like hell was I going to be office equipment he could temporarily rebrand as a wife.
“You know what?” I said, slamming his laptop closed as he reached for it. Milo’s tail wagged furiously as he looked between us. “You’re absolutely right. Idoknow this. So let me negotiate.”
I planted my palms on his desk and leaned toward him, close enough to see the flecks of gold in his green eyes. “Here are myterms,” I said as seven years of swallowed words clawed their way up my throat. “Go. Screw. Yourself.”
His gaze dropped to my mouth briefly, like he couldn’t believe the words coming out of it, before snapping back up.
“With a rusty spoon,” I added helpfully. “Sideways.”
For the first time in the seven years I’d known him, Weston Kincaid looked genuinely speechless.
“While we’re negotiating,” I continued, my voice rising higher, “let me also decline your ‘generous’ offer to discuss my living arrangements like I’m a houseplant you’re relocating. And for the record?”
His lips curled back as he leaned across the desk. He was so close, I could practically feel the heat radiating off his body. “Lena,” he growled in warning.
I was too frustrated to care. “Telling your employee they will marry you isn’t negotiation. It’s desperation!”
A muscle in his jaw twitched. “I amnotdesperate.”
“Really? Because from where I’m standing, you look like a man who thought ‘I need a wife’ and immediately looked at the nearest woman with a pulse and a valid ID.”
“This is a business solution to a business problem.” His voice had that clipped edge it got when people weren’t keeping up with his logic. “Everything doesn’t have to be…” He waved his hand dismissively. “Emotional.”
I laughed. It was a sharp, slightly unhinged sound. “Well, I hate to break it to you, but I’mdeeplyemotionally invested in not being treated like a blow-up doll with a business degree.”
His jaw ticked. “That’s not?—”
“Or maybe you’d actually prefer the inflatable wife model? She comes with an automatic ‘yes, sir’ feature and never requires vacation days.”
