Page 23 of Sweet Surrender

“Hilarious.”

“From what I can tell, she’s intelligent . . . Wait—did you do something to her that you’re trying to pay her off for?”

“You think so little of me.”

“Fine. I’ll ask it. Did you sleep with her, then?” Nathaniel asks.

“Nope. Not even on my radar. The prissy, preppy ones aren’t my type. You know that.”

I open my mouth to object, to argue, to what? Defend myself because I’m preppy and heard a comment I wasn’t supposed to hear?

And why are my feelings hurt over something I know to be true? I’m a Type A, follow the rules, everything has to be planned girl.

Not to mention, I’m most definitely not the type who I saw on Jase’s arm in the photos I looked at last night. Nowhere near the beauty or perfection of the women he’s supposedly dated in the past.

This is a business contract. A mutually beneficial agreement. Which does beg the question . . . will this be believable?

Maybe I needed to overhear this conversation. Maybe I needed to get my feelings hurt as a reminder of what not to make this into—anything other than a business transaction.

With a renewed vigor and my head firmly in the right place, I open the door and walk back into the conference room. “So am I not allowed legal representation for this conversation?”

Both of their heads whip my way, expressions startling either over my question or fear they were overheard. I’m not sure which. “You don’t trust us?”

I chuckle, suggesting bravado I don’t feel. “That’s like asking a sheep if she trusts the wolves surrounding her.” I look from one to the other and back and cringe because I know I don’t have the funds to hire a lawyer. Hell, I don’t even have the funds to make it through the end of the month. And yet at the same time, it’s important for them to know I’m not so desperate for money that I’m overlooking any obvious things.

What those are? Who knows.

“Fair.” Nathaniel nods. “Would you like to call someone?”

He’s called my bluff and now I’m going to have to admit that there’s no one for me to call. The only lawyer I know is one of Paul’s friends and . . . well, fuck you, Paul.

I take my time taking a seat, clasp my hands in front of me, meet their eyes, and say what I’ve seen people say in movies. “I have demands.”

Gizmo lifts his eyebrows and fights a smile. He opens his clasped hands and invites me to speak. “I’d love to hear them.”

Think quick, Hendrix.

“I have a huge order to fill. Cookies. I can’t miss that deadline. I promised I’d deliver, and I’m only as good as my word.”

“Okay. We’ll make sure to give you the time you need to do that and organize whatever we need around that,” Nathaniel says.

“And clothing. To look the part. I’m not talking Versace or whoever’s the popular designer of the moment, but rather just a few upscale basics. All of my clothes are covered in flour or look like an apron.” I smile and shrug. “I’m assuming you want someone to represent you properly on the public stage. The last thing I’d want to do is embarrass you with my Target- and Macy’s-budgeted wardrobe.”

“Reasonable. You’ll have a shopping allowance,” Jase says. “But for the record, you look great and don’t knock Target or Macy’s. I like their shit.”

I appreciate him trying to make me feel better, but no doubt that threadbare shirt he’s wearing cost more than my car payment.

“Like I said, just for basics. A little black dress. Some high heels since I don’t own a pair. And whatever else you think I need to look the part for whatever appearances I’d need to accompany you to.”

“Probably all of them,” Nathaniel says, causing Jase to raise his eyebrows. Clearly, he wasn’t warned of that particular detail—or was and doesn’t like it. “What else?”

“I—uh—what is the rule on . . .” My cheeks heat as I stare at a man more gorgeous than I remember and recall the feel of his lips near my ear. “The physical.” I feel like there’s peanut butter on my tongue, making it hard to say those two words.

“This isn’t Pretty Woman, Miss Wright. The exchange of money for your companionship and public appearances is in no way indicative of requiring sex. My client here is capable of keeping his hands to himself. With that said, there will be times when it’s appropriate to share some affection—a kiss perhaps, holding hands, sitting on his lap at a party. Friendly and intimate ‘gestures’ for both the press and the public to buy that you are, in fact, his wife.”

Great. Perfect. Even better.

Oh my God.