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“If anything, it’s to salve my conscience.”
Her brow knit together, deeper, tighter, her eyes showing confusion. “You have a conscience?” Her lips quirked in a soft acknowledgement of the sarcastic comment, but for some reason, Rocco felt the comment in the centre of his chest.
“You’re a florist,” he pointed out. “This is a great opportunity.”
“Yeah, I know that. It’s why I have the contract. It’s why I didn’t flat-out reject the somewhat pushy wedding organizer who called this morning. I know the kinds of doors this could open for me.”
That was fascinating. He hadn’t known what her professional aspirations were, only that she ran a small, well-regarded florist in the Hamptons.
“Do you have any idea how many weddings are held in Long Island every year? Not to mention Manhattan?”
“And you want a slice of that?”
“I love weddings,” she said, biting down on her lip and hastening to add, “I mean, for other people. Commercially.”
“Right.” He was curious, of course, at her swift disavowal of her own personal affection for weddings. It was as though she needed him to know it wasn’t something she thought of for herself.
“And doing this wedding, I mean, it would seriously open doors. But it would all be because of you, and how can I live with that?”
He arched a brow. “That’s a question only you can answer.”
“Damn you,” she muttered, pulling out of his grip, stalking across the office before pacing back to him. “Damn you,” she said again, shaking her head emphatically. “You said it, right in the beginning: everyone has a price.”
“And this is yours?”
“I love my business,” she muttered.
“And only a fool would walk away from a deal like this. You’re not a fool, Maddie.”
“I know that.” She chewed that full, pink lower lip of hers, so he totally lost his focus. “But I swore I wouldn’t accept anything from you.”
He stared down at her, wondering at her pride, her pique. Wondering at why it irritated him, when in the past, he’d felt the opposite—irritated by the women who’d fawned all over him because of what he was—a Santoro, a billionaire, a man with powerful connections the world over. Already made into a cynic about relationships and love, it had further hardened something inside of him, convincing him that sex was transactional and meaningless. In exchange, he was generous—with gifts, travel, the luxuries that were easy for him to share.
“I am gifting your services to my brother and his bride. You are being paid for a professional service.”
She glared at him as if he’d just threatened to kill a pet cat.
“And in exchange, you want me to hand over the keys to our house, right?”
“You don’t owe me that.”
She rolled her eyes. “So, you’re not manipulating me?”
“No.”
“Because it kind of feels like it.”
“Why do you have to look at everything through a negative lens?” He challenged.
“So, being wary is bad?”
“No, being wary is fine, but you’re way past wary. You’re so cautious you’re cynical to the point of self-sabotage.”
She expelled an angry breath. “Do you think if I do this, I’ll forgive you for the whole house thing?”
“There’s nothing to forgive. I’m buying your grandfather’s house, paying a more than fair price for it. In what way have I offended you?”
She rolled her eyes. “You know the answer to that. And as far as I know, no one’s signed on the dotted line yet.”
