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“Yes, I realize that.”
“You want a gold digger for a wife?”
He rises, slowly towering over his desk—and me. I’ve never accepted that he’s an entire head taller. It’s cruel to have to look up into his ever-present sunshine smile when I’m little more than a pitiful rain cloud, just trying to make a living by diffusing some of his rays. “May I touch you briefly?” he asks.
I try to wet my lips. “Where?”
“Chin.”
I grimace and clutch my LeoPad as I murmur, “If you must.”
Warm, his hand cups my face, fixing my attention on his sculpted cheekbones, his gentle eyes, the strong lines of his jaw, those super gentle eyes, both of them cheekbones again, an ear, another ear.
He chuckles. “Pick one place to look, pumpkin. Your eyes are very distracting jumping around like that.”
I settle on his nose to keep my thoughts off the fact having him touch me is such an unpleasant sensation. His nose is large, but not too large. Straight. It doesn’t look like it’s ever been broken before. There’s not a single bump to speak of. One week with me as a “girlfriend,” and I might be inclined to fix that…
Once I’ve settled, he says, “You are honest, hardworking, intuitive, and—as I’m discovering—genuine when you let yourself be. I don’t need you to be kind or caring. I don’t want a woman to coddle or pamper me. I want a companion who’s less superficial than many of the people I find myself surrounded by. I want someone who makes me laugh. For hours. At nearly every one of her two hundred blatant, unfiltered answers. I’d like someone like you. And you, Marcella, couldn’t be a gold digger if you tried.” His lips quirk as his thumb swipes my cheek, making my skin crawl. “I think we both know you’d be coming for my kidneys before you come for a penny beyond what covers your debt.”
He is not wrong.
But I am not prepared to suggest he is right.
“Do we have an agreement?” he asks.
Thoughts distant, I say, “Three and a half months. Until a wedding November 30?”
He nods. “Where you will say I do, or I don’t.”
“Publicly?”
“I’m not a monster.”
“That is the answer to a different question.”
“I will be editing these terms for you before the end of the day, and I will specify that your decision not be made in public. But, it will be made the day of the wedding, when everything is already planned, set up, and paid for. It will be made in a back room on-site of whatever venue we choose. And you will be in a wedding gown when you make it.”
I hiss a swear. “How about I just text you a gif that says eff no the morning of November 30?”
He bites his lip in an effort to subdue his smile. “I find my wishes to be extremely reasonable.”
“Reasonable? You’re going to waste so much money on a wedding.”
“For someone who calls herself a gold digger, you are very concerned about my finances. Half a million dollars is the cost of a luxury wedding. Do you know how many millions are in a singular billion?”
“I try not to think about your net worth because it makes me question the ethics of your existence.”
“Do you know how many companies a luxury wedding would benefit? We can source all décor and guest favors from private owners. I’m thinking hundreds of jobs for hundreds of people. And then, after we’re married, you’ll have a special credit card. So much spending money. You can distribute the wealth to anyone you want.”
“Aren’t you getting ahead of—”
He lays a finger against my lips—even though he absolutely didn’t ask to touch me there, and it makes me slightly murderous. “Reminding you that marrying me doesn’t mean husband and wife things if that’s not what you want. In a few months, you might not hate me anymore. Then we can be amicable companions.”
I swat his hand away. “This sounds like you’re paying for a lifelong friend. That’s really sad. I’m sad for you.”
“Do we have an agreement?”
Closing my eyes, I take a firm step back, out of his reach, square my shoulders, and say, “I expect the contract on my desk in plain language as soon as possible. Include a clause that relieves me of all liability and refund if you cancel this foolishness midway. Also, as we’ll be officially dating—” It takes everything in me not to gag. “—starting tomorrow, you should organize to have a gift prepared for me in the morning. A celebration token, if you will. Lastly, the code word is pickles.”
