Page 33 of Possessive Mr. Pen

Deciding not to fear a few pieces of paper, I give him an overly sweet smile and flip open the folder.

The words are so ridiculous they don’t make sense.I scan the paper several times, but they remain just as ludicrous as at first glance.

When I lift my eyes from the sheet of black and white, my boss and long-ago lover remains in the same sardonic pose.

“A contract marriage.Between you and me,” I say in disbelief.

“Yes,” he responds.

The unwavering surety in his stare gives me pause.

This isn’t a joke.He means it.

“Read the terms, Ms.Winthrop,” he commands.

Like a puppet on a string, I lower my eyes and flip to the next page.

Five years.One million dollars upon signing the agreement, another million after attending our wedding and obtaining our marriage certificate, plus two million every year of marriage.Half ownership of all new projects.Two vacation homes.Three highly sought after apartments in expensive neighborhoods.

The list goes on and on.It’s too much.

The requirements are just as long.

It’s worse than paying for one night of sex.He wants a slave for five years.

Even as the dollar amounts swim in my head, I know I can’t accept.I love my sister and want the best for her, but not like this.I can’t make myself this vulnerable to any man, much less Connor Pen.He already proved he has the power to hurt me deeper than anyone else.

I take a deep breath and prepare to make the worst mistake of my life.Either way, I’m losing everything.

I lift my head and meet his emerald orbs.

“You’re a monster.I’m not agreeing to this.”

“I am a monster.I’m your monster,” he quips.

I roll my eyes, prop my elbows on the table, and tap the contract.

“This is exactly the same thing you tried to pull on Friday night,” I say.

He leans forward and weaves his fingers together on the desk.I curse my overeager body as it leaps into arousal.

“How so?”he asks.

I throw my hands up and push away from the table.

“You’re buying me like a whore,” I explain.

Fury darkens his countenance.The light seems to dim around him.He flattens his palms on the table and rises.For the barest of moments, he looms over me.My insides turn to goo, but my fury won’t allow me to back down.I stand and mimic his pose.

“You’re not a whore, Hilary,” he growls.

I shove the folder across the table at him.

“Oh really?This makes me feel like one,” I snarl.

He grabs my wrist.I curl my hand into a fist but don’t try to pull it away.

“I’m doing this to protect you,” he murmurs.