Page 19

"Are you trying to blackmail me into giving you your job back?"

"What? No." I shake my head. "I need money. I’m offering to be your wife." The words come faster now, because I’ve started and there’s only forward. "I need three hundred and sixty thousand dollars. No more, no less." My throat tightens around the number. It’s more money than I’ve ever seen in my life. To Everett, it’s probably nothing. "The amount isn’t negotiable. I’ll marry you. For a year, or whatever the timeline is. I’ll be exactly what you need."

"Aria—" he starts, his arms uncrossing.

"Don’t." I hold up a hand. "Don’t tell me I’m confused or emotional or not thinking clearly. I am thinking clearly. You need a wife. I need—" I stop myself. He doesn’t need to know what the money is for. I can keep at least one thing for myself. "I need a business arrangement. And we already know you don’t actually want me around as an employee, so at least this would be honest."

I move around the desk until I’m standing directly in front of him. Close enough that he has to look at me. Close enough that he can’t dismiss me from across polished wood and leather.

"You don’t know what you’re offering," he says quietly. "This won’t be romantic. You’d be lying to the trust board. To the public. Not even your friends and family could know it wasn’t real. You wouldn’t be allowed to date anyone else for the entire year. If the trust finds out it was fake, you get nothing. It would be controlled. Restrictive. There would be public appearances, private dinners, and—" He stops, jaw tightening. "The appearance of intimacy."

My mouth goes dry. "I understand."

"No, you don’t." His gaze drags over me, cool and assessing, and my skin prickles under it. "You’d have to convince an entire city you’re in love with me. You’re too…" His eyes flick over my face, my body, as if he’s searching for the right word. "Soft. You’re not a good enough liar, Aria."

My chin lifts. "What does that mean? You think you’re better at lying than I am?"

"It’s a compliment, believe it or not." His tone stays maddeningly even. "I already have a reputation for being cold and unapproachable. No one would expect much warmth from me, even toward my fiancée. The burden would fall on my bride to sell it."

"I can lie, Everett." I hate how desperation still clings to my voice. I hate even more that he hears it.

He studies me for a long beat, like I’m a problem he can’t solve.

"What’s the money for, Aria?"

"That’s private."

He exhales through his nose, like he’s already finished with this conversation, and lowers himself into his desk chair. "You’re not the right fit and you're too young for me anyway. You can see your way out. I have work to do."

He turns toward his computer.

I step closer. "Too young for you…? We're only eight years apart."

"I'll be nine years older in a matter of weeks. But that's minor to the main reason." He reaches for a file on his desk as if I’m already gone. "This isn’t happening."

"I can do this. I can make everyone believe I’m in love with you. Just give me a chance."

His gaze lifts to mine. For one awful second, I think he’s going to laugh.

Instead, he leans back in his chair and says, "Prove it."

The words crack straight through me.

I move before I can think better of it.

His eyes sharpen as I get closer, but he doesn’t stop me.

I gather the tight fabric of my dress in both hands, dragging it up my thighs until the slit gives me room to move. Then I brace one hand on his shoulder, plant a knee beside his hip, and climb into his lap, swinging the other leg over until I’m straddling him.

A muscle jumps in his jaw.

"Aria—" My name sounds like a warning off his lips.

I don’t let him finish.

My hands slide up to his face, cradling his jaw, and for one suspended second I hover there, close enough to feel the heat of his breath, close enough to see the flicker in his eyes.

Then I kiss him.