Fake just seems so smarmy. So disingenuous. So wrong.
“I deserve someone who doesn’t begrudge me a bad day.”
“I’m sorry—”
“And I’m not into fake love. That’s better saved for middle school, don’t you think?”
“Six hundred thousand,” he says. It’s not even a question. “Do we have a deal?”
I think my soul might be leaving my body.
I flump back against my seat with a sigh.
“Ward, I’m going to level with you. If you repeat this, I’ll deny saying it, so tread lightly. Here goes...you’re hot and rich. There are a million women in this city who would’ve jumped at the three-hundred-thousand-dollar offer to not-marry you. Actually, they’d probably do it for free, if you just asked nicely enough. You definitely don’t need me and I think you’re a little obsessed.”
“Tell me something I don’t know,” he mutters too easily. Cocky jerk. “The difference is, I...I trust you, dammit.”
What? For a second, I hesitate, stunned.
“I’m glad,” I say, shaking my head. “But you know that’s not a prerequisite for a fake relationship. I’m not even a great actress. Get an NDA, hire a girl who did theater, and happy trails to you and your fake fiancée. I’ll still be here to fetch your stupid espresso.”
“It’s believable,” he says, his voice like distant thunder.
“What?”
“You and me. I’m not about to start telling Nick he’s right, but with us, he might be. Our relationship’s believable. People have seen us together before. We love art. We have a certain dynamic that’s easy and rare when we’re not at each other’s throats. We make sense, Paige Holly, and don’t you dare deny it.”
Holy hell.
I’m folding up into the fetal position, my head spinning. All because I can’t deny his sudden impassioned plea.
Damn you, Ward.
I know what it looks like on paper.
Perfection.
In reality, he’s still my grump of a boss who I wasn’t good enough for until I happened to be at the right place at the right time to save Beatrice.
I’m not about to agree, so instead I say, “I’m sure you’d make sense with a lot of women in this city. I’m hardly the only chick who’s capable, educated, and into gorgeous architecture. A thousand girls would bend to fit whatever mold you want, no questions asked. You don’t want my smart mouth or my baggage.”
“That’s the problem, Paige. I fucking do,” he rumbles, something like a tiger’s low purr in his gruff tone. “Intelligent women in a city this size aren’t a rare commodity. Smart women with your brains, your looks, and your lady-stones to stand up to me...that’s another matter. I’ve been in this business for a long time. Everyone has a price. Name yours.”
Oh my God.
I feel like I can’t keep my feet on the ground.
Not with this crazy, sexy, downright desperate bull of a man determined to drag me away, whether I like it or not.
“Name it,” he demands again.
“W-what?”
“What do you want, Paige? Like really truly want? It’s yours. Tell me and I’ll write it into the contract.”
I try not to ask myself that, but he’s posed the question so perfectly I can’t avoid it. I sigh.
“What my friends have,” I whisper.
“Care to elaborate?”
“A business they love, an adoring husband, a family.” All wishes this genie in a tie can’t grant. “Just happiness at winning life, I guess.”
“Well, I don’t know if I can deliver all that. Not legally, anyway. But I can help with one of those. What kind of business would you want?”
Is this really happening?
I wouldn’t even know where to begin with a business, a life rich in art, and a family. I look at Sabrina and my cousin, Liv, like they won the lotto. Brina got herself a billionaire, while Liv hits the charts all the time with her books and wound up hitched to a fire single dad, Riker Woods, who’s constantly playing superhero at Enguard, a world-class security firm.
I’ve never really thought about making a serious grab for my dreams. Not after Austin.
The row of handcrafted miniatures on the faux mantle above the television catch my attention, all pet projects I sculpted by hand. The tongue-in-cheek anthropomorphic cat I made last year in the pose of The Thinker really hits home.
I know what I want to do. What I love. What I need.
“You really want to know? I’d like an art studio, but I’m not sure that’s a viable business,” I say, crossing my fingers.
“What kind of art?” he asks.
“I sculpt. Mostly a lot of figurines and busts because I’m limited to