what I can do at the kitchen table. But back in college, I crafted a life-sized statue and it sold for a pretty penny at a gallery. With a studio and the right equipment, I could make bigger projects rather than just conforming to what’s available. But I wouldn’t know the first thing about turning an art studio profitable.”
“That’s the trouble with art schools,” Ward grumbles. “Tuition should pay for a course in how to make a living with an art degree.”
I laugh, harder than I should, considering the gravity. “I think that was included in the whole ‘most artists need a day job’ lecture that never happened.”
“Most people who want a day job don’t pay a hundred thousand dollars for a degree.”
“True, but it was a fun four years.”
“A hundred grand worth of fun?”
I laugh harder. “This is where I sound like a spoiled brat, like you and your brother—”
“So I’m a brat now?” he challenges.
“Come on, Ward. There has to be a reason I won’t fake date you for six hundred k.”
He laughs. “How are you a brat?”
“My parents paid my tuition, so I didn’t really think about the cost. I spent whole days cooped up in the studio working on my projects. Brina had to remind me to come back to our dorm and eat. I was the only person in my class to sell something for more than ten bucks before graduation. I thought I had it made. I was going to be the one art major out of ten thousand who actually finds fame and fortune. Maybe not Beatrice Brandt success, but at least I’d make a name for myself and scrape by doing what I love.”
He falls silent as I blush.
I’m rambling. Why would he even care?
But then his question comes like a shot.
“How have I worked with you all this time and not known that?”
I don’t know if he wants the truth, but he’s about to get it. “I think you decided who I was, and this doesn’t fit your narrative.”
“I was a jackass. I’m sincerely sorry.”
“Nah, you were a Wardhole.”
He snorts. “Right. Thanks for the reminder. Now how much would it cost to open a sculpture studio?”
Yikes. He’s serious.
I try to come up with an estimate on the fly. First I’d need a kiln and a space with good natural lighting, and that’s just the start. Real estate around here isn’t cheap.
“Hm, probably around six or seven hundred thousand to own, including tools and space. And that might be the low end.”
My lips twist.
How many sculptures would I have to sell to make that profitable? The thought scares me.
“It’s yours. Partner up for ninety days, and I’ll give you a cool million and help you write your business plan so we can get your dream off the ground.”
My stomach drops.
“What? Y-your serious? Why?”
“Because, Paige. I need to turn into less of a pumpkin, and that’s your price to be my Cinderella. Deal?”
This can’t be real life.
No one pays a million smackers for ninety days of lying, even if it’s the fake betrothed kind. But this conversation borders on flirty and surreal, and I can’t resist having some fun.
“A million dollars, plus you get your own coffee and teal-blue ties. Those jobs are below a fiancée, even a fake one.”
He snorts loudly.
I smile.
“You drive a hard damn bargain. Fine, then, one point five million dollars and no more coffee runs. But you’ll pry tie-duty from my cold dead hands. I won’t be caught dead without my lucky tie, and I rather like your touch making them luckier.”
Dead.
My face heats so much I need a temperature check. I can’t breathe.
One. Point. Five. Million.
Dollars?
Yes.
Shut the front door. In ninety days, I’ll be a millionaire.
I swallow back the giddiness threatening to send me jumping to the rafters and tighten my grip on my phone. I suck in a tortured breath and release it slowly.
“The color you’re looking for is called cerulean-emerald. If you asked for the right thing, getting the tie wouldn’t be such a big kerfuffle.”
“My girl knows what to ask for,” he throws back.
His girl?
Ward flipping Brandt just called me his girl?
Because I’m his assistant, or because he wants me to be his counterfeit bride?
Gah. Too bad it’s not real. Being his. Because I know I’ll regret it soon, but right now, it sounds nice. Really nice.
Can I even do this, though? Be in another fake relationship after Austin?
It’s been years, and I’m still not really over him. My frustrated single status is a