“Sorry. I was just remembering something. Didn’t mean to laugh.” I’m such a dork, but it’s out there now.
“What?” His voice hits my ear, hot and demanding, before his voice gentles. “What were you remembering?”
“Nothing. Honest. I just...I need to think this over,” I say.
Not that there’s much to mull.
A debt-free studio would put my life on the fast track to eureka. I’d be living out my dreams, and I’d be wealthy beyond my wildest imagination.
Even if the art didn’t work out, I’d be set to figure out a badass backup plan.
“What if I just want the million and a half and to be retired from tie duty? No studio?”
“What you spend your money on is none of my business.”
“Are you serious, Ward? This isn’t some sick joke, right?” I still have my doubts.
“Hang on, Grandma’s calling.”
He clicks off the call.
Fine. I need calm to digest this, without him and all his grouchy hotness breathing down my neck, tempting me from the other end of the phone.
Besides, Beatrice should come first.
It’s her company, she’s his grandmother, and she’s still in recovery.
Ten minutes later, I’ve made my decision.
I might hate myself in the morning, but I also can’t help it.
He drives a hard bargain, but a fair one.
I’ll just steel myself and make sure I don’t fall any deeper. Resisting Ward Brandt shouldn’t be so hard. There’s plenty to hate.
It’s only ninety days. It’s only fakery. It’s only one little yes to get paid.
But he never calls back.
Ugh. Why negotiate so hard if he wasn’t that serious?
Oh, yeah, I forgot.
Wardhole.
I make a spinach-artichoke dip with focaccia bread and flop down in front of The Great British Baking Show when my phone dings.
Sorry, she wanted to talk and her medication makes her loopy, then Trista called to check-in on logistics. Can you meet Nick and I at my home base outside the city tonight?
Before I can respond with a snarky, Nick and me, it’s Nick and ME, a brilliant businessman should at least use proper grammar, the phone pings again.
We can work out the details, Paige. I promise you I’m trying to be fair.
Forget about his grammar. My mouth drops.
Holy crap. I didn’t even give him an official answer, and yet he’s already taken it as a screaming yes.
Like he just knew. Full steam ahead. No stopping now.
I frown. Maybe I should back out of this madness?
Actually, every rational thread of me says I should back out of this cray.
Before I know what’s happening, I grab the phone and panic-dial.
“Hey, Paige.” Brina picks up on the first ring.
“Oh, thank God. You have time for me today, right? I need you to talk me out of something stupid.”
“Where’s the fun in that?” I can hear her sunny, teasing smile over the phone, and then a sigh. “Let’s hear how stupid this thing you’re planning is.”
“I can’t give any details because I’m sworn to secrecy, but...I’m sorta in the process of possibly faking an engagement.”
“Oooh, mysterious! Why?”
“Again. I can’t say. I just...help me, Brina,” I whimper, pulling a hand over my face.
Brina laughs like a hyena with its tail caught. “So, wait, girl. I’m supposed to talk you out of getting fake married, but I can’t ask any questions? Not fair.”
“Um, basically.” I realize how stupid this sounds.
“What kind of relationship are we talking? Is there a certain raging bossasaurus involved?”
“Um...” I cough into my hand while I say the next word. “Yeah.”
For a heavy second, she’s quiet.
“Riddle me this, if you think it’s stupid, why do it?”
“Money. A lot of it,” I answer quickly.
She laughs. “Yeah, don’t do it then. You’re not broke enough to need the money and you’ve got plenty of pride to bruise.”
“No, Brina, like a lot of money. The kind that makes you want to stuff your ego in a little box and bungie it shut.”
“Oh. So, you’re afraid of the windfall making you stupid? Why?”
“Because...” I trail off.
Because it’s as pathetic as it sounds. I don’t want Wardhole thinking he owns me, and that’s just scratching the surface.
Let’s be real for a second. The first time I saw him, I wanted his number. When he brought me home that night, if I wasn’t so loopy and my ankle wasn’t twisted, I would’ve jumped him.
If I have to get fake engaged to him, it might suck when it’s over.
“It’s just so much like Austin. Being a placeholder for some guy to use, without really loving me,” I say, closing