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The waitress returned a minute later with my wine, placing it down in front of me. She disappeared before I could ask for some water.
“Drink,” Nash said. “You look nervous.”
I sipped my wine. “I am nervous. I don’t know what I’m doing here.”
“You’re having a drink with me.” He stared at me for a second. “I like the dress. You clean up good.”
“Thanks,” I said.
“What were you expecting, wearing that?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, Selena, that you look fucking sexy. And I think you look that way on purpose.”
I blushed. “This is the only nice dress I own.”
“I find that hard to believe,” he said. “Aren’t all you Penn kids rich?”
“Hardly,” I said. “I’m here on scholarship. I’m from the Northeast, normal parents and all.”
He grunted. “Good. Wasn’t sure if you were a rich girl or not.”
“Would that matter?”
“Probably,” he said, smirking. He sipped his drink again.
“Got a problem with rich people?”
“Sometimes, yeah.”
“Interesting. Aren’t you rich now?”
He shrugged again. “I’m not interested in my money.”
“You sure do like to spend it though.”
He laughed. “I said no interview.”
“You can’t blame me for trying.”
He looked at me for a long moment, almost as if he were sizing me up. “Guess not.” He leaned back in his seat, finishing off his drink. “We’ll order food, and then I’ll tell you what you’re doing here.”
“Okay.”
“Tell me more about yourself while we wait.”
So I told him about my early life growing up on the outskirts of Philadelphia. My dad was a mail carrier and my mom worked as a paralegal. They weren’t rich people, but they did well enough to provide a comfortable life for us.
Soon, the waitress came back. Nash ordered a steak and potatoes, and I ordered a Caesar salad, too nervous to get anything else. He gave me a look when I said it, a knowing smirk, but said nothing.
The waitress walked away and I looked at him. “Okay, I need to know what this is all about now,” I said.
“I have a business proposition for you.”
“Business?” I asked, laughing nervously. “You know I’m just a college undergrad, right?”
“What are you studying?” he asked.
“Marketing and journalism. I’m interested in publicity and things like that.”
He laughed loudly, shaking his head. “Too fucking perfect,” he said.
I stared at him quizzically. “What is?”
“Nothing,” he said. “Do you want to hear this proposition?”
“Okay,” I said, totally unsure. Part of me wanted to get up and run away, get far, far away from him.
But there was something keeping me in that seat.
Nash had a magnetism about him, something that drew me toward him. I wanted to get up and leave, walk away. He was a dangerous man, not in the sense of hurting me or something like that, but he had a bad reputation and was well-known as being a deadly force. I had no clue what kind of proposition he had for me, but I knew it wasn’t going to be good.
And yet I couldn’t leave. There was just something about his smile, the way he asked about me, the way he seemed like he didn’t belong in an expensive steak house wearing an expensive suit.
“Lately,” he said slowly, “I’ve been under pressure from my publisher.”
“For what?”
“Apparently, I have a morality clause. And they don’t like the way I’ve been handling myself.”
I laughed. “Seriously, a morality clause?”
“I’m an all-American hero, Selena. Can’t have a hero fucking random club sluts and getting drunk every night.”
I bit my lip. “Are you fucking random women every night?”
“Not the point,” he said. “I have a problem with my publisher, an image problem.”
“You want me to help with that?”
“Yes,” he said, grinning his delicious grin. “I want you to marry me.”
I stared at him, shocked. “What did you just say?”
“Selena,” he said slowly, “I’ll pay you one million dollars to marry me.”
I leaned back in my chair, my eyes wide, shock and denial running through my body.
I should have gotten up.
I should have run away.
But instead I sat there and looked at him, confused, uncertain, wondering what I was getting myself into.
4
Nash
I savored the look on her face for a few seconds.
As soon as I had laid it out there for her, she’d looked totally shocked. At first I could tell she didn’t believe me, but she was slowly figuring out that I wasn’t fucking around.
“Why?” she managed to say.
“I need to change my image. You’re beautiful as hell and a student at a good college.” I grinned at her. “I also did some more research on you after we met. You’re a pretty normal person living a pretty normal life.”
“So what?” she said. “I mean, why would you want to marry me? You don’t even know me.”
“No, I don’t,” I said. “But that doesn’t matter. We won’t really be married. But I need you to pretend to be my wife, at least until my book tour is over. Once it’s done, I’ll be able to renegotiate my contract and hopefully get rid of this idiotic morality clause.”
