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“But how does marrying me help?”
“Come on, Selena,” I said, “you’re the marketing major. Think about it.”
She bit her lip, shaking her head. “This is crazy. Really crazy.”
“Maybe, but I don’t give a fuck. Those bastards think they can push me around, but nobody fucking pushes me around. I’ll play their game, but I’m playing it on my terms.”
She nodded, and I could tell she was thinking it over. I didn’t expect her to say yes right away, but I did think she’d come around. A million dollars was a lot of money; honestly, it was most of the money I had. But I wasn’t kidding when I said that I didn’t care about the cash.
I cared way more about my fucking freedom. No publisher was going to have Nash Bell by the balls. I’d killed men with my bare hands, stabbed them in the neck, shot them, burned them, blew them up. I was a trained killer, skilled in more than just taking off women’s clothes.
“You need to change your image,” she said, “and you think that having a normal wife will help with that.”
I nodded. “Exactly.”
“But why me?”
I grunted, not sure how to answer that. Truthfully, I didn’t really know why her. I’d been toying with the idea for a couple of days, and the second I saw her I knew that I had to have her. For whatever reason, she just struck me as someone who would make a great wife, who could potentially change my image for the better.
And of course, as soon as I began to research her, I had realized how right I was. Selena Wood was a model student, a good little journalist at her paper, with a nice mommy and daddy. She wasn’t rich or poor, just a normal girl from a regular family.
Plus, she was smart. She had to be if she was going to get into Penn on a scholarship. I needed someone with a good head on her shoulders, not someone batshit crazy, if I was going to pull this off. I needed someone who understood what we were doing and could play the part.
Plus, as soon as she walked into the restaurant and I saw her in that fucking dress, I knew I wanted her on my arm. I was instantly attracted to her, wanted to peel that tight black cloth from her smooth skin and fuck her tight pussy until she cried out my name.
“Why you?” I asked her back. “You’re normal. You’re sexy. You’re smart.” I shrugged.
“But any number of girls at Penn are all those things,” she said, still shaking her head. “Why me exactly?”
I went to answer, but the waitress returned with our meals. I smiled at the woman, giving her my best shit-eating grin, and she backed off, blushing slightly. I dug into my steak, ignoring Selena’s confused stare, because I was fucking starving.
After a good few bites of food, she finally couldn’t take it anymore.
“How do you even have a million dollars?” she asked.
“You said it yourself: I’m rich.”
“That’s a lot of money. How would this even work?”
“You pretend to be my wife for a few months while the book tour ends. Then I pay you.”
“You make it sound so simple. What about my classes?”
“Finish them when we’re done. Or not. You’ll have a ton of money.”
She bit her lip again, the cutest fucking gesture in the god damn world. I bit my steak, feeling my cock stir in my pants. I hated wearing a suit, but it was the best camouflage for going to a fancy restaurant. Plus, nobody expected to see Nash Bell in a fucking suit.
“What about the media? Won’t this look suspicious?”
“Don’t worry about that,” I said. “They expect this sort of shit from me.”
“Pretend to be your wife,” she said softly. “For months.”
“That’s it. Just pretend, and then you’ll get your money.”
I dug into my steak while she picked at her salad, clearly still in a state of shock. There was something supremely attractive about the way she stared at me, slightly afraid, slightly confused, but clearly she wanted me. If she didn’t she’d have run off already.
“Excuse me,” she said abruptly. She stood up and stepped out of the booth, walking quickly away.
I smiled to myself, eating and drinking my whisky. Maybe she was running off, or maybe she was just getting herself together in the bathroom. Either way, it didn’t matter to me. She’d do it, or she wouldn’t and I’d have to find someone else.
But all of my instincts were telling me that this girl was the right move. And I’d learned to trust my instincts a long time ago.
I managed to wave down the waitress, get the bill, and pay it by the time Selena made it back to the table.
“Thought you ran,” I said to her, signing the receipt.
