“What about a building?”
Not the answer I was expecting. I frown. “A building? Like a penthouse or—”
“No. Grace’s Refuge on West 86th Street. It’s a domestic violence shelter I volunteer at. Their landlord just doubled their rent because he wants to sell the building. So,” she continues, her words coming out in a torrent, “buy the building, sign it over to Grace’s Refuge, and I’ll be your fake fiancée.”
A building. For a women’s shelter. Not jewelry or clothes or a penthouse for herself. Something twists inside my chest, something unfamiliar and warm. More layers, deep ones that intrigue and touch.
My mother didn’t take us to a shelter when we left Dad. We arrived in New York City in a rattletrap car with rusted floorboards and three suitcases. Mom found the cheapest apartment she could afford with the money she’d stolen out of the coffee can Dad kept on top of the refrigerator. Had we gone to a shelter, been put in touch with community programs and services that could have helped us transition, maybe she would have found a better job. Maybe things would have been different.
“Done.”
Her eyes widen. “Really?”
“Yes.”
She blinks several times. “Oh.”
“Did you think I’d say no?”
“He’s asking fifteen million.”
I pull out my phone. “Landlord’s name?”
“I don’t know. It’s a huge six-story brownstone on West 86th near Central Park West—”
I dial. Ten seconds later, a cultured male voice answers.
“Good morning, Mr. Hawke.”
“Good morning, Thomas. Purchase the brownstone on West 86th that currently houses Grace’s Refuge. Whatever the owner’s asking price is. Then coordinate with my attorneys to ensure the deed is transferred to the refuge.”
“Yes, sir.”
I hang up and turn back to Seraphina. She’s watching me with a mixture of elation and shock.
“My part of the deal is complete.”
“It is.” She lets out a strangled laugh. “I shouldn’t be surprised. I’ve watched you make seven- and eight-figure deals before your second cup of coffee. I just never…” She smiles, a deep, genuine smile that has me blinking. “Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me. It’s business.”
I inwardly curse as her smile falters, then disappears altogether. Yes, I was harsh. But I need her to know that every move I make is not rooted in anything personal. I want to get to know her better, yes, but that doesn’t mean we’re going to fall in love and get married and have babies together.
“Of course.” She threads her fingers together and tilts her head slightly. “What do we do next, Mr. Hawke?”
I grit my teeth. “First, you need to start calling me Aiden.”
She wrinkles her nose, as if she’d do anything else but utter my given name out loud.
“All right.”
“Second, you’ll need to move in with me.”
Pink infuses her skin, starting at the base of her throat and slowly working its way up into her face. Fascinating to watch after she’s kept herself contained all these years.
“Absolutely not.”
“It’s nonnegotiable. We need to make every effort to sell this ruse. That includes living together as an engaged couple.”
