HER HEART HAMMERED. Was this yet another man propositioning her indecently? She felt sickened and disgusted then by the whole male race, furious with this idea that they could control a woman just because she was financially destitute.
“No way.”
“Hear me out,” he said, holding a hand in the air in the universal gesture of silence. “This is a business deal, nothing more.”
It was very slightly mollifying. “O-kay,” she said softly, moving her bag back to the floor and sitting down on the bed, conscious of the rustling of the letter in her pocket the whole time. It felt like a grenade rather than paper. “How is marriage a business?”
He walked towards the window then turned to face her, the slight distance somehow reassuring. But there was a look on his face as his gaze shifted around the room, taking in the obvious rundown state of the place, that made her feel embarrassed.
“I know, it’s hardly a palace,” she muttered, lifting one shoulder.
“Far from it.”
“Yeah, okay, I get it. The room sucks. So?”
He nodded once. “You’re right. It doesn’t matter.” He dragged a hand through his hair. “I need a wife.”
“I’m not—we’re not actually married.”
“Even better. I need a wife on paper.”
She furrowed her brow. She could have sworn she felt a thousand volts of electricity arcing between them that morning, but hell, what did she know about men, really? She’d been far too busy looking after her dad to date, trying to keep a roof over their heads while paying for his medication and treatments. “Why do you need a fake wife? Why not find a real one?”
“On paper,” he repeated. “I’m not interested in a relationship.”
She considered that a moment. “I’m missing something here.”
“As, I suspect, am I.”
She gnawed on her lower lip.
“I want a clean-cut arrangement. A partnership based on mutual requirement, no emotional complication, no unrealistic expectations. This would be a contracted role, requiring you to play a part, nothing more.”
“Meaning…nothing…physical?” her cheeks flamed at the suggestion and she couldn’t look in his direction.
“Si.” Was she imagining the slight hesitation before agreement?
She wasn’t sure why that wasn’t more reassuring.
“Sex is a complication,” he continued. “Or it can be. I want this to be clear cut. You convince everyone we’re married, and in love,” she heard the cynicism that infused those words, and jerked her eyes back to his face, frowning.
“And in exchange?”
“In exchange, I’ll pay you.”
She sucked in a shaky breath as suddenly the prospect of what he was offering hovered on the periphery of her mind like a bright shiny star. Relief. Relief from the terrifying prospect of being in debt to loan sharks come sexual predators.
“I—how much?”
He looked around the room, his lips grim. “How much would you want?”
It wasn’t so much what she wanted, but rather, needed. Could she really ask for the whole amount? He was obviously wealthy. His penthouse had been enormous, and in one of the ritzy Di Santis hotels, no less. His clothes looked bespoke, he was able to pick up the phone and organise a new outfit for her in ten minutes flat. Only money could achieve that sort of magic.
But eighty-five thousand dollars was still a lot. She blurted the number out, squeezing her eyes shut so she wouldn’t see his reaction.
He was silent for so long, though, that she did eventually blink her eyes open, terrified he’d say no, and walk away. Her salvation.
“Eighty-five thousand,” he repeated. “That’s specific.”
