Page 152 of Wait for Him

This is a terrible idea. I've already been the asset in one strategic marriage. I know exactly what it costs, and I spent three years waiting for the day I could finally get out of the last one. Every rational thought in my head is telling me to thank her for dinner and go home.

"What exactly are you proposing?" I hear myself ask anyway. "How long would we need to stay married?"

What difference does it make?

The answer is still no.

Right?

"One year. Then we divorce, clean, and walk away with exactly what we came in with. My attorneys have already drafted the prenup, and yours are welcome to bleed all over it. We'd need to date publicly first, of course. A proper story. But the timeline is tight, I'm afraid. I have it on good authority the board is close to calling a vote on my removal, and I'd rather be unassailable before they find their nerve."

I shake my head. "Listen, Ms. Fields..."

"Rian." She corrects me again.

"Rian. I don't think I'm the right person for this."

"A seat on the Lane & Fields board," she continues like I haven't said a word. "Two percent of my personal holdings, transferred to you on signing. Voting shares, not the neutered class. At our last valuation, that's a little north of eighty million dollars."

She turns the stem of her glass between her fingers.

"Structured discreetly, obviously. A gift that size to a fiancé with my board already circling would draw attention. My attorneys have it papered as a consulting arrangement through one of your acquisition vehicles, the kind of transaction nobody looks at twice because you make a dozen a year."

And there it is.

She didn't just research me. She researched the firm, my deals, my acquisition vehicles, how my money moves and where that kind of money could land without anybody immediately asking why.

Jesus Christ.

How long has she been planning this?

I'm not a candidate she came here hoping to convince. She already built the deal around me.

"And when the year is up, you keep the seat if you want it. Consider it my referral fee for the best decision the board never got to make."

Damnit. Damn. It.

It's a good deal. A really fucking good deal.

Might as well call me Ross Geller. Two divorces before I'm even thirty-five, both of them to women I never chose for love. At least Ross got to pick his own disasters.

Don't wait for me, Rose wrote. Item four, her own steady hand.

Live your life.

I've spent months telling myself I can do both. I can live and still wait. Build the firm. Make money. Do interviews. Drag my ass onto a yoga mat at 4:55 every morning because somewhere out there she might be doing the same thing.

Living my life may also include marrying a terrifying blonde for a board seat and a few million dollars.

I'm sure that's exactly what Rose meant.

"And what does 'tight' look like?" I ask. "How soon would we need to start selling this story?"

"Right now, Mr. Jackson."

I clear my throat and shift my weight again because my cock is like a shark in the water.

"What does right now mean?"