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“Excuse me?” I cut him off, almost jumping off of my seat.
I can’t believe what I’m hearing. He cannot be serious?
“Don’t worry, I know you’re not an escort. This doesn’t include any sexual favors,” he assures, raising an appeasing hand.
I stare at him, my lips parted but unable to find the right words. I’m waitingfor him to smirk or wink at me, anything to tell me that he’s joking.
But he looks dead serious.
“It’s just for show,” he clarifies. “I need someone to look pretty next to me, to accompany me to certain events and functions. Someone who can hold a conversation and, well, someone who can make me look good.”
“You think… you thinkIcould make you look good?”
He releases an amused chuckle. “I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t.”
I stiffen when he leans over to me, elbows resting on his knees as he brings his face closer to mine.
“You’d have to live with me, of course. But you’ll have your own bedroom, your own space. You just need to appear at a few functions with me and share the same address for a while”, he goes on. “You won’t have to sleep with me—unless you want to.”
Now he adds a wink to his words, and I feel myself blushing in an instant.
I can’t believe this is happening.
“And, of course, there will be a generous compensation,” he goes on.
This cannot be real. What kind of sick game is he playing?
“How generous?”
He clears his throat, adding a redundant pause to keep me waiting before he reveals his answer: “Five hundred thousand.”
I feel like my heart almost stops in shock. He wants to pay me half a million dollars to play his fiancéefor a few months, and I won’t even have to sleep with him?
“Is this a joke?” I want to know. “You can’t be serious?”
His expression darkens for a split second, a crease emerging between his brows when he responds: “Why would I be joking about this?”
“I don’t know? To make fun of a desperate girl in need?”
“Are you a desperate girl in need?” He replies, brows raised.
The color on my cheeks must be a deep crimson red now, as the heat rushes to my face.
“No,” I decide. “I mean… it’s just that… this seems—”
“Too good to be true?” he finishes my sentence.
I nod. “Well, yes. And things that seem too good to be true usually are just that.”
He sighs, straightening his back as he sits up in his chair.
“There will be a certified contract and everything,” he explains. “You’re welcome to go over it with your lawyer.”
“I don’t have a lawyer,” I say, snorting. “And I sure as hell can’t afford one.”
“You can, with the help of your first down payment,” he says. “Which you’d receive right after this meeting—if you agree to consider my offer.”
I stare into the dark depth of his eyes, searching for the lie behind his words. But he just looks back at me, seemingly at ease and his eyes wide and clear as can be. He doesn’t look like a liar, but looks can be deceiving.
