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My brow pinched. “What is that exactly? I was about to hand in my resignation.”
An arrogant smile travelled from his chilly blue eyes to his thin lips. “Oh, that’s right, tomorrow you come into your inheritance. Five million, I believe.”
Of course, he would know. I hated that he knew everything. Grandmother had to stop his association. And I planned to tell her everything I knew about the horrid man, hoping to turn her.
“So? That’s my business.”
He leaned back and puffed smoke in my direction as though on purpose. Like a threat. “Oh, but that’s where you’re wrong, pretty girl. Because you are my business.”
My brow squeezed. “You want me to continue working here?”
He shook his head, and my spine relaxed.
“I want you to marry me.”
My jaw dropped, and a squeaky laugh flew out. “This must be a joke. Yeah?”
His deadpan silence answered that question.
“But I haven’t even let you fuck me.”
“That has been a bone of contention—you leading me on like that. I’m not an idiot.” He slanted his head, wearing a cocky smirk. “It didn’t take me long to discover you weren’t pure, despite those lurid photos you so assiduously doctored.”
What?
“I’m pure of heart.” Puke. Did I really just say that? “Not like you, you dirty old man.”
He laughed. Crisp loved being mocked. Perhaps he was into one of those weirdo fetishes of being whipped by a rubber-outfitted girl.
“You flatter yourself, dear girl. Your heart’s far from pure. You stole from Harrods. I had to pay them off to avoid you being charged. I could open that case up if you like. At my request, they’ve kept the CCTV footage.”
My fingers were so tightly crossed, I nearly snapped them off. My shoplifting habit had come back to haunt me. It wouldn’t be the first time being caught. No one knew. Only Drake and my mother, who’d encouraged me to steal when I was little. She figured they wouldn’t pick on a kid. I got good at it too. Stealing food at the supermarket, then clothes and makeup and all kinds of things.
I got off on the adrenaline, especially when pushed into a corner. Like at the Pond, after I screwed the owner and all the gossip and backstabbing that followed—stealing helped me deal with the stress.
“So, if I don’t agree to marry you, you’ll get me convicted for shoplifting?”
My grandmother had forgiven me for pawning her ruby necklace and even let me keep the money. If she could overlook that, then shoplifting paled in comparison.
“Do your worst. And by the way… I quit.”
I was about to walk off when he pointed to the chair.
“Sit.” His scraping tone felt like a whip lassoing me back onto the chair.
“You always said you weren’t the marrying kind,” I protested as my spine shivered at the thought of sleeping with him every night.
“I need to legitimise my empire by having a wife who can make me look good.”
Another snort issued from my mouth. “And you think that’s me? I’m not exactly upper class, am I?”
“More a work in progress. You’re dressing more modestly. You look good and possess your grandmother’s stature. Good paparazzi fodder. It doesn’t hurt that you’re photogenic.”
Hearing I had bit of my grandmother in me helped thaw some of the ice in my veins.
“And your noteworthy attempt at dropping that East London accent also helps.”
“I’m not doing it so I can become your trophy wife. Far from it. No fucking way.” I purposely reverted to cockney, hoping he would drop his ludicrous marriage proposal. “But really, why me?” I had to ask again, if only to understand his true motives.
