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Amelia’s toast freezes on the way to her mouth. “Actually marry?”
“For a year,” I say. “Then we part ways as originally agreed. But this way I can support you every step of the way as you launch your company. And of course, I’d pay you substantially more than originally agreed upon.”
Her mouth twists. “You’d pay me to marry you?”
“I...” when she says it like that it sounds bad. “It would be what we’re already doing. But longer. Better.”
She looks down at her coffee, thinking.
I wait.
“What happens if after a year, we want to extend it?” she asks.
My heart leaps. “Then we extend it,” I say, casually. “As long as it’s beneficial for both parties.”
Amelia chews her lip. Then she slowly shakes her head. “Cole, I don’t know if this is a good idea...”
Crap. I’m losing her. I asked for a shadow of what I really want, and she’s still turning me down.
I imagine my life without Amelia’s color, without her warmth, without her voice, but it all feels gray, cold, quiet.
I can’t lose her. I can’t.
I pull out the napkin contract and add each of the new terms I’m proposing to our original contract. My normally confident scrawl feels cramped. I’m running out of room on this goddamn napkin.
I sign it, date it, and slide it across the kitchen island to Amelia. “Just think about it. If you want to keep the original deal, that’s fine. But if you want more...you can have it, Amelia.”
She takes the contract reluctantly.
I leave her to contemplate what I’m offering, telling myself that of course she’ll say yes. Any woman would.
So why do I have this gnawing uncertainty in the pit of my stomach?
22
AMELIA
Isit at my desk, barely doing any work. Around me, the Ashford Marketing buzzes with people working, chatting, freaking out over deadlines, or last-minute requests from clients. But I can’t focus.
It’s been a week since Cole proposed we extend our agreement with a year of marriage.
Our contract sits in my purse, waiting for my signature.
Cole’s offer is tempting. Another year of spending lazy weekend mornings with Cole in that magnificent apartment. Another year of getting to know Kiera and watching her grow up. Another year of having Cole in my life, in my bed. Of working together to launch my company, and to help him gain control of his.
Plus, he’s offering me the kind of money that will change the course of my life.
His words echo in my head.If you want more, you can have it, Amelia.
The problem is, when Cole says “more” he means more money, more luxury, more support, more time.
But the only “more” I want is love. Because I’m in love with Cole.
It’s not just that he’s always on my mind, or that seeing him makes my day better, or that every new thing I find out about him makes me care about him even more. It’s not just that he might, possibly, be falling in love with me too.
It’s justhim. I want him to be happy. I’m obsessed with making him smile. I like being the one who gets to gently cover him with a blanket when he falls asleep on the couch after working too hard, his big limbs sprawled and relaxed.
Today’s the big board vote, when the Board of Ashford Marketing will decide whether to buy the failing digital marketing company Tree House Digital, like Cole’s dad wants. Or to pass on it and invest that money in our own in-house digital marketing team, like Cole wants.
