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Ryan’s chuckle, no doubt at the stars now shining in my eyes, yanks me back to reality. His proud, satisfied smirk is that of someone who knows his money or body can buy him anything.
His blue eyes twinkle in warm humor and a subtle challenge. They draw me into their depths. I notice that his blue irises have dark spots within them. Fascinating.
When he suddenly breaks eye contact, I realize I’ve been staring too long. Although the man doesn’t maintain eye contact for very long, does he? Almost like he has something to hide.
I wonder how he sells his ideas to clients if he won’t make eye-contact?
“So?” Ryan prompts, snapping me out of my thoughts.
I’m sorely tempted. I can’t even recall a single reason why this would not be the best idea anyone ever came up with. I’m sure there must be plenty of reasons; they just happen to have taken off like a flock of spooked birds, save for one lone beacon of sense.
The fact that he can throw that much money around and make me instantly rethink my very strong feelings against getting married raises some alarm bells.
“You want to pay me twenty million dollars to be your wife?”
Ryan nods, speaking in a warm and coaxing tone. “Only for six months. We could even get separated at the end of four. You’d have ten million at the point of signing the marriage contract. And ten million on signing the divorce papers. Six months, and you have your life back. It’ll be like it never happened.” He finishes with a practiced wrist flick.
How does anyone ever refuse him anything?
He must have mistaken the awe on my face as disbelief because he straightens, goes back to his side of the desk, and takes a black box from his drawer. He pushes it across the table. “Your engagement ring.”
My heart skips a beat. This man is serious about this. With shaky fingers, I reach for the box and flip it open.
And gasp.
It’s huge. A breathtakingly beautiful diamond ring that seems to sparkle with a life of its own.
“It’s custom-made, and you can keep it. It’s not part of the contract. I bought it with you in mind.” Ryan says.
Despite myself, the toughest parts of me begin to melt. Still, I manage to snap myself out of it. This isn’t a romantic proposal; it’s a business deal! He’s just thrown in a little extra to sweeten the pot.
I snap the box shut and push it back. “That ring was made for me?” I scoff. “Is that what you’ve been telling everyone who’s been turning you down? “
He levels me with an almost wounded look, which is so out of character for the usually cocky and self-assured Ryan I know. “Stella, I have only ever considered you for this. Why else do you think I’ve been hell-bent on speaking to you? You’re the only one I want to do this with.”
Okay, that sounded a bit sweet. “And what if I say no? Where does that leave you?”
“Funny, I’ve been asking myself the same thing. I guess I’ll have to extend the invitations elsewhere.” His voice hardens. “Stella, one way or another, I will be married in the next four weeks, and I’d rather it be you than anyone else.”
Lord help me, but I believe him about only wanting me for this. But I can’t figure out why. “Why me, when there are many women– many subs– who actually want to be married. I’m clearly not one of them.”
He totally ignores the sub comment. “I want you because you’re not boring, you’re not clingy, you’re unlikely to demand more or fall in love with me. And most importantly,” he adds, putting a finger up for emphasis, “you’re very nice to look at.”
“Wow, Ryan Fairchild, you inspire me with how deep you are sometimes.”
He flashes me a grin, “I knew you’d get me. Most people don’t think there’s more to me than the pretty face.” Without missing a beat, he continues. “Now, there are just a few things to consider,” He brings out a leather document folder and passes it to me. “But before then, would you like something to drink? Something strong, perhaps?”
“Why would I need a strong drink?”
He goes to pour himself two fingers and does the same for me anyway. Then he again perches on the edge of the desk beside me as I open the document folder.
Uh-oh. I think the other shoe is just about to drop.
I start reading the terms and conditions.
I haven’t gone through the first page when my head snaps up. “You expect me to delete my social media handles? I have ten thousand followers!”
“You’ll have new accounts set up for you, and people to manage it.”
