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He stares without budging.
“I’ll give you three percent of Monroe,” I offer.
“Your money is the least appealing thing about you.”
I snort. “Don’t I know it? I just wish everyone else did too. But you do want my insider info on my tech and all the pretty ways it manages to keep dickwad hackers like yourself out of the systems you’re trying to gain entry into, right?”
“Nope. No challenge in that.”
My feelings explode like an atomic bomb, wreaking havoc and destruction with my emotions and thrusting me right into unglued territory. My eyes burn, and I can feel my face turning redder by the second. I pace away from him, barely able to catch my breath. I hate being like this. It’s not who I am. I am all take charge. I am the master of my ship. But spool by spool, I’ve been unraveling, and this is the only thing I can think of to stop that and regain control.
“Do you hate me that much, Lenox? Did I mean so little to you that you can’t even help me when I am so fucking desperate that I show up at your house?” I turn back to him, my arms falling heavy at my sides. “I know I’m asking a lot. I know I’m asking you to marry me and all that comes with that craziness.”
I stop here, about to break down again. I just want him to marry me to give me some breathing room to figure out my life and my situation. I hardly trust anyone right now, but I trust him because he doesn’t give two shits about me. He never did, and he doesn’t care about Monroe or my money—he has tons of his own, likely billions, and is the definition of a loner.
I wipe angrily at my face, slashing at the tears as they fall on my cheeks, only it’s futile as more keep coming.
“I know this is a one-sided arrangement, and the last thing you want is to be around me. I don’t exactly want to be around you either. I’m not going to move in with you or anything. I’ll stay in LA or possibly move back to Boston to be near Zax and Grey. You won’t have to deal with me other than these few days and possibly on rare occasions if something comes up. Please, Lenox. Just… fuck.” My hands rake through my hair, feeling so exhausted and defeated I can hardly stand it. “Please. I let you use my body for two years. I’m not even talking about what you did to my heart. I was the stupid one in that, and I know it. But you owe me, and if you won’t do it for that reason, then do it for Zax and Grey. I know you feel guilty about lying to them and hate how it eventually all came out. Please.”
Maybe that was wrong to throw at him—he already has so much guilt sitting on his soul that if he stepped into the ocean, he’d immediately drown under its weight—but I don’t care. I need this too badly. All’s fair in true hate and marriage.
He makes a displeased noise in the back of his throat as he sets his glass down on the counter. “How long are we talking?”
“A year,” I tell him, and I can see he doesn’t care for that answer as he rubs his hand across his mouth and jaw and stares at me with tense eyes. “As much as you hate the idea of being married to me, I hate it equally as much. But you’re the only one who can do this. Please don’t say no.”
Chapter Three
Everything inside of me is telling me I need to say no to this. That it’s dangerous on a hundred different levels, but the most dangerous of all is the woman standing before me. Guilt trip aside, I can’t stand to see her like this. I can’t stand what this has done to her. And if her ex and even his father are taking things too far and not letting her go…
But fuck, I can’t marry Georgia.
I mean, fucking marry her?! Even if it’s fake and I rarely have to see her, I’ll have to touch her in Vegas. I’ll have to come across like a man in love with his woman, and I can’t go down that road with her again. It’ll risk everything. It’ll break promises.
I can’t marry her.
But how can I not help her either? Just the thought of her ex stalking her, making her feel uncomfortable or unsafe makes me want to burn his world down. And I will. In my own way. Until then, how do I leave her out there alone? Or worse, stuck in a situation where she ends up marrying the bastard?
“Do Zax and Grey know about what Ezra is doing? Do they know he and his father are trying to coerce you into a marriage you don’t want?” One that will hold you captive and fill your days with misery.
She wipes more of her tears away and sighs plaintively, her hands going to her hips as she shakes her head. “I haven’t told them about that. They’ve already been worried enough about me. They do know I have to get married, but I think they believe I’ll just turn around and marry Ezra. Only my mother knows about them and isn’t much help because she wants the shares to stay with us, and Ezra seems like the only way for that to happen.”
“You know that won’t stand, right? I’ll have to tell them. I don’t keep things like that from them. Not anymore, and I promised never again. They need to know what he was doing to you.” I rub the back of my neck. “You don’t feel like they can help with this?”
She gives me an unhappy look but doesn’t ask me not to tell them. “No. I don’t. I think men are possessive and territorial, and my cousins telling them to fuck off won’t do a goddamn thing. It certainly hasn’t done anything when I’ve told him to back off and leave me alone.”
“And a restraining order…” I trail off, already knowing her answer.
“Will be a public record. I already have the press all over me. Not to mention Ezra and his dad work with me at Monroe, and that won’t look good for the company or for shareholders. I have to see them and be around them. Besides, Ezra’s not dangerous, just… not willing to let me go.”
Hmm. I mentally store that away for later and plan to do a little—or more like a lot—of digging into Ezra. I looked into him when they got together—Zax had asked me to, much to my surprise—but that was a couple of years ago, and a lot has clearly changed.
Speaking of. “I’d have to ask Zax and Grey if they’re okay with this.”
She hiccups out a laugh, but there is no humor to it. “I figured as much.”
“They don’t want me near you, Georgia. Not after what I did to you before. They made that damn clear at the time.”
She walks toward me, her big green eyes glassy and her cheeks flushed, but my body still stirs at the sight of her and how she smells—sweet and spicy like Christmas, like vanilla and cinnamon. If possible, she’s even more beautiful now than she was then, and I haven’t been able to stop looking at her. Not once since I first set eyes on her. I feel her on me like a wool sweater, warm and itchy on my skin yet somehow cozy and not uncomfortable enough that I want to take it off.
