“You’re jumping to conclusions,” he replied.
“Then, please enlighten me,” I said exasperated. I was willing to hear him out, after all, he was still holding my briefcase hostage. I wouldn’t have admitted it, but I was also interested to hear whatever he was going to say next. We needed an investor.
He sighed and began absently playing with a stress ball on his desk, like he didn’t know he was doing it. It was the only thing in his office that looked like it belonged to him. The rest of the room was stark, walls painted navy with no photos of family or anything hanging up to prove someone worked here. On his desk, other than his computer and some pens and paper, there was nothing else. nothing personal. “You were prepared yesterday with research on my company, if I recall.”
I nodded. “I read every single article I could find. I like to be prepared.”
He hmm-ed then continued. “My grandfather is the CEO and he wants me to take over the company starting next year.”
“That’s good?” I wasn’t sure what that had to do with me.
“It would be.” He paused when he knocked the stress ball off of his desk on accident. He frowned at the space where it used to be. “But he wants me to get married first.” He grimaced as he admitted it to me.
“Why?” I asked.
“He wants me to produce,” another pause, “heirs.”
I laughed. How could I not? “That’s ridiculous,” I said, then realized I probably insulted his family again within twenty-four hours of doing it the last time.
“I agree.” His mouth was set in a hard line and his eyes sharp. “I have no interest in marrying.” Now that was surprising. Some of the articles I read were in gossip magazines, to try and judge his personality before the meeting. None of them had any solid proof of his dating life. I had thought he must be really secretive, that someone like him had to be dating someone, but now it made more sense.
“So, you want to marry me to get the company and I’ll do it because I need investors? that’s your plan?”
“It wouldn’t be for very long, maybe half a year, a year at the most. Then we’ll have a tidy divorce and then we can be rid of each other.”
“What about heirs?”
“If need be, we can fake a pregnancy.” He shrugged. The more I learned the more it made sense, but it didn’t stop being completely crazy. “The most difficult parts of the arrangement would be the public appearances. I have to make them occasionally, but I am known to be a private person, so we wouldn’t have to stay very long.”
“That makes me feel better,” I said sarcastically. “What about living together?”
“To keep up appearances, you would have to move in.” The way he winced I thought that sentence physically pained him to say. “But I live in a rather large mansion in Glencoe, and we both work. If we both play our cards right, most days we wouldn’t have to even see each other.”
It seemed like he had this all figured out. Inside my chest my heart was beating quickly, and my mind raced trying to process everything. It seemed too good to be true and at the same time, a little degrading.
“I don’t know if I would feel comfortable taking money to marry you,” I admitted. It felt icky, like I was using him, or he was using me, or both.
“Would it help if you saw it as a kind of business transaction? I don’t want to bribe you; I want to offer a partnership. If you decide you don’t want to do this, I won’t make you. We both want something the other can provide. It will be business. Nothing more. I’m prepared to offer your company, from my own pocket, two million dollars.”
I sucked in a deep breath. That would do wonders for us, especially as such a small, new brand. I was surprised at how seriously I was considering his offer. If it was a business deal, then I had to speak to Michael before I accepted. Or maybe just so my best friend could talk me out of going through with this. “I’ll have to think about it.”
“Can I have an answer by tomorrow?”
It didn’t seem like a lot of time, but I nodded my head in acceptance. I wished I had years to think this over.
“Here.” He scribbled something down on a sticky note, pulled something out of his pocket, and slid them over the desk to me. “My personal phone number. When you decide, call me and we can schedule a meeting.” He pointed to what he placed on the sticky note. “That is a token of our deal. Keep it if you agree, return it if not.”
I picked it up: on the post-it note was a ring.
I put them both in my skirt pocket. My throat felt dry when I asked, “My briefcase?”
“Of course.” He pulled it from behind his desk and stood up to hand it to me. I stood and took it. He was careful not to let our hands touch.
I had turned around, my thoughts boiling over when a question suddenly came to me. I spun back around to see him already sitting and working at his computer. I gathered all of my courage. “Why me?”
He glanced up from the screen. “What?”
My throat still felt like it wanted to close in on itself, but I had to know the truth. “Why. Me.”
He tilted his head to the side, like he was thinking. “You’re attractive.”
I felt my face grow hot.
He wasn’t finished. “And I trust you.” He then went back to typing something, not sparing me another glance.
I walked out of his office like I was in a daze. I was still feeling flushed, the compliment took me off guard, for sure, but the “I trust you” was what repeated over and over again in my head. What did he mean
