Dirty Husband Read online Crystal Kaswell

Categories Genre: Billionaire, Romance Tags Authors: Crystal Kaswell Advertisement1

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But then Key lives to irritate me with these comparisons.

"Always in a sour mood, aren't you, Shep?" He places the nearly full espresso cup in the sink. Fills the electric kettle with water.

"Should I switch to tea?"

"Of course. But I know your mother tried."

"Sunshine in a cup."

"And your fiancée?" He stresses the last word, like he finds it hard to believe I have a fiancée.

"Don't tell me your stereotyping."

"Tea's the most popular beverage in the world." He holds up a tin of English Breakfast. "Of course, in the states, you're still holding on to the taxation."

"Of course."

He shifts to the matter at hand. "That happened fast."

"It did."

"Unusually fast."

"And your friend?" I motion to his computer. "Still pretending you're someone you're not?"

"I should ask you that."

"Yes, I pretend I'm a functioning human."

He laughs that laugh that means I know you think you're joking, but you're not. "How is your brother?"

"Fine, last I heard. Do you need help with a tech issue? I'm sure he can stop fucking his fiancée for long enough to assist."

"Been too long?" His smile is knowing. "I've been there before." His gaze shifts to his computer. "There are opportunities, but they aren't as appealing as a woman you can't have."

"She's my fiancée."

"Yes."

"We're happy."

"Does she know you aren't in love with her?"

My stomach twists. It's not that simple. I'm not capable of loving anyone. If I were, it would be her. "Are you the relationship expert all of a sudden?"

"I have enough." He chuckles. "Even if they're short."

"I do too."

"Yes, but you're more discrete."

Of course, his taste is legendary. Young women who are new to sex. He'll introduce them to all sorts of things then send them on their way. He's clear about the rules, but something tells me the women expect they'll change his mind about that whole this ends in sixty days thing.

Maybe I should ask for advice. He has women falling in love with him, even when he doesn't want that.

Of course, it's the same for me. It's always the women who connect the least. The ones who can't see even a sliver of the man behind the scars.

"The meeting is in how long?" he asks.

"What does that have to do with anything?"

"You tell me."

Am I really this obvious? "Twenty-eight days."

"Interesting timing."

Sometimes, I hate having business partners. They learn things they shouldn't.

Ian is a genius when it comes to information. He can find anything, anywhere.

He found this.

He doesn't know the entire story, but he knows too much.

"What did you do to Lucien to fill him with this much ire?" Ian asks. "Or is he as much of a bastard as he seems?"

"He is a bastard."

"Fucking with you for the sport of it?"

"Something like that."

He shakes his head. "Distasteful." The water steams. He pours it over his leaves.

It makes me think of Jasmine, but then what doesn't?

"I don't blame you for playing the game. Sometimes, it's fun to see if you can win." He sets the electric kettle back in its spot.

I nod as if that's my only reason.

"Sometimes though… sometimes it's better to walk away. Sometimes that's the only way to win."

"I'll keep that in mind." I don't need the game theory lecture. But I know he means well.

"Look at us. Two rich men fixing beverages for themselves. Things change every day."

"They do."

"If you need my help…" He holds up his cup. "Or another helicopter ride."

"Thank you." The words are awkward on my tongue. I don't offer anyone gratitude. Certainly not someone as cocky as Ian.

But he's right about one thing, I'm not selling this story about a whirlwind romance. I need to change that. And I know how.

And I do need his help. "Actually, there is something."

He raises a brow. "I'm listening."

It's not going to be pretty, but it's going to work.

It has to.

Chapter Fourteen

Jasmine

There it is.

My fate summed up in ten pages and one dotted line. One year of marriage. No dalliances with other men, public or private. Nothing that looks like an affair. No kisses on the mouth or dinners where I sit a little too close.

For this year, I'm at Shepard's beck and call, twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week. If he requests my presence, I attend. If he insists I sit in my room, I sit in my room. If he demands I dance for his colleagues—

Well, I'm not actually required to dance. Just to attend, act the part of loving wife, keep all terms a secret.

Any misstep and I lose the seven-figure payout.

Worse, I lose this new term, the one I insisted on adding last night.

As long as I'm with Shep, he pays for my father's care. At home. Our apartment in Queens. I wanted to move him into Shep's place—there's certainly room—but it's too risky. I might break. Confess everything.

This is it.

Three hundred and sixty-five days for a million dollars.


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