Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 81843 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 409(@200wpm)___ 327(@250wpm)___ 273(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 81843 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 409(@200wpm)___ 327(@250wpm)___ 273(@300wpm)
“Are we consummating this marriage, Mr. Brewer?” I ask, hoping I’m reading the situation correctly. If not …
“That’s up to you.” He shifts his weight from one foot to the other. “But I hope so.”
My gaze flips to his, and I try not to melt from the heat in them.
“Remember,” he says, his eyes searching mine. “I’m happy just to give you the money. There are no strings unless you want them.”
I swallow to wet my throat. I’m afraid my words will stick otherwise.
“So my options are to take the money and run …” My cheeks flush as I meet his gaze. “Or take the money, have a place to stay, and have sex with you for six months?”
He pins me to the spot with only a look. If this intensity is a promise of things to come, I’m in. I’m so fucking in.
“Option B, please,” I say.
A flicker of a smile kisses his lips.
I’ve made my choice, and it’s truly the one I want to make. It’s the decision I’m certain he was hoping I’d make, too. But these sinful rewards have risks, and I’m not too turned on not to consider them.
What if this ruins us?
My stomach flips upside down.
“Just promise me that we’ll still be friends when this is over,” I say. “Tell me I’m not delusional, and this will work out.”
“I promise. You have my word. I would never do anything to compromise that, Chloe.”
“But you can see why I’m questioning it, right?”
He lifts a brow. “And you understand that if you didn’t trust me down deep, you never would’ve suggested this in the first place.”
That’s very true.
“So are we doing this?” he asks.
I give myself a moment to reconsider.
I want to do this. I need the help he’s more than willing to give me, and I can help him win a bet in the process. And I’ll also have the excuse to do something I’ve wanted to do for years—sleep with my boss. He obviously wants that, too. And this allows us to do that without violating every rule in the employee handbook.
My mind is made up. This feels like a gift, and I’m not one to turn down a present from above.
“We’re doing this,” I say.
Relief washes over his features. “What happens in our marriage stays in our marriage.”
The ridiculousness of that statement makes me laugh.
He clicks around on his computer and types a few things in, then he looks up at me. “How fast do you want to become my wife?”
My wife. Chills zip across my heated skin. Those two words do something to me—and I didn’t expect that.
“I need to be out of my apartment by Sunday morning, I think,” I say.
“I can get a truck to your house this evening to move you out. Does that work?”
Wow. “Um, yes. I can get our stuff together in a few hours if I can find some boxes.”
“I’ll put an order in and have some delivered.” He clicks around a few more times. “Should I reserve a church?”
“It kind of feels wrong to get married for money in front of God, don’t you think?” I ask, laughing.
He laughs, too. “I’m going to Vegas tomorrow. Want to get married there? We could take Mimi and make a weekend trip of it.”
All I can do is stare at him. Why is he this wonderful to me?
Even in my most hopeful moments, I didn’t imagine he’d go to these lengths to make this okay for me … and Mimi. He has immense responsibilities on his plate between Brewer Air and his family—not to mention the enormous mess of his dad’s atrocities—and so many people are counting on him. He doesn’t need my mess, yet here he is, asking to help me hold my load.
I don’t know how I managed this or if I’m dreaming, but I’ll make sure he doesn’t regret it.
Tears fill my eyes again. “You’ll really do all of this for me?”
There’s something on the tip of his tongue, but he doesn’t say it. Instead, he shakes his head and grins a shy smile. “You’d be surprised what people will do for you if you let them. Now go home and start packing. I have a few calls to make.”
I stay rooted in place. Should I hug him? Kiss him? Shake his hand like I did Tate’s?
But the idea of touching him sends a bolt of energy through me that makes my knees weak. Brushing against him before today made me tingle. But now, knowing what his arms feel like, the sturdiness of his chest, the feeling of him holding me tight, I can’t risk touching him again.
Not now.
Not here.
“Thank you,” I say.
“You can thank me later.” His lips twitch as he sits behind his desk. “And, trust me, you will.”
My insides burn, and it takes everything I have not to drop to my knees and thank him properly right here. But I have stuff to pack and a move to make.