Total pages in book: 105
Estimated words: 98398 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 492(@200wpm)___ 394(@250wpm)___ 328(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98398 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 492(@200wpm)___ 394(@250wpm)___ 328(@300wpm)
“Excuse me?” She could not be serious.
“We want to really show the world how you feel about me, and PDAs will seem unnatural for you at first, so jewelry is the way to go. We will also plan the engagement and let it slip to a few trusted sources where and when it will happen. Don’t worry about the wedding itself. Your mother and I will handle that.”
I pinched the bridge of my nose as the back of my skull tightened with a pending migraine. “Is that all?”
“No, but it’s enough of a start for now.” She took out her phone and started typing. Then, she smirked down at the screen and laid it on the table, sliding it toward me.
It was open to some social media app, and there was a photo of us sitting next to each other, her hand in mine as she looked up at me adoringly. You couldn’t even tell she was propositioning me and I was removing her hand from my lap.
“How…”
“My assistant is always around.” She smiled and posted the photo to one of her other social media accounts, with a caption that read, “Sometimes you just know.”
The little heart under the caption had a number that was going up faster than I could read it.
“By tomorrow morning, we will be all over the social pages, and there will be at least two dozen interest pieces on us as a couple. There is no going back now.”
My stomach twisted as bile rose in the back of my throat.
She was right.
There really was nothing else I could do. Without my consent, she had actually announced our relationship, and there was no turning back. I could break this entire thing off, but it would do even more damage to my already sullied reputation.
Elections were coming up soon, and I would rather focus on the work that I had to do getting criminals off the street than worry about campaigning. This woman may be an awful human being and an evil genius wrapped in the superficial packaging of a wannabe Barbie doll, but at least I could have her work for me and with me rather than against me.
What was worse was that my mother had already guessed my long-term career goals, and although I might find this woman personally repugnant, she could be an asset on the campaign trail. She had already managed to fool the entire world into believing that she was a philanthropic angel and not the spoiled brat she was showing herself to be.
If I was being honest with myself, I didn’t want a wife.
I didn’t have time for a wife.
That being said, my career dictated that having a wife would be advantageous.
Specifically, a society type that would understand how to act in certain situations, know what was required of her, and what her role actually would be. A society wife would not expect me home for dinner each night. She would know better.
A society wife would not expect me to be faithful, nor would she expect me to have an active role in the raising of our children until they became a certain age. She would understand that I had the final say in anything involving our business and investments, that it was my role to make sure she had everything she needed, while it was her role to actually handle the day-to-day running of the household and our social calendar.
Just because I didn’t find her appealing didn’t mean she wouldn’t look good on the Christmas cards. Once we were wed, I also wouldn’t have to worry about her acting out of turn, because her livelihood would depend solely on mine. This woman would understand that it would be in her best interest to act in my best interest.
A few well-placed clauses in the prenup would also further incentivize her to stay the course and do her job.
I just hated the idea that I’d actually have to spend time with this vapid woman who would probably be more plastic than flesh by the time she was fifty. This entire arrangement had me feeling sick to my stomach, but as my mother had pointed out, it was a means to an end. A means that was expected of me.
So, I kept trying to convince myself that it was the right course. Every time Catherine snapped at a waiter, or she and my mother leaned together and laughed like they were in cahoots—which I guessed they were—I told myself another lie about how she would be good in this role and how, after our children were born, our contact could be limited.
The hour and a half I had allotted for my mother to steal from my day felt like forever. Seconds ticked by into what seemed like hours, and by the time I managed to get back to the office, I felt as though I’d lost half a day’s worth of work and momentum that I couldn’t regain.