Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 76959 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 385(@200wpm)___ 308(@250wpm)___ 257(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76959 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 385(@200wpm)___ 308(@250wpm)___ 257(@300wpm)
When he pops it open, my breath catches because, holy mother of all things sparkly, that diamond is huge.
“If we hurry, we can have this done by the end of the day,” he says as he shoves the box into my palm.
That’s not going to win any awards for the most romantic proposal of the year.
I push the box back at him. “This is not happening. You need to tell Mr. Abdon the truth.”
He lowers his voice. “I need you to tell me what it’s going to take to get you to marry me, Miss Shaw. This is temporary and in name only. What do you want? One hundred thousand? A quarter of a million?”
“Dollars?” I screech. “Sir!”
“Five hundred thousand,” he says in a rush. “All right. I’ll go up to a million. One million dollars for three months. After that, you can file for a divorce.”
My hand flies in the air, taking the gift bag with it. I narrowly miss crashing it into the side of Mr. Locke’s head. “Slow this crazy train down.”
“One and a half million, Miss Shaw.” He scrubs the back of his neck. “You drive a hard bargain.”
I’ve said all of seven words during this negotiation. That’s not driving a hard bargain. That’s bewilderment.
Cursing under his breath, he whips his cell phone from his jacket pocket.
What the hell is happening now?
His fingers dance over the screen before he turns his back on me.
It’s a futile move since I can hear every word that comes out of his mouth.
“Judge?” he says before he takes a pause. “We’re running behind. Can you marry us in your chambers this evening?”
I tap him on the shoulder. “Tonight won’t work for me.”
He spins around. His blue eyes rake me from head to toe. I can’t tell if that’s his signature ‘What the fuck?’ look or if he wants to fuck me.
I chase that thought away because where did it come from?
“We’ll see you then,” he says to the judge.
He pockets the phone before he gives me his full attention again. “I’ll have my attorney write up an amendment to the prenuptial agreement to include the one and a half million payable on the day you file for a divorce.”
He reaches into the inner pocket of his jacket to show me the corner of a white envelope.
“You have a prenup with you?” I ask with a chuckle. “You’re kidding, right?”
He taps the face of his watch with his index finger. “We have thirty minutes to get the marriage license, Miss Shaw. At the very least, agree to that. We can work out the other details between now and when we see the judge.”
I see something in his eyes that I’ve never seen before. It may be a plea, or it could be frustration, but against all of my better judgment and the nagging voice in the back of my head telling me to turn and walk away, I nod. “Just the license. Then we’ll talk.”
Chapter Five
Trina
I stare at the marriage license in my lap that bears not only my name but my boss’s name too.
How is any of this real?
When we went into the City Clerk’s office, Mr. Locke’s lawyer was waiting for us. Apparently, he was going to be the witness to our wedding.
He introduced himself as Morty no last name.
That’s exactly what he said. “I’m Morty.” Then he paused and added with a wink, “No last name.”
He laughed like it was the funniest thing he’d ever heard.
I didn’t break a grin because his attempt at a joke only added to my trepidation.
Still, I handed over my driver’s license to the clerk behind the counter, signed on the dotted line, and in theory agreed to be my boss’s wife.
It’s not official until we go before the judge. That doesn’t happen for another fifty-nine minutes, according to my watch.
I turn when I hear Mr. Locke enter his office behind me. I sat down on one of the visitor chairs that face his desk while he and Morty No-Last-Name had a hushed discussion next to my desk.
All I heard was Morty saying that he had to get home before seven and Mr. Locke calling someone who works for the judge to ask if they would witness his wedding.
His wedding. Not our wedding.
If that isn’t a red flag waving in the breeze right over my head, I don’t know what is.
I should pop open the bottle of champagne in the gift bag on the corner of Mr. Locke’s desk, race out of here, and celebrate being a single woman in the big city.
Instead, I’m sitting here trying to find the right words to let my boss down easily. Honestly, I just want to walk out of here with a job, or at the very least, a stellar recommendation.
“Miss Shaw,” Mr. Locke says my name in a rush. “The prenuptial agreement is ready for your perusal.”