Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 97574 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 488(@200wpm)___ 390(@250wpm)___ 325(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97574 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 488(@200wpm)___ 390(@250wpm)___ 325(@300wpm)
I force my eyes to hers. "Do you miss it?"
"Mr. Hunt, whatever do you mean?"
"You know exactly what I mean."
"Do I?" She raises a brow. Crosses one leg over the other. "Or are you going to have to spell it out for me?"
Fuck. The image fills my head instantly.
Indigo, in my bed, in only her necklace, cooing Mr. Hunt, what would you like tonight?
Would you like to fuck me?
"Mr. Hunt? Can I help you? Or should I come back later?" Her voice drops to a teasing tone.
My thoughts stay in the gutter.
Thankfully, Paloma keeps me from giving in to my urges.
She steps inside. Places a tray of drinks on my desk. "I took the liberty of brewing the Yunnan Hong Cha when security informed me of your arrival."
Indigo shoots me a really look.
Really. Paloma is Paloma. She's always fast and attentive, but when it's my supposed fiancée, she's hovering.
"Has Mr. Hunt told you about our schedule for the afternoon?" Paloma smiles at Indigo. "I've got space booked at an independent department store. It's perfect for you. Bold and modern in a completely chic way."
All the color drains from Indigo's face. "You're taking me shopping?"
"I'll stay out of your way. I promise." She smiles and skips out of the room.
I close the door. "I'm sorry. She's—"
"Excited."
"Yes."
"She wants to see you happy," Indigo says.
Maybe it's that simple. Maybe I'm not trusting enough. "Did you look over the contract?"
"I did."
"And?"
She pulls a manila folder from her black purse. Sets it on my desk. To the right of her tea. "Signed." She pushes the paper toward me.
I pull out the contract. Find the dotted line. Sign my name.
She does the same with my copy of the contract.
And then it's official.
We're engaged.
Chapter Ten
Indigo
My fate. On the dotted line. Indigo Nicole Simms. On our initial agreement.
A nondisclosure agreement.
A traditional prenup.
Another nondisclosure agreement.
All these little details. I stay in New York, but I come to London when he asks. Six times a year minimum, then I have free rein to refuse.
A reasonable allowance.
A credit card for incidentals.
A deadline for the wedding.
By the end of September.
I can stay with Sienna until then.
After that, I live with him.
Ten years at Tyler Hunt's beck and call.
Then we can renew the contract, part ways, or tear the thing in half and declare our love real.
He taps a few keys and it happens.
My cell buzzes. The screen flashes with an alert from my banking app.
New deposit in Checking.
A hundred thousand dollars.
In my account.
Fuck.
"Indie?" Concern drips into his voice. "Are you all right?"
I slide my cell into my purse. Place my hands in my lap. Attempt to copy his cool demeanor.
The second my eyes meet his, I lose my composure.
There's worry in his dark eyes.
He does care about me.
But I can't dwell on that if I want to survive this without falling for him.
I try to think of something to say. Some way to explain my current state.
I'm terrified.
And over the fucking moon.
There's a hundred grand in my bank account.
It's absurd.
Paloma saves me from articulating my thoughts.
She knocks. Enters with a take-out bag and a smile. Unpacks two salads in big plastic bowls. "I wasn't sure what you like, Indigo, so I ordered a Caesar and a Cobb. If neither of those work—"
"That's great, thank you." I'm not sure I can eat. My stomach is in free fall. My everything is in free fall. Ground, what ground? I'm flying.
She beams and skips out of the room.
Ty motions to the bowls you first.
I grab the Caesar. A fork. A tiny packet of pepper. "This isn't what I imagined when you said lunch." The bright green sticker bears the logo of a fast casual restaurant. Ten-dollar salads. Ordinary ingredients. Normal people food. Good for the price, but not the best. Not worthy of Tyler Hunt.
"I thought you'd appreciate the privacy." He taps a button under his desk and the blinds descend.
"I do. Thank you."
The fluorescent lights of the hallway fade. It's just the soft white of the cloudy sky.
It's beautiful. Flattering.
But then Ty always looks handsome in that powerful, untouchable way.
He's wearing a different suit today—a deep navy, not yesterday's black—and a complementary purple tie.
Blue and purple. Indigo.
That must be intentional. But I don't mention it.
I pop open my salad, tear the pepper, stir the dressing.
Ignore the tension in the air.
Already, I want to touch him. I want to climb across the desk, slide into his lap, run my fingers over his tie.
I want to feel his lips on my neck, his hands on my thighs, his cock—
"I know this is strange," he says. "It's strange for me too."
Is it? He seems so calm and in control.
"I want to make it easier if I can."
I'm not sure what he means, exactly. But I have to admit the money helps. Knowing I have that money in my bank account, knowing I have a solution to any problems that arise… it's everything. "I appreciate that."