Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 98021 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 490(@200wpm)___ 392(@250wpm)___ 327(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98021 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 490(@200wpm)___ 392(@250wpm)___ 327(@300wpm)
I flip him off.
He smiles, victorious.
"Traditionally, when you tell someone they can sleep on it, you let them wake on their own," I say. "You don't show up at their apartment before noon."
"Traditionally, maybe." He sips his coffee. Sets the carrier on the counter. Motions to the main room.
Liam wants to enter my apartment.
Okay, technically, he's in my apartment right now. But this is a studio. This tiny room is my bedroom. The place where I sleep, dream, undress, fuck myself.
It's private.
Personal.
"I don't have a couch." It's the only thing I can think to say.
"I went to college. I know how this goes. You have a desk?"
"Yeah."
"You want the desk chair or the bed?"
"Bed." There's no way I can let him into my bed. That's a can of worms I will not open.
He motions after you.
It's three steps to my bed. I kick a discarded bra under the frame, but I'm too slow.
He notices. Raises a brow. Sits at my Ikea desk. "Nice place."
"We don't—"
"I'm being sincere."
"You're capable?"
"Rarely." He looks around the room carefully, noting the star decals and string lights, the wine red sheets, the black desk. "It's you."
"What does that mean?"
"It feels like a place you'd live." He motions to a shelf on the wall packed with literary fiction. "Down to the depressing books."
"They're not depressing." Okay, they're a little depressing.
His eyes flit to my exposed thighs. His pupils dilate.
Is he thinking about how easy it would be to lay me on the bed, peel my shorts to my ankles, pry my legs apart?
Or am I projecting?
Ahem.
"My lawyer's at the office," he says.
"I didn't agree."
"You did, actually. And a verbal contract is—"
"Isn't valid for a deal with this high a price tag."
"Damn. Taught you too well." He shakes his head. Sips his coffee. "Hit me. Whatever you want. I'm not leaving until we have a deal."
"Will you tell me why?"
"I did."
"You left something out."
His gaze goes to the sky. "For a reason."
"Which is?"
"You're better off not knowing." His lip corners turn down. "Trust me."
Trust Liam? That's a terrifying thought. "You really have good intentions?"
"For the first time in my life." He looks back to me with a half-smile. It's like last night. Missing his usual spark. "I do."
"The seed funding for the app in exchange for seven percent." I try to recall all the negotiating tips Liam has taught me. I'm still waking up. The tea isn't working fast enough.
"As agreed."
"And I'm there for a year. With my current salary. Plus twenty percent."
"That's a substantial raise."
"And a signing bonus." I want that better apartment. Or at least a nice vacation. "I think thirty percent is fair."
"Of your yearly salary?"
"My new yearly salary."
"Anything else?"
"What am I agreeing to, exactly?"
"You're my fiancée until Preston leaves. We'll hug, dance, act like we love each other."
"Do I have to pretend to like you?"
"No one would believe that." His eyes meet mine. "Tell them you're using me for my body."
A laugh spills from my lips. "That is plausible."
"I know."
"We have to kiss?"
"That's what couples do."
They do.
"And you're staying at my place for the two weeks."
"Not in your bed."
"I have a spare room."
"What do you need a spare room for?"
"It was for Adam." Adam was in the accident that killed Liam's kid brother, Bash. Adam survived, but barely. He spent a lot of time recovering at the mansion where the boys grew up.
"Doesn't he have his own apartment?"
"Yeah, but…" He doesn't say but I wanted to keep an eye on him, but it's there. "It's for whoever and it's got a queen bed, not that tiny thing."
A queen bed is tempting.
"Counter if you like. But I'm not giving you the bonus unless you stay with me."
"Why do you care?"
"Because I do."
"Anything else?"
"You're my fiancée. You need to look the part."
My cheeks flame.
"You're fucking gorgeous, Briar. It's not that."
"What is it—"
"The price tags."
"Why can't your fiancée wear cheap clothes?"
He shoots me a get real look. "You ever meet a rich guy with a girlfriend in cheap clothes?"
"A few times."
"And…"
"She was always a sugar baby." A new one, too. Rich guys get off on buying young women clothes, for some reason. And escorts know to look the part. "Okay, fine. But you don't get a say. And you pay for them."
He nods obviously. "I've already got an account for you at a department store in midtown. And an appointment at three. That should give you enough time to find shit before dinner."
"Dinner?"
"With Adam and Danielle." His brother and his brother's girlfriend.
But—"They know us."
"Yes."
"They know we're not engaged."
"It's practice."
Okay…
"We tell them we've been fucking secretly."
"Liam—"
"And you're finally making an honest man out of me. 'Cause you don't want anyone else touching me."
"That's half true."
He smiles. "We both know you get jealous."
Sometimes. More than I like to admit. Especially when he flirts.
"That's it. We'll sign in"—he checks his watch—"forty-five minutes. You'll pack your shit. My team will move it. You'll get your dresses, get all dolled up for dinner, in whatever combat boots you like. I'll pick you up at the department store. We'll practice."