Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 75457 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 377(@200wpm)___ 302(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75457 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 377(@200wpm)___ 302(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
“Again, I know all of this,” I say in a low tone.
Her hands fly in the air in exasperation. “Do you not see how ridiculous that is? Who in their right mind would agree to marry someone and stay married to them for five years so that they can inherit a company?”
“Finella agreed to do it,” I point out.
Broken laughter falls from Sinclair’s lips. “How did that turn out for your brother?”
On the surface, it appears that my brother’s marriage went to hell at record speed, but I don’t know the ins and outs of that.
“Asking me to marry you and then offering me two million dollars to stay married to you was wrong.” Her accusatory finger is back, wagging in my face. “How could I agree to that? How could I deceive Denia that way after everything she did for me?”
I rake a hand through my hair as guilt gnaws at me. When my grandmother sat my brother and me down two years ago, she told us she wanted the company in stable hands before her eightieth birthday. She made it crystal clear that meant we had to get married within three months and stay that way for at least five years. To add fuel to the fire, the first one who raced down the aisle became CEO on the spot.
I saw Sinclair as my ticket to get there. My plan was to pop the question and head straight to the city clerk’s office to exchange vows.
We were best friends. I thought we’d do anything for each other, but fake marrying me for millions was where Sinclair drew the line in the sand of our friendship.
“My grandmother said that if I wasn’t married by her eightieth birthday, I couldn’t claim my rightful spot as an heir to the company,” I explain, just as I did on the street corner years ago when I asked Sinclair to be my temporary wife. “I wanted Carden more than anything, Sin. I wanted to be at the helm.”
“I know,” she says, anger still lacing her tone. “What I don’t know is why the hell you would ask me to be your wife. You were dating… sleeping with other women then.”
I was an idiot.
I was twenty-three and enjoying everything Manhattan had to offer. I was too immature to understand that a string of one-night stands leads to one hell of a big emotional chasm within a man, or at least it did for this man.
“I’ve never trusted a woman the way I trust you,” I confess. “I asked you because you were my best friend.”
Her bottom lip trembles. “That’s why you should never have asked me.”
She doesn’t give me a chance to ask what the fuck that means. Instead, she races to the chair to scoop up her dog before she heads back to the guestroom and softly shuts the door behind her.
CHAPTER TEN
Sinclair
Cold spaghetti from Calvetti’s for breakfast is better than no spaghetti.
Even though Jameson knocked on the door to the guestroom I’m staying in last night to tell me that dinner had arrived, I ignored him.
It was an immature move, but I was still reeling from our conversation.
I’ve never understood what Jameson was thinking when he asked me to fake marry him. As soon as the words left his lips, I knew our friendship was doomed.
If I had married him, our friendship would have been at risk. Refusing meant that our friendship would end on the spot. When he asked me to be his wife, that question sealed our fate forever.
I told him no, and explained that I couldn’t deceive his grandmother that way or put my life on hold for five years. All Jameson felt at that moment was my rejection of him and his dream.
He walked away as I kept calling out that I needed more time to explain.
As he disappeared from my view that day, I knew our friendship had fractured in a way that could never be repaired.
I glance at my phone when it buzzes on the dining room table.
This rectangular wooden monstrosity is so large that it could seat at least twenty people.
I don’t know if Denia ever entertained a group that large, but right now, I feel very alone sitting here with Dudley asleep at my feet as I cram cold spaghetti into my mouth.
I read the text message that popped up on my screen.
Berk: How’s it going with Jameson? Are you both still in one piece?
A soft laugh flows out of me.
Sinclair: We’re both alive.
I press send before glancing down the hallway toward the guestroom I know Jameson stayed in last night. I figured that out during my middle of the night reconnaissance mission.
I crept out of my room with Dudley in my arms.
With the dim light from the living room flowing into the massive hallway, I walked past every door, noticing that only two were shut.