Total pages in book: 75
Estimated words: 73663 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 368(@200wpm)___ 295(@250wpm)___ 246(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 73663 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 368(@200wpm)___ 295(@250wpm)___ 246(@300wpm)
“You’re in damage control,” she says, perking up a bit. “Okay, I understand that. What can I do to help?”
The first course arrives before the discussion can continue. Caviar, latkes with horseradish creme fraiche, and fresh oysters. She wants to talk more, but I focus on eating for a moment and let her stew on what I just said. I can imagine all the connections she’s making, but I don’t want to push things—not yet at least.
This girl might be a gorgeous creature under all those frumpy layers, but I can’t forget that she’s also the scared little mouse scurrying around the office. If I so much as bark too loud, she’ll bolt, and I don’t want to scare her away.
Slow and steady. That’s how I’ll get what I want.
Next course is the salad. Fennel, avocado puree, lettuce, toasted brioche, followed by duck foie gras spread with black figs on toasted sourdough. I watch her lips as she takes bites and chews, finding it strangely erotic—I don’t think I’ve ever been attracted to the way a woman eats before.
“This is incredible,” she says once our plates are cleared and our wine glasses are refilled. The bottle is empty already and I order another.
“I’m glad you like it.”
“But I have to admit, I still don’t know why I’m here. You’re in damage control because the arranged marriage fell through, which is terrible, but I’m just your office manager.”
She hasn’t made the leap on her own yet. I nod, looking her up and down for a moment. “I need to find a replacement. At this point, my requirements are only that my new wife is Italian, and that she will give me children. Beyond that, I’m willing to make some allowances.”
I don’t tell her that I’m in a shitty, desperate position, and that a wife and an heir will barely be more than a distraction to keep my enemies occupied as I gather my family’s strength and prepare to fight a war.
“If you’re looking for suggestions, I’m not sure I can help,” she says, speaking very slowly, her third glass of wine at her lips. “Nicole’s single, but she’s Polish and German, so I don’t think that’ll help.”
“I’m not interested in whoever Nicole is.”
“She’s my best friend and she’s drop-dead gorgeous. Seriously, blonde, legs for days, works out like it’s her job.”
“She sounds wonderful, but not my type.”
“What is your type then?”
I press my lips together and stare at her, saying nothing. She stares back, and I swear, I can see it dawn on her. It clicks into place, and her expression goes from mildly amused, to confused, to worried, to outright horrified. It doesn’t feel good that the thought of being my wife scares her, but I’m not surprised. She’s a mouse and I’m a lion.
“Dark hair. Dark eyes. I like women around your height, your build. In good shape, but not overly thin. Full lips, olive skin. A little bit shy perhaps.”
She blinks and shakes her head. “I’m sorry, Renzo, I think—”
“This would be a business position,” I say before she can make a mistake and turn me down. “There would be benefits and fantastic pay. I’m thinking whoever accepts the role will make enough money to retire and never work again.”
“That sounds like a lot,” she says, whispering, and takes a long drink. “Assuming someone would be crazy enough to want to work right under you.” She swallows, maybe considering what she means by right under.
The next course arrives. Fillet of pompano, artichokes, olives. Poached king crab with braised green beans and a chickpea pistou. Finished off by a delectable white quail on a bed of spinach.
We don’t speak as we eat. I watch her gears churning as she puts it all together. I wonder if I’ve come on too strong, too fast, and made her want to bolt. But once our plates are cleared again, she sits back, sipping her fourth glass of wine, and gives me a hard look.
“No, thank you,” she says.
My eyebrows raise. “Excuse me?”
“No, I don’t think I’d like to marry you, but thank you.”
“Maddie—”
“That’s why you brought me here, but you don’t really want me. You just saw me topless and thought I’m attractive, and now you’re desperate enough to marry anything with nice boobs. Well, I’m not going to be your weird fake wife. No, thank you. I’m comfortable the way I am. Thanks for dinner.”
She goes to leave. I can hardly believe the little mouse spoke to me like that, but I manage to catch myself before she can get away. I reach out, grab her wrist, and hold it there. “Stay.”
“Let me go.”
“Finish the meal. You don’t have to decide tonight, but you do have to spend at least one evening in my company before you choose.”
“You said there’d be no hard feelings.”