Nepo baby himself.

  A prickle of alarm chirped over my skin with a tingle and a hint of bite. "What are you doing here?"

  "Aren't you hospitable?" Atticus Price proffered a bottle of wine. "Your father invited me."

  I ignored the bottle. "We don't have anything to discuss."

  There was that uptilt of his lips again. "You might want to speak with your father about that."

  I crossed my arms and lifted my chin. "What’s that supposed to mean?"

  He lifted a brow, assessing me. "I suppose it means you will find out soon enough."

  "You know I'll fight this sale, right?"

  You’re supposed to be saying thank you, remember?

  "Somehow, I expect nothing less."

  “Also, thank you for the Hearts and Hope donation. I’m not going to fight that one because they need the money. But you shouldn’t have done that. It’s not going to make me any more amenable to a sale.”

  His eyes darkened and the right corner of his lips tipped up. “I would expect nothing less.”

  I stepped back to allow him in, and this time he managed to hand off the wine.

  The way his intense green gaze met mine, I felt stripped. Like he could truly see me deep down, and heat suffused my body.

  "About this morning..." my voice trailed.

  He lifted an insolent brow. "It would be a disappointment if you offered an apology or explanation for it."

  I snapped my jaw shut. I wasn't sure what was worse; that he was letting me off without having to explain myself or that he chided me for attempting to apologize.

  "Fine. Follow me then."

  As his gaze flicked over my body once more, leaving scorch marks wherever it landed, I stopped and lifted my brow, letting him look his fill. When his eyes lifted back up to mine, he smiled at me. Unabashedly. And it was worse than the other night.

  This one was a real smile. Not willful. Not sardonic. Not a half-smile. It was a full-on grin, and he was beautiful. Devastatingly beautiful.

  Like this man smiling could cause an international incident. If there was a Helen of Troy of dudes, it was him. And like a fool, all I could do was stand there and gawk.

  "Are you looking your fill too?"

  And that snapped me right out of it. "No, of course not. I'm just making sure you're done. Let's get this over with."

  I could have sworn I heard him chuckle behind me as I led him into the dining room and introduced him to Clarissa, who was a gracious hostess as always. She had a way of making everyone feel welcome, and it was always odd having her try and make me feel welcome in my own home, especially when I held so many memories of my mother here.

  Heading to the bar, I asked Atticus, "What are you drinking?"

  "Whatever you're having."

  "Oh, I barely drink at these things. Best to have my wits about me with Dad. You should feel free."

  He cocked his head ever so slightly as if asking a question he didn't know he needed to formulate yet. "Surprise me."

  I stood back, assessing him. "There's something about you that screams old-fashioned. But I feel like you wouldn't want to be quite so trite. You would want to spin it. Maybe something that's a little more elegant and unique, right? Let me guess, Vieux Carré?"

  His eyes widened ever so slightly in surprise, and I shrugged. "Let's just say I can read people. I have a lot of experience with my father's business associates and the drinks they order."

  "And what does the Vieux Carré say about me?" His voice was like mellow smoke.

  I could have been biting and eviscerating, but I chose diplomacy. "It says you're discerning. You want to be a little different, yet still traditional. Or you want to be a pain in the ass and have somebody dare to question you. Or maybe you just like Cognac."

  And there it was again, a quick smile, sending my stomach into flips.

  Get yourself together. He's buying out your company. You will not find this man attractive. This is not what we need today or any day, because we do not lust after toxic men. That's not what we do. We know better.

  While I made his drink, Morgan came skipping in. "Hey, Clarissa, do you think we—" My sister stopped short. "Oh, who do we have here?"

  I turned to her and wrapped an arm around her waist as she gave me a smothering kiss on my cheek. "Morgan, this is Atticus Price. He's Dad's guest tonight."

  My sister groaned, throwing her head back, almost tilting her whole body into a back bend. Morgan was petite. Just barely over five-foot-two. Light brown skin that usually had people asking if she was Dominican. She looked every bit the cheerleader she'd been. Glossy dark hair, silk-pressed to the gods and styled in elegant curls and soft waves down her back. Her makeup was flawless, and she looked like she belonged in some kind of wealthy TV reality show for the cute, young, and adorable. Basically, she was tiny Black Barbie.

  She went over and shook Atticus’s hand and gave him a dazzling grin. “Welcome, Mr. Price. I hope my sister has been a charming hostess.”

  He took her hand into his. “I think you and I both know your sister better than that. It's a pleasure to meet you." His voice was low, mellow. And his eyes softened when he looked at her.

  I gritted my teeth and continued making his drink. And yes, I may have slammed in an ice cube or two as I made it, but honestly, it's not that I was jealous of Morgan. I wasn't. I loved my sister. She was my favorite person on earth. There were days when just her laughter could brighten everything. She had Mom's laugh. But somehow, seeing Atticus looking at her with doe eyes made me want to hurl his glass across the room. Instead, I turned and handed him his drink.

  He raised the glass to me and my spritzer, then took a sip. He closed his eyes and gave a small hum of appreciation.

  And yes, I was ashamed to admit it. My pussy clenched.

  But again, not my fault. Apparently, I did like toxic men, but because I was a fool, I didn't seem to know better.

  "You did something odd to the Vieux Carré."

  "You'll never know,” I taunted.

  He eyed the contents of his glass dubiously. "You don't hate me enough to poison me, right?"

  I winked. "Again, you'll never know until it's too late."

  He shrugged. "Well, beautiful company and a good drink. There are worse ways to die."

  I rolled my eyes and noticed Morgan's gaze skipping between the two of us, and then back to Clarissa, who was also staring at me like I'd grown a third head. Luckily, the doorbell rang again and relieved some of the tension. Morgan ran to get it just as Clarissa started chatting with Atticus about the history of the house. I took a long gulp of my spritzer while silently wishing for something stronger. There was no way I was going to make it through tonight.

  Though, when I heard a familiar bickering, I calmed down a little bit.

  At least the night wasn't a total wash. Morgan's voice piped up. "It's Friday night. Shouldn't you be out with one of your supermodel girlfriends?"

  "If you're jealous, Morgan, just say that. You could go out with me, but then, I like my balls attached to me when I wake up in the morning, not in your hands. So that's a no-thank-you for me."

  My sister snorted a laugh. "You wish I would get close enough to grab your balls."

  Clarissa gasped. "Children."

  Both Morgan and Lance straightened up immediately as they rounded the corner, casting sheepish looks at Clarissa.

  I grinned at Lance. "Hey, I was just going to text you. Looks like dinner might go long tonight. I think we're eating here."

  He gave me a wide grin. "No worries. I can adjust plans for my favorite person in the world. I will always give you a rain check. Unless it's Szechuan, because my poor tastebuds can’t handle it."

  "Your inability to handle spice is not my fault."

  He rolled his eyes and then caught sight of Atticus and suddenly straightened. "Oh, you're Atticus Price."

  Atticus cocked his head. His gaze slid to me again and then back to Lance. "You'll forgive me, please. I'm at a disadvantage. Who are you?"

  Lance stepped forward while I turned to make his old-fashioned. "I'm Lance. Lance Lakewood."

  "Lakewood?"

  Lance shrugged with a sigh. "Yes. Those Lakewoods, unfortunately.”

  I always found it interesting how he went ahead and acknowledged the Lakewood name but still put distance between them and himself. His father and grandfather were business legends. They were horrified when Lance chose my startup instead of the family business.

  The two of them shook hands for what looked like a second too long. But then Lance grinned and Atticus clapped him on the shoulder. That was Lance though. Forever good-natured. Except when it came to my sister. I swear to God, I wished the two people I loved the most in the world would figure out how on earth to get along better.

  Morgan purposely bumped into him as she walked by, then the two of them were squabbling again as usual. When I handed Lance his drink, he gave Atticus’s drink a nod. “Old Fashioned too? Great taste, I see."

  Atticus’s smile wasn't a real one. I knew immediately. He was assessing him. Like Lance was somehow prey. It didn't escape me that Atticus didn't correct him about his drink either.

  Lance tried to make conversation with Atticus, but Atticus wasn't having it. "Did Mr. Becker invite you?"

  When Atticus just swirled his glass around, I jumped in to answer. "Yes, apparently Dad invited him. But I hoped he wouldn't be staying."

  Atticus laughed. "So you keep saying."

  I had to look away before he liquefied my insides with those wintergreen eyes. I was so focused on Atticus that I didn't even hear my father come in.

  "Oh, everyone's here."

  Clarissa sidled up to him. "Yes, love. Would you like to sit in here or head out to the living room for a moment?"

  My dad inclined his head toward the living room. "Let's take our drinks into the sitting room. Clarissa, darling, if you can check on our dinner and let me know when we're ready?"

  Her smile was soft, and she nodded as she trailed off into the kitchen as if he hadn't just dismissed her. I scowled after her and turned my gaze to my father. "Dad, she's not the housekeeper. She's your wife. Maybe she wanted to have a drink and sit down too."

  Dad just waved his hand. "You know Clarissa. She's fine. She doesn't need a drink."

  How did he not see the way he treated her?

  Dad directed Atticus toward one of the leather chairs as Clarissa handed him a drink. Lance remained standing, lounging in the door frame. Dad took his position in the center of the high-backed chair, and Morgan and I chose the couch. Dad took a sip of his drink and then spoke. "Well, I'm sure everyone is wondering why I invited Atticus here. Obviously, Morgan and Gwen have to be here every Friday. Lance, you're here for a specific reason."

  "Sir?"

  I could see Lance had no idea why he was here. Sure, he accompanied me to Friday night cocktails sometimes, but he wasn't usually in the picture unless we were going out and I dragged him along as a buffer. Dad actually really liked Lance, so he was a great buffer when I needed him. "Lance, you're here from a contract perspective. You'll need to work with our lawyers to work out the details."

  "Okay. Why don't you go ahead and give me some framing for what we need contracts for?”

  "Well, Mr. Price and I met this morning to discuss the possibility of selling a portion of Becks Incorporated."

  I shook my head. "Dad⁠—"

  My father shook his head. "I've already made my decision. But there's one more caveat for me agreeing to sell."

  The train is here.

  It had been barreling down for weeks, months, years. I had been hoping against hope that I'd be able to do something. "Dad, you can't possibly⁠—"

  My father, much like he'd done in our meeting that morning, held up a hand and cut me off. "I can, and I will. The caveat is, I'm not looking for an outright sell. I'm loath to break up my company, however, I'd be far more comfortable if we kept things in the family."

  What the hell did he mean by that?

  He continued. "Because of that, we're going to have R&D become a subsidiary of Pendragon. As part of the package, Atticus is going to marry my daughter, Morgan."

  Holy shit. My stomach bottomed out.

  Pan-de-mo-ne-um.

  Atticus cursed. Lance choked out a laugh. The color leached out of Morgan’s face. She opened her mouth to speak, but all that came out was a stuttering, “I-I-I—" and then silence. Her hand fluttered to her throat as she tried to talk, but nothing more came out.

  No! Not again. I’d worked for a year and then some to bring Morgan back to herself after Mom’s death. I wasn’t letting him sell her off to the highest bidder. I shoved to my feet. "What? You cannot do this. Morgan is too young. And she can’t get married to him. He's a pompous ass."

  Atticus lifted a brow. "There you go, complimenting me again."

  Morgan's voice was timid and pleading. "Dad, I'm only eighteen. It's one thing that you're trying to get me to date someone, but marry? I'm not ready to get married."

  My father ignored her. "Nonsense. You can marry him just as easily as you can marry anyone else. You’ll obviously have a period of getting to know each other as we finalize the details, and after, you can go on a vacation or something."

  I couldn't let him do this. "Dad, you can't be serious. That's not how it works. Morgan deserves better than that."

  My sister stood next to me. "Thank you." She turned her attention to Atticus. "No offense, but I don't want to marry you."

  Atticus choked out a laugh. "None taken. I don't want to marry you either."

  Dad frowned. "You were open to it this morning."

  Atticus placed his drink on the table in front of him and then sat back, sprawling as much as he could in the club chair. "There's been a misunderstanding."

  My father pushed to his feet. "Then what the hell are we doing here? You know I'll just go to Jacobson."

  Fuck. Pendragon was bad, but Jacobson was a million times worse. I would die if I went to Jacobson. I couldn't let him do that. I couldn't let Atticus marry my sister either. Morgan was only eighteen. She had her whole life in front of her. And I didn't want to chain her in a loveless marriage. Jesus Christ. I stepped in front of my father. "No, wait. I'll do it. I'll marry him. Just not Morgan."

  My father stared at me. "What? That is not the deal. You're no bargaining chip. Morgan⁠—"

  "That is enough!" Atticus's deep timbre was enough to settle the room in a blanket of tension. He sat forward and drained his drink then stood. “If Gwen wants to get to take her sister's place, I’m amenable.”

  Amenable? I mean thank God he agreed. I guess. But still.

  A hush fell over the room. Nervously, I shifted on my feet and cleared my throat. "Fine. But we’re keeping my entire team. And I mean every last person. No salary or benefit cuts. And yearly retention bonuses commiserate with their salaries." This was insane. I was flying by the seat of my pants. But if I could protect everyone and keep Morgan free, then I would. "These are the terms for our fake marriage. Name only. We can do that. That way we keep our lives separate, and our relationships, and my team doesn't split."

  And God, I loved Lance down to the fiber of my bones because he jumped right in there. "Yes, because Gwen and I⁠—"

  Atticus glanced at him and said evenly, "No."

  "Excuse me?" I breathed.

  Atticus eyed Lance up and down before he turned his attention to me. "I agree to your terms with one caveat. And let me be clear so there is no misunderstanding. This union will be more than just on paper. It is very much real."

  I laughed nervously. "You must be insane."

  Morgan, supposedly now off the chopping block, stared at my father. "Dad, you cannot do this. You can't make her marry him."

  Dad laughed. "Of course, he's not going to marry her. He's going to marry you."

  This was like a game of Who's on First. Atticus just shook his head. "You heard the woman. It's Gwen, or we have no deal."

  Chapter 6

  Gwen

  "I didn't need you to do that,” Morgan said.

  I laid back on her plush Yves Delorme comforter and stared up at her coffered ceiling with its neutral muted color and recessed lighting. I could have been in a hotel bed for all I knew.

  "I know I didn't need to do that. I just opened my mouth and was desperate for you not to have to do it. That's why I said the only thing I could think of."

  The outburst in the living room had gone over with a dead weight. Dinner had been a stilted, awkward affair. The whole time, Atticus Price seemed perfectly comfortable. He didn't seem to notice at all. He sat right next to me, and every now and then his knee would graze mine. Like he knew what he was doing. Purposely driving me insane.

  Focus.

  Morgan was saying something that I only caught the end of. "Obviously, you're not going to marry him."

  "Trust me, I'm looking for other ways out. Maybe if I can buy some time, I won't have to marry him. But honestly, yes, it was impulsive, and I just said the next best thing so that you didn't have to do it."

  My sister sighed and then plopped on the bed next to me. "Gwen, I love you. You are my big sister and my protector. I know it sucks that Mom passed away, but Jesus, you do not have to protect me all the time."

  I turned my head to face her. "I saw you Morgan. And I’m sorry, but just hearing you stutter and trying to talk. I don’t want you to regress.”

  She threw up her hands. “I was shocked. And angry. And yes a little scared and panicked. But you hear me, right? I’m talking just fine. I’m strong now. Mostly due to you. You didn’t have to do this.”

  “Do you want to marry Atticus Price?"

  I didn't know why, but my stomach knotted as I asked the question. What if she said yes?

  But Morgan pulled a face, squinching her lips and nose and squeezing her eyes tight. "No, fuck no. I don't even know the guy. I mean, look, he's hot in that kind of cold, frigid way. He may have all the requisite equipment for fun, but the man is giving me robot vibes. I don't think he even knows where the clit is."