Chapter 9

  Gwen

  You agreed to marry a perfect stranger. One you're not even sure you like.

  After I arrived home last night, I'd really sat with the weight of what I had agreed to. I was going to marry Atticus Price, and I didn't even know the man.

  I woke to a text from him, or at least I assumed it was him.

  Unknown: Lunch at La Table Ronde at twelve.

  Me: Who is this?

  Unknown: Your husband.

  I spent the rest of the morning focused on those two words. Your husband. And now that I was walking through La Table Ronde on my way to meet him, I felt like I was walking the plank, praying for some fairy godmother or Tinkerbell to come along, sprinkle dust on me, and tell me I didn't have to jump off.

  But there was no way out. This. Was. Happening.

  As soon as he saw me approach, he slid out of the booth, looking like sex on a stick had just been delivered to my doorstep.

  Three-piece suit with a vest. He'd taken off the suit jacket though. Leaving himself in a vest and a crisp white shirt with rolled-up sleeves. He looked young and casual. But there was something so elegantly aloof about him. God, why couldn't I look away?

  When I reached him, he leaned down for a kiss on the cheek, and I realized just how tall he was. I had worn heels, nothing too outrageous, but I wanted to really give myself as much power as possible. I’d put on vermilion red Manolo sling backs, paired with a Chloé pencil skirt that went below my knees but hugged every curve, and a petal-pink pixel top tucked in.

  "Thank you for meeting me," he said, his voice a mix of gravel and smoke.

  "I didn't know I had a choice."

  When he brushed his lips over my cheek, I caught a whiff of his cologne, and the hint of citrus, musk, and spice hit me straight in my core.

  And I could have sworn he might have sniffed my neck, like he was scenting me or something.

  Holy shit.

  Once I was seated, he took the seat next to me and signaled to the waiter to take my order. I, unfortunately, was too distracted with the decor of La Table Ronde.

  The Round Table. Exclusive, French, expensive. The average person couldn't reserve a table here, so I'd never been inside. And it was a stunner. Like something out of Gatsby. Opulent all at once with its chandeliers and its architecture. It was gorgeous.

  After the waiter came and took my order, I finally lifted my gaze to meet Atticus's. He was watching me intently. "What are you doing?" I asked.

  "Besides looking at my wife-to-be?"

  Just hearing those words sent a shiver through me. "Yes, I know that, but why?"

  "You're going to have to get used to me looking at you."

  Dear God. There was no getting used to that. I pressed my thighs together, hoping to alleviate the ache. "Am I?"

  "Yes, we're about to get married shortly,” he reminded me. As if that was necessary. “You should act like you’re used to it."

  I frowned at that. "What do you mean, shortly?"

  "Weren't you the one who proposed to me? I assumed you had a timeline in mind."

  My mouth fell open. "I did not propose."

  He sat back and gave me an insolent smile. "I seem to recall you proposing. You stood up and said, 'I'll do it. I'll marry him.' I didn't ask you."

  I sputtered. "M-My father was about to marry off my little sister. She's only eighteen. What was I supposed to do?"

  He chuckled softly, making the butterflies in my belly dance. "You're so easy to rattle."

  "I am not," I muttered through clenched teeth.

  "If you say so,” he said with a wink and a grin.

  I had work to do, and I needed to get back to it. It was better if we got this over with. "You requested my presence, so what am I doing here? Look, I get that you want to back out, but I don’t see another way. Not with my sister on the line and⁠—"

  He sat back and crossed his arms. "For starters, I don’t want to back out. I made the deal. The software comes with you attached. Second, since we need to convince the world we’re madly in love, it's probably important for people to see us out and about together so they'll believe it."

  I frowned at that. "What does it matter what people believe?"

  "Not people. The Pendragon board. Let’s call it a family dispute. My father wants back at the helm of Pendragon. It was a tough vote to get him out and wrestle my company from him. Part of the reason he was ousted, were dirty deals, deceiving shareholders, and allegations of sexual misconduct. Even then, it was a fight and he still has friends on the board. Friends who can push for a vote of no confidence if they get even a whiff something is off, which would leave him a window to return.”

  “This sort of arrangement is not that uncommon,” I said. “It is humiliating to be the second choice, but it’s a business merger, so it’s not that surprising.”

  His eyes narrowed ever so slightly. “Who said you were the second choice?”

  What was he talking about? “I was there. Dad planned to pair you with Morgan.”

  “Just because that was his plan doesn’t mean that was my plan. Your father has been putting out feelers for over a year of a partnership with Becks. With one small caveat. Any part of Becks had to be kept in the family. I knew what his price was. When your father suggested a partnership, I assumed he meant you. Which was the only reason I agreed.”

  “Me? Why?”

  He lifted a brow. “Other than you have something I want and I was willing to do anything to get it?”

  I knew why but to hear him say it burned. “So romantic.”

  “I never claimed to be romantic. You have something I want. I can provide you with something you need. I wasn’t going to let anyone else have the opportunity.”

  This is for your employees. For Morgan.

  "Right. Fine, we're here. We’re having lunch. People can see us. What is it going to cost me personally?"

  The smile he gave me was all teeth. "Oh, I probably should have warned you. This isn't the sort of situation where you will be able to see me every third week or so publicly for about thirty minutes and then escape from it. This is real in every sense of the word. You and I are getting married, but before that we’ll have a big splashy engagement party to celebrate our union."

  I squared my shoulders. "Exactly what do you mean by every sense of the word? And is an engagement party really necessary?"

  He tsked at me. "For my bride, it’s necessary. Like I said, this is what your father requires for me to get what I want. I agreed. I stick to my commitments. If I’m to do this, I’m doing it all the way. So get used to it. We’re going to move this along as quickly as we can. Given that I shun the spotlight, it’ll be easy enough for the public to believe that we’ve been seeing each other for a while and no one knew.”

  Every sense of the word? Like a real marriage? Like real, real? I tried to shut down the immediate fluttering in my belly and commiserate throb between my legs. “You really have thought this through.”

  He leaned forward, pinning me with his wintergreen gaze. “You have no idea.” Sitting back, he added, “First thing’s first. We’ll do an announcement. My team is already on it. I’ll send it over today so you can approve it. It’ll be basic yet tasteful. Not a lot of flair.” He reached for his jacket then pulled a box out before sliding it over to me. “Of course you’ll need this.”

  I stared at the box. Holy hell. “You really have thought of everything.” My heart skipped beats, but not in a fun, happy way. More like in a terrified running-too-fast-being-chased-by-a-lion kind of way.

  I reached for the box and stopped breathing as I opened it.

  The ring was a four carat stunner of a brilliant cut diamond in a pavé band. Simple, elegant, classic, beautiful… and cold. Impersonal. Like looking at a magazine cut out.

  “So this is for me then, is it?”

  He nodded. “Yes. If you prefer something else, I can have it replaced.”

  I stared at the glittering diamond, unable to eat a bite of the salad in front of me. “It’s beautiful.”

  “Of course it is. Put it on, please.”

  “You don’t want to do that part?” I asked cheekily.

  He lifted a brow, gaze intense on mine. “Do you want me to?”

  Goddamn. Being the subject of all that intensity was… discomfiting. All I could do was stare, but he was deadly serious.

  “No, I’ve got it.” He only marginally relaxed his shoulders when I picked up the ring and placed it on my finger.

  It felt like it weighed two tons, and I could barely lift my finger.

  “I emailed the contract. Did you look over it?”

  God, my head was spinning. This was moving too fast. I just needed to pause for a moment. I dragged in a deep breath. "You mean the email I received three hours ago? I’ve been a little busy. I haven't had the chance to go over it fully."

  "Okay, well then allow me to enlighten you, wife. Our marriage comes with a very distinct nondisclosure agreement."

  “Future wife. And that's probably pretty standard. I don't want the world knowing." I added with a whisper, “It’s humiliating enough.”

  "Right. Among other things, there's a prenuptial agreement in there."

  As if I wanted to take him for his money.

  Isn’t that what your father is doing?

  "Of course, there is. But remember, I didn't volunteer to marry you for my own personal gain."

  "Still, it's better that way,” he said. “The settlement will be substantial, of course."

  "Right, being a true romantic again."

  He shrugged. "It's practical. I'm getting the distinct impression you think that this is temporary and transient, or fake in some way, and I want to assure you it's not. This is very real. Whether we have a contract or I had met you in one of your local bars."

  I stiffened at that, thinking about the night we met and the raw visceral attraction. But I couldn’t come right out and ask about us sleeping together. "What's that supposed to mean?"

  "It means that we will live together and attend events together, and well, for all intents and purposes, we will be married in every way."

  "Wait a minute, you expect me to move in with you?" I asked incredulously.

  "Yes,” he smirked. “Where did you think you were going to live?"

  I swallowed hard. "My apartment. Alone. Like I do now."

  "No, you'll be moving into my penthouse."

  "But that's not what I agreed to. I said I’d marry you, but I thought it would just be on paper. You know, one of those be-seen-publicly-once-a-month type of deals."

  He pressed his lips together. "I know this isn't what you wanted, but this meeting with us is a formality. Primarily to get you to sign off on the NDA and the prenuptial agreement. All other arrangements have already been made with your father."

  "Wow." I watched as the muscle in his jaw ticked. And bile rose in my throat as the waiter arrived with my shrimp étouffée. "Oh God, you are deadly serious."

  "I am."

  "Then why did you even bother meeting with me since you and my father have already signed off on a lot of the paperwork? Am I just expected to turn up to honor and obey?"

  He ground his teeth at that. "There was something magical about you on the balcony that night."

  "Oh sure. It was probably the glitter."

  "Yeah, the fucking glitter. I'm still finding glitter in places I certainly didn't expect."

  I laughed. "Well, if that’s all you wanted, your average stripper would suffice."

  "Got something against strippers?"

  "Nothing, actually,” I said. “Dancers are incredibly strong. And to hang upside down on a pole while gyrating and dancing is a skill that's difficult to master."

  "It sounds like you know a lot about strippers."

  "Yes, I do, actually. I take a pole dance class. At least I used to."

  He choked on a sip of water. “Fuck.”

  "What? For fitness."

  "It has to stop."

  "The hell it does.” I wasn't great at pole dancing. Hell, I didn't even love it, and I hadn't done it in at least six months, but just the sheer idea that he would tell me that I couldn't do it, made me want to rage. "You can't stop me.”

  “Then I guess we don't have a deal."

  "All right, if I don't do this, what happens?"

  "Perhaps I marry Morgan. That’s what your father would prefer."

  Another roll of queasiness made me push my plate aside, which was a damn shame because I loved shrimp étouffée. And I was starving.

  "No,” I said emphatically. “That’s not happening. So when we leave here, we are the real deal."

  "Yes,” he agreed. “From the moment we walk away from this table, we are together. So if what you said last night was true and there's someone else lurking around, get rid of him. You have until tonight. If you don't get rid of him, then I will. And I promise you, the way that I get rid of him will be unpleasant to both of you. So do it now."

  "Is that a threat?" The words tore out of my throat.

  Atticus cocked his head. And in that moment, I sensed a lethal edge to him. It was just under the surface. And unfortunately, instead of repelling me like it should, it made something pull in my core again.

  "There isn't anyone."

  "Excellent. So Lakewood isn't going to be a problem?"

  I frowned. "Lance? He's my best friend. There's never been anything romantic between us, and I'm not getting rid of my best friend. You’ll have to just work around that."

  He pursed his lips then. "If you say so. Friendships are fine. I'm not bothered."

  "And you said I was supposed to live with you?"

  His brow furrowed. "Yes. The Park Tower. Upper West Side."

  "And what about my apartment?"

  "You can keep it if you like,” he said. “Or sublet it. But you won't be sleeping there."

  All my tightly held reins of control that had kept me going for the last year were slipping between my fingers like they were water. I sighed. "Why are you doing this? You don't want this. You can get a wife any way you want."

  His wintergreen eyes searched mine for a long moment before he spoke. "I'm old enough that a wife brings great value. It looks good to my board and my shareholders that I am settled. Happy."

  He was going to make me ask. Shit. “You still haven’t been clear, so I have to ask. What about sex?”

  His gaze dipped to my lips instantly, and I licked them nervously once I had his attention. “What about it?” he asked.

  “Well, I assume you’re going to want it. You want me to have no one, but does that stipulation extend to you, or is it one sided?”

  His teeth grazed his bottom lip as he leaned forward. When he spoke, his voice was low. “I won’t be fucking anyone else.”

  Holy Sheeeeit. I tried to calm the pulsing between my thighs by pressing them together. I swallowed then cleared my throat. “I—I need to like someone at the very least to sleep with them. Right now I’m hovering at barely tolerating.”

  “Interesting,” he murmured. His gaze swept over me then, his slow perusal making me hyperaware of every inch of my skin. “I’ll only kiss you in public while we get to know each other. I won’t touch you until you beg me to.”

  “Until I—” I narrowed my gaze at his arrogant smirk. “Did you say beg?”

  He shrugged. “That I did.”

  The laugh whipped out of my throat before I could pull it back. “You will have an epic case of blue balls long before I beg.”

  “We’ll see. I should probably mention that you’ll only be getting your orgasms from me for the foreseeable future.”

  “You scared a toy can do it better?”

  “No, Ness. Toys are tools. But I’m the one you’ll be using them with. Not as a replacement.”

  His arrogance was truly next level. “My name isn’t Ness.”

  He gave me his secret smile. The one I noted he only seemed to use with me. “It’s a fitting nickname.”

  “How? My name is Gw⁠—"

  "Gwen, is that you?"

  I froze, a tingle of ice slipping down my back, coiling itself around my spine, and holding me in place.

  Don't be him. Don't be him. Don't be him.

  I turned my head slightly to the right, and there he was, Bronson Jacobson, and I forced myself to swallow down the bile that immediately crawled up my throat. Across the table, Atticus frowned at me. And then he did the most interesting thing. He took my hand in his and stroked his thumb over my knuckles. What the fuck?

  But I couldn't think, because there Bronson was, staring at me, when all I wanted to do was poke out his eyeballs. "Oh, it's you."

  "Yeah." He leaned in to give me a kiss on the cheek, but Atticus stood, forcing him to stop what he was doing.

  "Jacobson. It's been a long time." Atticus didn't let go of my hand, but he shook Bronson's hand with the other one. "You caught us on a lunch date."

  Bronson's eyes went wide. "A lunch date? You two? How the hell did that happen?"

  I couldn't answer. I could not respond. If I tried, I knew I was going to throw up everywhere. But Atticus took the reins. "We met at a charity benefit. I couldn’t take my eyes off of her. Especially after she glitter bombed me."

  “It was an accident.” A warm flush crept up my neck as I realized his teasing had calmed the anxiety enough for me to speak. "What do you want, Bronson?"

  Bronson slashed a dark gaze to me, and there it was again, the rolling nausea. "I saw you and I wanted to say hi. If you weren't such a⁠—"

  Atticus jumped in before he could finish that sentence. "Jacobson, if you don't mind, I'd like to finish lunch with my fiancé.

  Bronson whipped his eyes to Atticus and back to me, finally noticing Atticus was holding my hand. I could see it then. The hatred was clear from the scowl on his face. I tried to warn Atticus with a shake of my head, but he didn't pay me any heed.