Total pages in book: 150
Estimated words: 151430 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 757(@200wpm)___ 606(@250wpm)___ 505(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 151430 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 757(@200wpm)___ 606(@250wpm)___ 505(@300wpm)
Nick laughs. “I’m starting to get why you finally agreed to this.”
“Don’t start.” I glare at him.
He tries wiping the grin off his face, and not very well.
“We’ve got the terms down pat. As soon as she signs, we’re golden,” he muses.
“We hope.”
I should make sure Paige hasn’t broken a bone, or worse. I push my chair back and stand.
“We can’t fuck this up, Ward,” Nick warns. “We’ve got to get this into the news cycle the right way if we want anyone buying it.”
“We won’t. I’m a Brandt and an independent billionaire. That alone should draw plenty of eyes. But if it doesn’t, I’ve got the balls to make a scene if I need to.”
Nick nods. “We’re counting on you.”
Don’t I know it? Fuck.
“Hey, if you treat her real well, maybe you’ll land a wife to keep. Bonus, right?”
I glower at him.
“Right. Well, I’m heading back to the city if you’re sure about this contract,” he says.
“If you’re planning your latest debauchery, try to keep a low profile. We can’t have anything overshadowing this, Nicholas.”
He gives me this silent, shit-eating grin.
“For once, I’m not in the spotlight. Your turn, bro.”
An exasperated groan slips out of me. “Just don’t do anything stupid. Don’t make our reputation worse while I hire a would-be bride to rinse us.”
“Scout’s honor.” He holds up crossed fingers.
“You were never a Boy Scout and neither was I.” I walk out the door.
I need to make sure Paige isn’t hurt.
In the foyer, she has both hands on a heavy wooden chair that’s toppled on its side, missing a leg, trying to right it.
Grayson stands behind her. “Allow me, Miss Holly.”
“It’s fine. I’m the klutz who broke it. I’ll clean up my own mess.”
“Do I even want to know?” I ask.
She visibly bristles at my voice.
Apparently, I’m the Wardhole she keeps insisting I am.
Paige lets go of the chair and meets my eyes. “Before you lay into me, no, I don’t have a good excuse. I wanted to see Picasso.”
“Try me.” I hold in a chuckle.
Her mouth twists and she bites that ripe strawberry of a bottom lip.
“Umm—I just wanted to see the signature. I had to know if it was real.”
“So you risked breaking your neck to inspect my artwork? Glorious. You could’ve just asked, Paige.” I try not to laugh but it slips out anyhow. “It’s real, by the way. The piece was authenticated by the Smithsonian.”
Grayson lifts the chair and returns it to the table.
Paige’s head darts toward him. “Oh, I’m sorry. I would have done that.”
“Not necessary. I’ll get the chair repaired promptly, sir.” He passes me on his way out of the room.
“Thanks, Grayson. Now, let’s sit.” I wave her to the table and an undamaged seat.
We sit side by side there.
I place the contract I’ve had in a binder under my arm between us.
“The terms are crystal clear, no legal mud to wade through. Twenty percent up front, plus monthly installments. Nick and I threw together a list of events we should attend together, so the scheduling’s taken care of too.”
She looks up, and I catch a flicker of fear, uncertainty dancing in those lush green eyes.
I steel my voice, trying to be reassuring.
“Don’t worry. We’ve taken the guess work out of it, as much as possible. We’re going to be spending a lot of time together, Paige. You’ll need to move into my penthouse temporarily. It’s closer to the office than your apartment and makes the most sense.”
Her hand balls into a fist.
“Jesus. Moving in with you is part of the deal? I guess I should’ve realized...”
She stops and a small, strangled sound flits out of her.
She’s as flustered by this situation as I am.
And she should be.
I’m not sure either of us understand what we’ve gotten ourselves into.
“You’ll have your own quarters,” I say. “Comfortably removed from my presence when we’re not working together.”
“Oh, joy.” She laughs. “Quarters! Sounds like something out of one of those billionaire romance books Brina’s mom writes. At least I’m consenting to a hostage situation.”
I spear her with my gaze.
“You’ll have a whole set of rooms at your disposal, at least four times as big as your apartment. You’ll never have to see me if you don’t want to. All of my properties have plenty of guest spaces,” I say, assuring her my horrible presence won’t be clouding her constantly. “Everything in the contract was reviewed by a team of lawyers. It’s fair, thought out, and perfectly legal.”
“How many properties do you have?” she asks quietly.
“A few. But that’s hardly relevant.” I slide the contract closer and hand her the pen from my pocket.
“I wasn’t expecting that, but I guess it’s no big deal,” she says slowly. “I mean, we technically shared a room already when you took care of me that night.”
“For barely an hour,” I say, clearing my throat.