Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 78304 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 392(@200wpm)___ 313(@250wpm)___ 261(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78304 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 392(@200wpm)___ 313(@250wpm)___ 261(@300wpm)
But he says he cares about her, so I keep my mouth shut and hope she never screws him over.
While we wait for Nora to respond, I ask, “You’re not going for the position?”
He’s the CFO, so it wouldn’t be unheard of for him to try for the CEO position.
“Nah,” he says. “I like it right where I am. Nora would probably kill me if she knew I was giving up the opportunity for a promotion, but”—he shrugs—“she won’t find out, so it’s all good.”
I bite back what I want to say and nod. Ryder is a damn good guy despite his partner of choice. We met several years back when he was hired in accounting and have been friends ever since. He doesn’t care that I didn’t graduate from some Ivy League university, like most other people. He still views and respects me as an equal.
His phone beeps with an incoming text, and he slides it over to me.
“Here you go,” he says. “Trophy Wives R Us.”
chapter three
ANASTASIA
Three Months Later
I can’t believe I’m doing this. I mean, I can believe it since I’m here, on US soil. But I can’t believe it actually happened.
After the first month of radio silence, I started to get worried that my plan wasn’t going to come to fruition. I knew the chances of a wealthy man looking for a trophy wife in the Houston area were slim, but I held out hope because Texas was one of the wealthiest states. But then, after almost two months of me sweating it out, I received the call.
Ian Thomas, age thirty-eight. Brown hair, green eyes, works as a COO for a Fortune 500 company, and is looking for a trophy wife.
We spent the next three weeks emailing and then eventually texting back and forth. He explained that he wasn’t actually looking for marriage. He needed someone to be by his side for several upcoming events and wasn’t interested in hiring an escort. He needed it to appear real and felt the best way for that to happen was for a woman to move in and play house.
I not only respect his honesty, but it makes me feel better since I have zero intention of marrying this guy, and once I prove to my dad that I can be the CEO he’s looking for, all bets are off.
Because the service we used—and he paid for—would only match people who seemed to work together, the specifics were left to be handled between us. We agreed to a one-year fake engagement, and in exchange, at the end of the year, I would receive a whopping ten mil.
To most, that would be a lot of money, especially for only a year’s worth of time, but I was raised with wealth, and my trust alone is in the high nine figures. So, his ten million is chump change, and if I can convince my dad to hire me as the CEO, I’m dropping this guy like a bad habit, and he can keep his money.
Of course, since I was pretending to be a ditsy gold digger, I didn’t tell him that. Instead, I happily agreed … after insisting on a vehicle, a whole new wardrobe, and an allowance—you know, since I have to play the part.
And last week, he officially asked me to move to Texas. I was shocked to learn that he wasn’t actually in Houston, but in Rosemary—the city I had been born and raised in. I was a little concerned about moving in with a strange man, but the service we used ran thorough background checks on both parties before allowing them to use their service.
Since I had already quit my job, I hired a realtor to rent out my flat and paid a shipping company to bring all my stuff to the States and store it in a local storage facility. If I get the position—which I can’t imagine not getting—I’ll be permanently relocating to Rosemary since Kingston’s headquarters and distillery are here.
I step off the plane, and the Texas heat nearly takes my breath away, my body having grown used to the cooler temperatures in London. But since I plan to stay, it’s something I’ll have to get used to.
“Good morning, ma’am. Did you have a good flight?” a gentleman holding a sign with my name asks.
I flew private, so of course I had a good flight. And it was even better, knowing Ian was footing the bill for it.
“Fabulous,” I say, using the same high-pitched voice I used the few times Ian and I spoke over the phone. After spending several weeks watching reruns of The Real Housewives, I’m confident that I can pull this off.
In my Burberry stilettos and matching wraparound dress that accentuates all of my best physical features, I saunter toward the awaiting town car, letting the driver grab my luggage. The drive from the airport isn’t long, and I use the time to set up the phone I purchased before coming here, which has a US number.