Total pages in book: 82
Estimated words: 74487 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 372(@200wpm)___ 298(@250wpm)___ 248(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 74487 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 372(@200wpm)___ 298(@250wpm)___ 248(@300wpm)
* * *
“Candy?” There is the soft knock on the bedroom door, and I run a quick hand through my hair.
* * *
“Coming.” My eyes drop to the floor, where a pair of lace panties lie next to some wedge sandals. I crouch down, pulling the tags off the panties and snagging the wedges. Brian Atwoods, in my size, a fact that gives me a serious moment of pause.
* * *
Is this creepy? A pre-purchased outfit in my size? Maybe it’s sweet. Maybe he planned ahead and … I end that thought process. There is no “planning ahead” scenario that isn’t creepy.
* * *
I pull on the panties and straighten the lay of the dress, carrying the shoes and pulling open the bedroom door. The bodyguard steps away from the door, gesturing me forward.
* * *
“He’s at the table.”
* * *
I smile breezily at him, my excitement mounting at the thought of getting paid. I wonder if he’ll give me a fat stack of bills, something thick and impressive. Or maybe a check, though he doesn’t seem like that type.
* * *
I round the corner and slow, spying Nathan at the table, a spread of documents before him. He slides the chair backward and stands at my approach.
* * *
“Good morning, Candace. Please, sit down.”
CHAPTER 11
I look at the document in confusion, the pages filled with words that don’t belong near me.
* * *
Marriage.
Prenuptial.
Assumption.
Loyalty.
Confidentiality.
* * *
I set down the pages and look at him, sitting on the other end of the long dining table. The same table on which I had laid naked, touched myself on, begged him from.
* * *
“I’m confused…” I glance back down, my name in the first sentence, in clear block font. “Is this document for me?”
“It’s a proposal. Last night was an audition of sorts. To see if we are sexually compatible. I have strong sexual needs, and you prove equipped to handle them. I need, for various reasons, a wife. I’ve had you followed for several weeks. You seem to have a fairly despondent life, with no boyfriend, no family, no financial security. I am offering you a business proposition.”
* * *
So many bombs to deliver. I’ve had you followed for weeks. The statement fills me with a mix of anger and fear, my ignorance of the situation alarming. I think of Dib’s house, the overgrown yard, my dented car with duct tape holding on one fender, and flush from embarrassment. No family. That’s incorrect, an observation that is either truly ignorant, or disdainfully hateful. I have a father. Whether I visit enough, or lie to him about my life, or can’t afford to move him to a nicer facility—all of that is immaterial to the fact that he exists. I swallow. “I have family. My father. He’s in a hospital in Jacksonville.”
* * *
He says nothing, and if I expected sympathy, I was wrong.
* * *
I glance back down at the documents, my mind clogged with possibilities, in equal amounts fear and excitement. “I don’t see a compensation structure.”
* * *
That produces a laugh, one short bark absolutely devoid of humor. “Compensation?”
* * *
I meet his mocking eyes. “Yes. Business propositions involve compensation on both parts. I understand what I am giving up, but fail to see what I am getting from this arrangement.”
* * *
He holds out his hands, gesturing to the suite. “This life. You are barely struggling by. I am offering you a life of luxury, with everything you want, at your fingertips. You won’t have to work, will no longer have to straddle sweaty men with wandering hands.”
* * *
I arch a brow. “Oh. Like you?”
* * *
He pushes back from the table and stands. “Look at the paperwork. If you are interested, sign the documents. If not, Drew will give you your money and take you home. Either way, you will be paid.” He turns, grabbing a jacket off the counter and shrugging into it.
* * *
I stand and the chair scrapes the floor, the raw sound loud in the quiet suite. “Is this your idea of romance?”
* * *
He stops on his way past me, turning slightly, his eyes lighting with amusement. “Romance?”
* * *
Just steps away, the close proximity gives me the full force of his eyes, the morning light turning them turquoise in color and I am surprised to see a hint of playfulness in their depths. “Yes, romance. Isn’t that what marriage is all about? Isn’t that what these papers are about? Me agreeing to be your wife?”
* * *
He chuckles, and I’m glad this entire thing is so entertaining to him. “I need a wife. I am not signing up for romance, or affection, or a full time job. The papers will discuss your duties. I want nothing more from you than what is stated there. And as far as you – you should never expect that from me.” His voice changes, the amusement gone, and the next words out of his mouth, I fully believe. “I will not love you. I will have no use for you other than sex and photo ops. That is something you might want to consider when making your decision.”