“How’d you like to get married?”
7
Natalie
I stare at the man across the table from me, for a moment putting aside how attractive he is, or how grateful I am for him rescuing me from the hotel, and realizing that I actually know nothing about him.
Who the hell is this guy?
He’s a crazy person, right? He’s some rich psychopath with a warehouse somewhere where he uses power tools on unsuspecting women making horrible choices during emotionally unstable times – women that get in cars with strangers.
And for that moment, I’m pushing aside how dreamy those eyes are, or how primally biologically attractive that jawline is, or the tight muscles of his chest through his t-shirt. My eyes dart behind him, measuring how far it is to the ice cream stand window, and wondering if I could make it there barefoot before he caught me.
“I- uh.” I smile innocently at the gorgeous psychopath sitting across from. “I should go.”
He grins. “Hang on, let me explain.”
Exactly what a psychopath who wants to murder me in his garage would say.
My eyes dart again to the ice cream attendant about thirty feet behind him, and I’m literally about to make a break for it when he rolls his eyes.
“Relax, I mean fake married.”
I freeze, turning my eyes back to him and raising a brow questioningly. “What?”
“Fake married, like an arrangement.” He shrugs. “Look, you need money, I need a fake wife. I think we can help each other out here.”
I frown. “Why do you need-”
“It’s a long story,” he shrugs and waves his hand. “We’ll get to that.”
I stare at him, peering at him and trying to figure out if I’m on hidden camera, or if this is some bizarre joke I’m just not getting.
“So, what do you think?”
He can’t be serious.
No way. This is insane. This is even more insane than me kissing him last night, or more insane than getting into his freaking car an hour ago when I don’t even know him.
I take a deep breath and shake my head. “You know what, this is getting weird.” I stand. “Look, thank you for the ice cream, and for everything back at the hotel, but I need to get out of-”
“Five-hundred thousand dollars.”
My head jerks back to him. “What?”
Austin looks at me evenly. “I’ll give you five-hundred thousand dollars if you fake marry me. Six-month contract, tops, and then we can go our separate ways.”
I narrow my eyes at him. “Am I on camera or something?”
He grins. “If you’re into that.”
I roll my eyes and grab my clutch from the table. “I’m leaving.”
“And I’m totally serious you know.” There’s something real in his voice that stops me, and I half-turn back to him.
“Pretend to marry me, stay in my place, go out in public with me. Six months, and the money’s yours.” He shrugs. “And in the meantime, it’s a place to stay and all your expenses covered.”
My brow furrows. “Look I’m not a hooker you know.”
Austin laughs. “Yeah, I sort of picked up on that.”
“And yet…”
He snorts. “Look, princess, I don’t exactly have to pay for that. And besides, that’s not what I’m saying. Nothing sexual implied.” He grins wickedly at me in a way that has my pulse skipping a beat. “I mean, of course if you want that, I’m not gonna say no-”
“I don’t,” I say sharply, and he winks.
“You seriously want me to fake marry you.”
“I seriously want you to fake marry me. You’ll live in my house, do public events and media shit.” He grins. “You’ll probably have to at least hold my hand, you know.”
“I think I’d manage.” I raise a brow at him. “Look, don’t let this go to your head, but I have a hard time seeing why a guy like you would do this. I mean you’ve obviously got money, and it’s not like you’re unattractive.”
“So you’re saying I’m attractive?”
I roll my eyes. “I did just say don’t let it go to your head, didn’t I?”
He grins that easy, cool smile at me. “My image,” he shrugs again, “my image needs a makeover.”
“Why me?”
“You seem classy.”
This time, I laugh. “You don’t even know me.”
“I know women, believe me. And you’re one of the classy ones.” He winks at me. “Plus you seem a little prudish.”
I bristle, frowning at him. “Excuse me?”
“No-no, that’s a good thing.” He pushes his fingers through his mop of hair, his brows knitting as if thinking through something. “Yeah, no, I think a little frigid might be good for this situation.”