The Bride Fonseca Needs(11)

'For years I felt tainted. Tainted by my mother's lack of care and her  sordid affairs. That's how she made her living-little better than women  who call themselves what they really are: prostitutes.'

Darcy winced.

'I was on the streets one night, foraging for food in a bin at the back  of an exclusive restaurant, when some guests came outside to smoke.  Boys from my class at Boissy.'

She sucked in a breath, imagining the scene all too well.

As if he'd guessed her suspicion his mouth quirked and he said, 'There  was no blood. I walked away-but not before they recognised me and told  me that they'd never expected anything more of someone like me. I'd been  born into one of the wealthiest families in South America, but thanks  to my fickle parents my brother and I were used almost like an  experiment to see who would flourish better. One of us was given  everything. The other one had everything stripped away.'

He turned to look at her, his face stark in the dim lights.

'That's why I want this. Because if Montgomery hands me his fund I'll  have proved that even when you have your birthright stripped away it's  still possible to regain your dignity and get respect.'

He didn't have to elaborate for Darcy to imagine how his litany of  humiliations had bred the proud man in front of her. Montgomery held an  almost mythical place in the world's finances. Akin to financial  royalty. Darcy knew that what Max said was true. His endorsement would  make Max untouchable, revered. The boys who had bullied him at school  and witnessed him at his lowest moment on the streets would be forced to  respect him.

'And it's not just for me,' he said now, interrupting her thoughts.  'I'm a partner in a philanthropic organisation with my brother. We're  finally putting our father's corrupt legacy to good use, and I'll be  damned if I can't contribute my own share.'

Max turned to face her more fully.

'That's why I want this, Darcy. Everyone has a price. I've just told you mine. You can name yours.'

Why did that sound like the worst kind of deal with the devil?

Because it is, whispered a small voice.

* * *

When Darcy woke up the next day she felt strangely calm. As if a storm  had passed and she'd been washed up on land-alive and breathing, if a  little battered.

Max had made no further attempt to stop her from leaving once she'd said, 'I need a night to think it over.'

It was as if he'd recognised how precarious his chance was. He'd  escorted her down to his car and bade her goodnight, saying, 'Just think  of your price, Darcy.'

And so she had.

After hours of tossing and turning she'd got up and looked at her  tablet, at the properties she'd marked on a website. It was her secret,  most favourite thing to do. Earmark the properties she'd buy if she had  the money.

Her heart had thumped hard when she'd seen that her current favourite  was still available. The price, in her eyes, was extortionate; London  property gone mad. But she knew to Max it would be a pittance. Was this  her price? A place of her own? The base she wanted so badly? The base it  would take her years to afford under normal working circumstances?

Darcy could empathise with Max's determination to do it all on his own.  She could ask her parents for the money to buy a house and have it  tomorrow. But when she'd seen her father almost lose everything it had  forged in her a deep desire to ensure her own financial stability, to be  dependent on no one else.

She'd been eight when her parents had split up and she'd been tossed  back and forth like a rag doll, across time zones and countries, with  nice airline ladies holding her hand through airports. It had been in  those moments that Darcy had wished most fervently that she still had a  home-somewhere she could go back to that would always be there.  Something that wasn't in a constant state of flux. Security. Stability.                       
       
           



       

When Max had revealed that he'd been only six when his parents had  split up her silly heart had constricted. And he had a twin brother. She  couldn't imagine what it must have been like to have been ripped apart  from a sibling. Never mind taken to the other side of the world, never  to connect with one of your parents again.

She got up and showered and made herself coffee. She hated that knowing  about Max's tumultuous past made it harder for her to keep seeing him  as ruthless and cynical. But he was, she assured herself. Nothing had  changed. He was out for himself-unashamedly. And yet who could blame  him? He'd been abandoned by his own mother, forgotten by his father.  Estranged from his brother.

The thing was, did he deserve for her to help him?

Darcy's mobile phone pinged with a text message. From Max.

Well?

She almost smiled. Something about his obvious impatience at the fact  that she wouldn't come to heel easily comforted her. Things had morphed  from relatively normal to seriously weird in a very short space of time.

She texted back.

Do you think you could use that word in a sentence?

She pictured him scowling. A couple of minutes passed and then...

Dear Darcy,

Please will you marry me so that I can secure Montgomery's fund and live happily ever after?

Yours truly, Max.

Darcy barked out a laugh. The man was truly a bastard. Her phone pinged again.

Well?

Now she scowled.

I'm thinking.

Think faster.

Darcy threw her phone down for a moment. Pressure was building in her  chest. And then the picture of the property she loved so much caught her  eye. If she did this, she would get that.

We all have a price.

She picked up the phone, almost daring it to ping again with some terse  message-because if it did she would tell Max where to go. But it  didn't, almost as if he knew how close she was to saying no.

She took a deep breath and texted.

If-and that's a big if-if I agree to do this I want £345,000.

She let out a breath, feeling like a mercenary bitch. But it was the  price of the flat she loved. And if she was being a mercenary bitch she  was nothing in comparison to Max. His soul was black.

She continued.

Also, this farcical marriage will last only for as long as it takes  Montgomery to announce his decision, and then you will give me a  stunning reference which will open the door to whatever job I want.

Her heart thumped hard as she looked over the text, and then her finger  pressed the 'Send' button. 'Delivered' appeared almost straight away.

It took longer than she'd expected, but finally Max's response came back.

Done and done. Whatever you want. I told you. Now, what's it to be?

Darcy's finger traced over the picture of the flat. In a few months she  could be living there, with a new job. A new start. A settled existence  for the first time since she'd been a child. And no Max messing with  her hormones and her ability to think clearly.

She texted quickly before she lost her nerve: Yes.

Almost immediately a message came back.

Good. My car will pick you up in an hour. We're going to Paris.

The ring. For a moment Darcy almost texted Max back, saying she'd  changed her mind, but her fingers hovered ineffectually over her phone.  And then she got distracted.

What the hell did someone wear on a whirlwind trip to Paris to buy an engagement ring for a fake wedding?

* * *

In the end Darcy decided to wear one of her smarter work outfits: a  dark navy wrap dress with matching high heels. She felt self-conscious  now, in the small plane, and resisted the urge to check and see if her  dress was gaping a little too much. The way Max had looked at her when  she'd walked out of her apartment building had almost made her turn  around and change into jeans and a T-shirt.

He was dressed similarly, smart/casual in a dark blue suit and white  shirt. When she'd walked over to the car earlier he'd smirked slightly  and said, 'We're matching-isn't that cute?'

Darcy had scowled and dived into the car. When he'd joined her she'd said, 'Can you put up the partition, please?'

She'd been more discomfited than she'd liked to admit by this more  unreadable and yet curiously accessible Max. The boundary lines had  become so blurred now they were non-existent, and she'd needed to lay  down some rules.

When the window had gone up she'd crossed her arms over her chest. Max's eyeline had dropped to her cleavage.

'We need to discuss some formalities.'

Max's eyes had snapped up. 'Formalities?'

'All this marriage is, as far as I'm concerned, is a serious amount of  overtime. You're basically paying me to be an executive PA par  excellence. It's still just work. And if I hadn't agreed to this I would  still be tendering my notice because of what happened the other night.'                       
       
           



       

Max sat back, looking dangerous and sexy, jaw dark with stubble. 'What happened, Darcy?'

Darcy shot a look at the partition and back again, her cheeks growing  hot. 'You know very well what happened. We crossed the line.'

'We almost made love on my desk.'