I inhale, harboring a breath before letting it go. When our eyes meet, I silently chide myself for remotely considering making a deal with this devil.
Sure, he’s impossibly handsome with his chiseled jaw, dimpled smirk, coffee-colored hair, deep blue eyes, runner’s build, designer wardrobe, and genius IQ—not that I’ve taken inventory of his assets before … but none of that is enough to overpower the ugliness that resides beneath his perfect, polished façade.
Without saying a word, I turn on my heel and press the call button on the nearest elevator.
“What are you doing?” he asks, voice rushed.
The doors part, and I step on, flashing a smirk and shrugging my shoulders. “Being a damn fool.”
Chapter 2
Hudson
The overpowering scent of curry and fried takeout smacks me in the face when I enter her building, and the stairway to the third floor is poorly lit and narrow—clearly not up to code. I check the email on my phone once more, ensuring I have the right place, and then I turn the corner at the top of the stairs.
My gaze lands on the crooked number five at the end of the hall, and I straighten the knot of my tie before clearing my throat and proceeding.
This woman hates me—literally hates me—and I’m about to ask her an enormous favor. But it’s precisely the reason she’s perfect for this.
Three knocks on her door a moment later fail to elicit an answer, so I try again. And again. This building is noisy and busy, but I swear I hear someone shuffling around on the other side of the door.
She stormed out of my office earlier this morning, and while the question has been lingering on the tip of my tongue for hours now and I’m not accustomed to taking “no” for an answer, I figured I should give her some time and space before approaching her again.
“I know you’re in there. Open up,” I call through the door, knocking yet again. “Seriously, I don’t have all day, I—”
The door swings open and my future fiancée stands on the other side, a hand on one curved hip and her sultry, hooded blue eyes glaring in my direction.
“What are you doing here?” she asks with the raspy, Scarlett Johansson voice that’s driven me wild since the day she waltzed into my office in a tight little pencil skirt and an almost-transparent white button-down.
Peering over her shoulder, I glance into what is clearly a studio apartment approximately the size of my walk in closet. Furnished with flea market finds and a garish color scheme that makes zero sense, it immediately makes my skin crawl, but I shake it off because I didn’t come here to critique the way she designs her living space. Besides, she’s going to be living with me soon enough, and this place will become all but a distant memory.
“We weren’t able to finish our conversation earlier.” I straighten my shoulders, peering down. She’s dressed in tight black leggings and a pink t-shirt that stops just beneath her navel, leaving her midriff slightly exposed. My cock pulses against my slacks. “May I come in?”
Her nose wrinkles, but her Midwestern manners won’t allow her to slam the door in my face. Sighing, she steps back, letting the door open a little wider, and I step inside.
“Thank you, Mari,” I say.
“Wait. So you do know my name.”
“Of course I know your name. I’m not an imbecile.”
“So why’d you always—”
“—I have my reasons.” I offer a haughty smirk. “It creates interpersonal distance, which I find is ideal for workplace relationships. An assistant should never get too close to her employer. Or too comfortable. I also wanted to test your patience, see how well you worked under frustrating circumstances.”
She lets out a sarcastic huff. “Mission accomplished, Hudson. Bravo. Well done.”
I glance at the stove several steps behind her, where she appears to be making ramen.
“Are you hungry, Mari?” I ask.
The timer beeps, and she grabs a nearby bowl, dumping the boiling water and soggy noodles in one fluid movement. It lands with a wet plop.
“Yeah,” she says, eyes squinting. “But I’ve kind of got a handle on that right now, so please. Say what you came here to say because I’m about to eat my dinner, catch up on some Game of Thrones, and pretend like today wasn’t one of the most annoying days of my life.”
Mari takes a seat at a makeshift island barely big enough to accommodate two small bar stools and wraps her noodles around her fork, blowing on them with her full, cherry lips before taking a bite.
I chuckle. “All right. Fine. I came here because I want you to marry me.”
She begins to cough, her hands covering her mouth, and I go to her, placing my hand on the small of her back.