Page 7 of Billionaire Lumberjack's Bride

This mental block regarding what being a mail-order bride really requires doesn’t want to break, but I slowly lower myself back into the chair with my purse clutched in my hands on my lap. Because Ineedthat money. And I need itfast.

At this point, I don’t have the benefit of being able to turn down opportunities based on my morals. Not if I want to protect the one thing I love in this world.

Carly retakes her seat and reclines, a smile playing on her red lips. “It isn’t what people think—it isn’t whatyouthink. Not all the men are old or have some major flaws that make them physically unattractive. Many are just shy or live somewhere that they don’t have the opportunity to meet eligible women. We do our best to set up couples who we believe might click naturally.”

Nothing about this is natural.

The fact that this type of service exists in the twenty-first century blows my mind and shuts it down to the possibility of accepting it as the answer to my problem.

“I’m sorry, Carly. You’re very sweet, and I appreciate you taking the time with me today. But I’m not sure I can do this.”

Her brows rise again. “Do you have any other options?”

Well, shit.

She drums her nails on the desk again. “I won’t pry into your reasons for being here, but they have to be pretty good for you to have set foot into my office. Most of our brides are from foreign countries looking for marriage to someone in the States, and the ones who are from here tend to be…”—one of her shoulders rises and falls—“socially awkward. Women who might have a hard time going out and meeting a potential suitor the old-fashioned way. But you…”—she smiles brightly—“you don’t seem shy at all. You’ve spoken your mind with me, the same way I am sure you would with any match when discussing final contract terms. You need the money, and that’s okay. That’s a completely valid reason to get hitched, and who knows, you may even end up falling in love with your husband like I did.”

“You love your husband?”

Her laughter tinkles through the space. “Of course, I do, darling; otherwise, I would have ended this ages ago. As I said, our contracts are tailored to the couple, and when I signedmine, I ensured there was an out clause that wouldn’t require repayment of his marriage gift as long as we remained married for five years.”

Five years?

I’ll be thirty-five.

That isn’tsoterrible. Still young enough that when all this is over, I can start a new life and maybe findactuallove.

A tiny spark of hope ignites in my heart.

I can’t believe I’m asking this.

“How long does it usually take to get…matched?”

Because I am running out of time.

Carly smiles, clearly pleased I’m still here and asking questions because it means I haven’tcompletelyruled out going down this very uncertain path. “Well, our clients seeking wives will go through our gallery of potential matches and review their questionnaires to see if anyone sparks their interest. We arrange an in-person meeting, if possible; otherwise, a video chat between the parties, and if all goes smoothly, then we move on to the contract portion. The whole process typically takes anywhere from two to six months.”

“Two to six months?”

That tiny flame of hope that I might have found a resolution to my very time-sensitive problem vanishes in an instant.

A frown turns down the corners of Carly’s lips. “We do need to take care to ensure we’re making complementary pairings and set you up to succeed.”

Tears burn my eyes again, welling until the kind woman blurs in front of me. “I-I don’t have that kind of time…”

And the sheer desperation in my voice makes me want to flip the desk separating us.

I’m notthatgirl. Never the damsel in distress. Not the one seeking someone to take care of her.

I take care of other people. I make things happen for myself with hard work and determination. But that has gotten me exactlynowherein coming up with fifty fucking grand.

My best night at work wouldn’t even get me one-tenth of that, and the more time that passes, the more urgent getting that money becomes.

Two to six months willnotwork.

Standing on the corner in fishnets and a miniskirt, flashing potential johns suddenly seems like the more reasonable option.

“Of course…” Carly’s voice momentarily stops my downward spiral into despair—“we can speed up the process, if both parties are interested in doing that.”

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