Page 12 of Against The Rules

I want to do something right for once. I want to do right by her.

Then let her go, a small voice in my head says.

I don’t listen to it.

Instead I grin at her, a plan forming around the edges of my hungover brain. After all, she did tell me all her deepest, darkest secrets last night.

“I’ll make being married to me worth your while.” I cock my head, feeling like a predatory shithead. “My parents will love you. They think I’m a fuck-up. You are so far out of my league that it’s not even funny. You convince them you’re my girlfriend —we don’t even have to tell them we’re married— and I’ll fund the business you told me last night you wanted to start. I know how much you hate being a personal assistant… because you told me all about it. This will give you a way out. We both win. My family will finally respect me and…” I pause, choking down the phrase that threatens to come out. I’ve already told her too much. “And all you’ll have to do is come to some family dinners. Then if you want a divorce down the line, I’ll set you up with a nice little life.”

Her jaw drops, and she stares at me with both apprehension and interest.

Fuck. I don’t want her to look at me like that.

I want her to look at me like she wants me as badly as I want her.

“And I can teach you to be sexy,” I add stupidly, because of all the things we told each other last night, that sticks out more than anything. She doesn’t think she’s sexy.

It’s the most insane thing I’ve ever heard, considering I’ve never met anyone as effortlessly perfect as she is, even crumpled on the floor in last night’s clothes, and it makes me feel like shit to throw it in her face.

But I want this. I need this.

I need Savannah to agree, because damn it, I want her.

And I always get what I want, one way or another.

CHAPTER 6

SAVANNAH

There’s nothing left in my stomach to throw up, or else I might be hurling again. Instead, I give up on all illusions of being okay and simply lie back on the floor, half on the cold tile of the bathroom and half on the carpet.

“I can’t even follow you on social media,” I manage to say, gulping air like it’s water. “You are a player. No wonder you looked familiar.” I squeeze my eyes shut, feeling like the biggest idiot to ever wake up married in Vegas with only the slightest memories of what happened the night before. “I’m not allowed to even speak to you, much less be married to you. They’ll kick me off the team. I worked too hard to lose that. I’m lucky I even made the team!” My voice is shrill and louder than I meant, and I slam my mouth shut.

“They don’t have to find out.”

I glare at him, because how stupid does he think I am?

“How are we going to keep something like this secret? The minute they find out, I lose my spot. You have nothing to lose.”

“I’ll make it worth your while.” He grins at me, and my brain melts slightly. Not great. I need whatever brain cells I have remaining to be fully functioning.

At least he’s hot.

“Can’t you just,” I pause, waving my hand around, until looking at it flapping makes me queasy again and I let it fall to the floor. “Can’t you just like, hire someone to help you with your parents?”

“Like an escort?” he asks, clearly amused.

“Exactly,” I agree, nodding once before deciding moving my head is still too risky. “An escort. Wouldn’t that be cheaper than a divorce payout? They’ll want to pretend to be married to you, and you won’t have to hide it, either.”

There’s a long pause, and I breathe a sigh of relief because maybe he’s seeing the validity of my excellent reasoning.

“I don’t want anyone else,” he says, and his voice is a low purr that sends a shiver down my spine.

When I look back up at him, he’s staring at me with an intensity that takes my breath away. Either that, or I’m having trouble breathing thanks to a light case of alcohol poisoning. Tomato-tomahto.

He holds up a finger and raises an eyebrow. “The way I see it, you get some things you told me you need out of this arrangement. One, you get money to start your art business.”

A wave of warmth washes over me, as well as the memory of confiding in him. Our foreheads pressed together at the temple, the light from my phone coloring his handsome face in blues and purples, as I told him what I wanted—to start a stationery business, featuring my hand-drawn art. His interest made me feel special. Made me feel good.

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