Page 17 of One Wealthy Wedding

“If I do this, you’ll let me live with you?” I ask warily. There has to be a catch.

“Why?”

“I won’t have access to the townhouse until the year is up,” I say airily. “Suffice it to say, my parents and I are on the outs.”

I wait for him to make a comment about how I’ll go running back to my parents the first chance I get.

He dips his chin. “You can live with me for a year.”

Thank god. I nearly sag against the bar, but this next thing is the real test. Every other man who’s said yes to my proposal has changed his mind when my father approached him.

“I’m inheriting 40 percent of the shares of Peterson International. You can’t try to take them. And you can’t turn them over to my father.”

“Turn them over to your father? Why the hell would I do that?”

“Just promise me. If my father comes knocking, you’ll tell him to go to hell.”

He tosses back his whiskey. His eyes are hard when he meets my gaze. He’s serious for once, and unbearably handsome, as he stares me down, all sun-streaked hair, bronzed skin, a soft mouth that’s normally smiling. “I would rather die than do anything your father wants me to do.”

His low tone makes me shiver. He might hate my father, but he hates me too. I wipe my palms on my pants.

“I’m going to need it in writing.”

“Why?” He studies my face.

“Take it or leave it,” I say flatly. I’m not telling Theo about my dreams. Not when he’ll mock me for them.

“Oh, I’ll take it. Let’s shake,” he purrs. The sound tugs at my insides.

I step forward. He grabs my hand in his, brushing his thumb over the base of mine. I nearly jerk my hand away, but he holds fast.

“Till death do us part.”

I give him an entirely fake smile. “Unless I kill you first.”

He laughs, entirely unbothered by my dislike of him. “A toast.”

He pours us two more shots of whiskey. We slam them, and I sputter around the burn. “God, that’s foul,” I mutter.

Theo laughs. My lips tug up at the corners, but my smile falls as I watch him. His gaze is on my lips, and I feel it like a physical caress.

“This is a bad idea,” I say hoarsely.

“I know,” he says.

“Why did you come to the bar last night?” I ask. “It’s the worst bar in Midtown. Was it to torment me?” I refuse to believe in serendipity, if that’s what this is. Not when the universe has slapped me down so many times. Be happy with your place, Cat Peterson. Fuck that. When I gain control of Peterson International, I’m never looking back. I’m going to be the happiest divorcée in the world.

“Selfish, princess.” He gives me a lazy grin. “It was a coincidence. But had I known I could torment you in the process, I would have beelined here instead of the owner’s box at the Garden.”

“How thoughtful of you.”

“That’s me.” His lips tilt. “Anything to make my future wife happy.” My future wife.

He leans forward. “Catherine.”

My stomach jumps at the sound of my name in his voice. It’s low and rough from the liquor.

“Come here.” He makes a motion with his hand.

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