Page 92 of One Wealthy Wedding

I barely restrain myself from nodding, but Gregory’s face takes on a satisfied cast. He knows he’s got me, and fuck, I shouldn’t be taken in by him, but half of what he’s saying is true. What about the other half?

Has Cat changed? Is her interest in who I am now fake or real? Does it matter?

This marriage is a sham, and it’ll be over soon, anyway. I don’t intend to be entangled with Cat any more than I already am.

“She didn’t even cry when you left, you know.” His voice is conversational, like we’re talking about the weather. “She simply moved on. You were a passing fancy for her.” He sighs heavily. “I tried to raise her right, but she’s always been…” He holds his hands out like he’s helpless. “Spoiled.”

“What’s this then?” I grit out. “An intervention?”

“I don’t know what she promised you for the marriage, but I’ll give you 10 percent of the shares in Peterson International if you divorce her.”

By some miracle, I keep my face blank. This is what he came here for. He’s a lying prick, and he’ll do anything to undermine his daughter. “You will?” I cock my head at him, as if I’m considering the offer. “I’m not really interested in your run-down family company.” His face tightens with anger before he wipes it away.

“That’s not what you said at twenty-three.”

“I was a fool at twenty-three.” I wave my hand in the air. A fool who thought he’d finally proven himself to the world. Until Gregory Peterson laughed me out of his office. Stock trading is for brokers in ill-fitting suits. I don’t even know the login to my brokerage account. I have people for that. But I guess if that’s all you aspire to be—people—then sure.

“Twenty million dollars.”

“Do you even have twenty million dollars, Gregory?” I raise a brow at him.

“What kind of question is that?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe you should ask one of your…people.” I give him an easy smile. “Want a drink?” I check my watch. I hate the thing, but I’m glad I wore it, with the way his greedy eyes rake over it, assessing the make and the price. “It’s four p.m. Why don’t we talk about why you’re so eager to pay me off?”

“I’m helping you.” He’s puffed up and self-important now. “You don’t want to be married to my daughter. She’s using you. I pity you, honestly.” He moves for the door, and I watch him go, with flat eyes. I don’t shake his hand goodbye.

“Nice to see you, Theo.”

I grunt an acknowledgment.

She’s using you.

Yeah, well, I’m using her too.

Fuck.

30

Cat

This is bad. This is really, really bad. Mrs. Archer is here. Brenda. She’ll want me to call her Brenda, even though, in my head, she’ll always be Mrs. Archer and she’ll always smell like cookies and home. She’s in the kitchen, having a cup of tea, and I’m upstairs, in front of Theo’s door, pacing and wondering if I should wake him up and try to sell this farce, or let him sleep and handle her on my own.

She wants to stay over, though, and damn Theo—I didn’t even know he told his mom, but of course he did, because he loves her. I haven’t talked to her in a year at least, and her last message to me is still on read.

Forgive your parents, Cat.

I have.

I can’t think about that right now. It’s already weird that I’m awake and Theo isn’t, but we so clearly lead separate lives, and I have no idea whether he told his mom the truth. My lungs constrict at the thought of lying to her.

That, more than anything, prompts me to knock on Theo’s door. No response. What if she comes up here? I told her to make herself comfortable. A wife would just walk in. I turn the knob, and suddenly, I’m in Theo’s bedroom, where I very much should not be.

He’s sprawled in his bed, his large form taking up most of the space. I was right—his room does smell like him, deliciously masculine and intoxicating. The heavy drapes are drawn. It’s dark as shit in here. I guess if you’re used to sleeping off a hangover, it makes sense. I fumble my way to the bed, stubbing my toe on his nightstand and cursing under my breath.

“Theo.”

No response. I creep closer, pulled by the sound of his heavy breathing.

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