Page 18 of Bride Bargain

What else can I promise one of the wealthiest, most successful men in the city? Elliot Ramsay could pick anyone, after all. After what happened last night, after all these hurt feelings, why on earth should he pick me?

Because I understand him like no one else does.

Or at least, I thought I did—back before Elliot revealed that he secretly wanted me this whole time. But apparently we’ve both been lonely for no reason, pining away for each other for years, wasting so much freaking time, and—

No.

Breathing hard, I shake my head at nothing and put on another burst of speed. I’m not dragging all that useless hurt and frustration up again; it does no good. And like Elliot so helpfully pointed out, we’re both to blame.

From now on, I’m looking forward. And when I look to the future, I want to see my new husband there. If he’s not…

Cold dread seeps through the marrow of my bones.

“Excuse me. Sorry.” My sneaker lands in a puddle, splashing up a suited banker’s leg. He lets out a loud curse, and I bite back a mad laugh. “Sorry!” I yell, flying down the crowded city sidewalk, raindrops streaking through my hair.

Elliot. Elliot. Elliot.

Nothing else matters. Nothing else exists.

I burst into our skyscraper’s lobby like an escaped madwoman, wet sneakers squeaking against the marble as I run to the elevators. My heart jack-rabbits as I prod the call button and jig on the spot. Raindrops patter down around me, dripping from my clothes and hair, and people stop what they’re doing and stare.

“Wet floor!” I yell at everyone and no one, piling into the first elevator that opens. “Watch your step!”

The floor lurches beneath me as I shoot up toward the sky, but I’m already queasy, my palms sweating as I scrub them on my jeans.

* * *

“Come in,” Elliot’s voice calls, so deep and calm and authoritative. My fist trembles as it lowers, and I push open the penthouse office door.

Bright, pale morning light fills the huge room, even as rain pelts the glass windows. It’s always unnervingly clean and sparse in here, with every carefully chosen object on Elliot’s desk placed at perfect right angles. One potted plant is permitted, provided it is dusted every day and it doesn’t grow lopsided.

The boss sits at his desk, leafing through a stack of paperwork. Elliot’s dark hair is neat and his jaw is clean shaven, while his navy blue button-down shirt is pristine.

It’s the exact shade of his eyes, I notice numbly, squelching my tragic way to the chair he’s set out in front of the desk. GuessElliot had no problem dressing himself this morning. When I collapse into the chair, my best friend finally glances up—then jerks back in alarm.

“Claire?”

My breath wheezes in and out of my chest, and I shake my head, still too winded by my rainy-day sprint. Elliot curses quietly, then draws a glass bottle of spring water from the mini-fridge under his desk. He sets it in front of me, then stares with such stubborn expectation that I fight back a weak laugh.

The lid cracks open, and I chug half the water bottle in one go. Sweet, beautiful hydration! Yes.

“Good,” Elliot says brusquely, turning back to his paperwork. I set the bottle down and stifle a burp, which he mercifully ignores. “I need you to read over these papers and initial in all the places with sticky notes.”

He pushes the stack toward me, along with a capped fountain pen. It takes a long, awful moment to realize what I’m looking at, and then the whole penthouse wavers.

“Divorce papers?” My voice sounds like it’s coming from far away, echoing down a long tunnel.

Elliot nods once, his jaw firm. The only sign that this bothers him at all is his middle finger tapping rapidly at the desk surface.

“You want to divorce me?” My voice cracks—but hey, if I breathe in through my nose, maybe I won’t throw up all over Elliot’s polished desk.

Because this was always going to happen at some point. Right? This was a PR marriage, nothing more. There’s no reason for my insides to twist into miserable knots.

“I want a fresh start,” Elliot corrects, and when I get my misty eyes to focus on him… my boss seems more careworn than he appeared at first glance. Dark shadows cling beneath his eyes, and there’s a tiny cut on his jawline that says his hand shookwhen he shaved this morning.Tap, tap, tap,goes his middle finger. “So we can try this again with less pressure.”

I squeeze the water bottle with both hands, my chest clenching with desperate hope. “This? What do you mean,this?”

Elliot gestures between us. “You and me.” He sighs and frowns out of the window at the damp, bright city. “If you’re still interested, that is.”

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