Page 31 of Sweet Nothings

Maybe that’s why my father placed this condition on me. He wanted me to be just like him, hoping I’d marry for money, not for love. Love is an inconvenience. A poor business decision. One that forces you to be selfless; a trait my father was incapable of possessing.

I look into Laurel’s eyes and think about my mother. I’ve been thinking about her a lot lately. More so than normal.

“Then, what is this, Laurel? What kind of marriage is this if we’re only going into it for the money?”

“It’s one of lies,” she says too quickly. “One of masquerades and convenience.”

“I never said it wasn’t those things,” I argue. “And I never said it was.”

“No, you haven’t… but I also know you. I think it’s best we keep this business-focused.”

I tilt my head to the side and study her. Laurel is fire and ice, hard and soft, both headstrong and vulnerable. She’s a complex creature I can’t seem to escape, and one I don’twantto.

“Any other conditions?” she asks, her voice timid now.

“One more.”

“Let’s hear it, then.”

“In public, we will portray ourselves as a real married couple in every way. Charity events, business meetings, family dinners. Because as I said before, our marriage will hold more value than money.”

Even if this marriage was one arranged and orchestrated by my father, I made a promise, and I don’t intend on breaking it.

One of her perfectly sculpted eyebrows twitches. I’ve noticed how her chest hasn’t lifted with a breath until she whispers, “Agreed.”

“Nineteen days.” I smile, keeping the toes of my shoes touching hers as I twist and grab a pen from my desk. I sign my name on the line below her conditions and hand them to her. “Nineteen days until you’re my wife.”

“Nineteen days,” she repeats. “Wow, that’s coming up fast.” A small smile tugs at the corners of her mouth. It’s a light one, not as convincing as the one I saw her wearing earlier, but it’s enough to make my heart pound right out of my chest.

“We’d better get to planning a wedding then, Ms. Branford.” I lift my hand to her face once again. I trail my finger along her cheek, tucking her hair behind her ear again before dragging my finger back down to her mouth. “By the way, that’s the last time I’m ever calling you by that name. Starting now, you’re Mrs. Harding.”

She lightly laughs. “Lennon, I don’t think it works that way. My name doesn’t change until we meet at that altar, and we say, ‘I do’.”

“Maybe to everyone else.” I growl. “But not to me.”

Dropping my hand, I back away from her for the first time since we began our negotiations. I move around my desk and reclaim my chair.

I open Erik Larsson’s file and look up long enough to see Laurel’s chest finally expand as she takes a breath. She bends down and slides her feet back into her shoes.

Once she’s finished, she stands in front of my desk and places her hands on the large oak surface. She bends down, revealing the perfect swell of her breasts beneath her thin blouse.

Her soft eyes fall to my hands, then on a shaky breath, she swings them back up to me. “I’ll email you a wedding checklist tomorrow morning.”

“No.” I’m quick to dismiss her. “Meet me in my conference room at nine a.m. sharp.”

Fuck an email. I’m itching to see her again already and she hasn’t even left yet.

What is happening to me?

She straightens her back, narrowing her gaze as she looks down at me. She crosses her arms over her chest. “Sort of bossy, don’t you think? You don’t own the company —or me—yet.”

I pause, the familiar spark igniting under my chest. “I like this side of you, Laurel.”

She gives me a challenging expression, then her shoulders relax as she unravels her arms. “Fine. We’ll meet in your conference room. If we’re wanting people to take this marriage seriously, we’re going to need a wedding that convinces them that it is.”

I grin. “Whatever you need, Mrs. Harding.”

Nineteen days.

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