Page 72 of Betting on the Brainiac

That makes me laugh. “Believe it or not, this is one of the simpler ways I’ve heard of.”

She smiles back. “It might be if it weren’t for a couple of conditions in the trust I failed to mention.”

My stomach clenches as I think of the people who are probably updating their resumes as we speak, anxious about what’s next for them. “Like what?”

“Believe me, I would have mentioned them if I’d known you were planning on this and saved you the trouble.”

“Do I need to convert to a weird religion? Live in your family compound? Oh no.” I shudder and widen my eyes. “Wear Jeneze clothes?”

She grins. “Worse. I must live with my new husband. As in share a residence with him. And we’ll have to attend one family dinner a month with them so they can ‘monitor’ the situation. The terms say it’s so they can keep an eye on my new husband and look for any signs that things are amiss, but it’s just to force me back into the fold.”

“I should have anticipated the living situation. Let me think.” I’ve focused on pulling all of this together the whole week, running around during the day to meetings and notaries to gather my evidence of meeting her parents’ terms and getting these contracts all hammered out, programming until late into the night. But through all of that, the thing that weighed even more heavily on me than the thought of letting down all the people who count on Matt and me was how I feel about Madison.

I don’t know the rules for how long it takes to fall in love with someone. On Tuesday, when I was waiting in my attorney’soffice, I googled it to see if I might be losing my mind. There’s no hard science, but the most credible study I found said that it takes men an average of eighty-eight days from a first date to “I love you.”

If that math is even close, I’m over halfway to falling for Madison, totally and completely. That puts me at a higher risk than Madison in some key ways.

Possibility one: she may never see me as more than a friend and business partner. I can live with that—if I can put an end to the feelings I have. It would mean keeping my distance in every way. I’d find somewhere else to work besides Gatsby’s. I’d be as upfront as I could with her without making her uncomfortable. Or, if I’m being honest, without making myself look pathetic. I’d tell her we’d go back to our paths never crossing unless we needed to talk business so that we could keep all lanes clear. Then, in a year and a day, I’d take her out to celebrate our divorce, and if we’re both still single, I could set out to . . . what, woo her?

Possibility two: I could fall for her all the way anyway, and it might never be reciprocated. I’d get to spend all my time wasting away like a freaking heroine in a historical novel where the unrequited love causes “consumption.” And then I’d die.

If I use the strategies from the first scenario—total avoidance—I could limit this possibility.

Being Madison’s roommate—livingwith her—changes the probability on these scenarios, and it only takes me a split second to see that there is now only one scenario if we marry for the money. I am doomed to become the tragic heroine of a historical novel.

How much am I willing to risk for this arrangement?Bhani. Raymond. Lacey. Martha.“I dropped a lot on you. Are you even open to the living situation?”

“I don’t know,” she says. “I’ve been prepared to wait for another four years.”

Which is unbelievably petty of her parents. “Madi, whether or not we do this, you shouldn’t have to wait to start doing some good in the world. Your dad has made those people wait long enough. And even if you wanted to keep every dime yourself, it’s still not right for them to move the goalpost on you. So consider that too.”

I stand and roll my neck. I’ve been so tense this whole week that even sitting for a short time has my muscles tightening up. “I’m going to think better if I move. I’ll be there doing laps while I feel my way through these new conditions.” I point to the third floor, and she nods.

I take the closest set of stairs and hit the top floor at a fast walk. I don’t want to sweat in my good clothes, but it’s better than pacing.

I make myself picture what sharing an apartment with Madi would be like. There would be a lot of run-ins over the year. Could I handle a sleep-tousled Madison? A glammed-up Madison? Madison in tiny workout clothes? Madison in a fluffy sweater and a beanie with cheeks pink from the winter cold?

Why does that one twist my gut the hardest?

I’m at a near run now, and I force myself to a walk again.

Without question, I would fall more for Madison. I would do everything I could to keep a distance between us, and it might help. But it wouldn’t stop it completely.

Will it happen anyway, even if we don’t do this whole business marriage?

Bhani. Raymond. Lacey. Martha.

“Oliver?”

I lean over the railing to find her in the middle of the dance floor. “Yeah?”

“I’ll marry you on one condition: Tabitha and the kittens come with us.”

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Madison

I hadn’t planned toget engaged when I walked into work today. But as I stare up at Oliver leaning over the top balcony, I’m beginning to think that might be exactly what happens.

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