Page 32 of Play the Game

The contract crinkles in my hand as I take in the rest of the stipulations of our marriage. I tossed and turned all night long, dodging the little water droplets that kept dripping on my forehead from the leak in my ceiling. I realize that I’m crazy. I’m practically marrying a stranger for money, and that feels awfully close to prostitution.

Yet, here I am, in his car, with a pen in my shaking hand.

I point to number three. My heart beats wildly, and I completely ignore the little voice in the back of my head that wants me to believe I’m excited over the thought of him touching me. That surely cannot be the reason I’m feeling jittery all of a sudden.

“And when we’re not in public?” I ask.

His eyebrows draw together. “Are you asking me if I expect you to put out for me when we’re behind closed doors?”

My lips part, and nothing comes out of my mouth.

He smooths his forehead and shows me that cocky grin of his. “Or are youaskingme to touch you behind closed doors?”

“What?” I exclaim. “N–no.” I stumble over my words, and the pen slips out of my sweaty fingers. I should take it as a sign and climb out of his car, refusing to sign the contract, but when I make a decision, I stick with it. My dad always taught me to make a choice and commit to it. I never go back on my word. Ever.

Emory chuckles, and it instantly annoys me. He stretches his muscular legs again and stares out the windshield. I peek at thescruff along his jawline before he turns and our gazes crash. “I won’t be touching you unless you ask me to. The rumors you hear aren’t true. That’s the entire reason I need a wife and for the media to believe that I’m in a committed relationship.”

I relax a second later and exhale. Emory squints, and I can tell he’s trying to figure me out.

Good luck, though. I can’t even figure myself out.

“Everything looks fine,” I finally say.

Emory nods curtly and leans over the console into my space. I drop my attention to his mouth and freeze.Is he going to kiss me?!

At the last second, he reaches down and scoops up the pen that’s by my feet. I clench my thighs together and pray he doesn’t touch me, because I’m clearly out of sorts. I quickly snatch the pen out of his hand, scribble my initials at each indicated spot before sloppily signing the bottom, and thrust the paper back into his lap.

He hands me two more pieces of paper: an NDA and a prenup.

I sign them both willingly because not only am I embarrassed that I’m marrying a man for money, but I don’t want a single thing from him after it’s all said and done.

I’m a simple girl.

All I want is for my brother to be taken care of and to be comfortable enough in my finances that I can finally work on building a photography portfolio instead of constantly trying to make ends meet.

I’m justsofucking tired.

“Well, that should do it,” Emory announces, gathering the papers and tucking them away.

I nod and put my hand on the door to escape. “When do I move in?”

“Now. We have an appointment at City Hall in a few hours.”

I pause with one foot on the pavement.

“I’ll follow you to your place and help you gather your things.”

Panic sets in. “Um, no. I can handle it.”

Emory looks from me and then to my car and then back to me. “Do you live in a cardboard box? Because that’s all that’s going to fit in that tiny rust bucket.”

My cheeks flame. “I can handle my belongings. Just give me the address to your house.”

Emory holds out his hand. “Unlock your phone and give it to me.”

God, he’s bossy.

I place my phone in his hand and watch his face flood with confusion. “How the hell do you even see anything on this screen?”

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