Page 6 of Drowning Her

“We?” he asked. Finally, he peered at me, tracing me from my eyes to my lips, down to my toes pooling out over the tops of my stilettos. Leather and mud and fur permeated the air. His family must have had a ranch, then, not just a farm. He towered over me, even in the heels, and though he was wearing a suit, his muscles were big, like a man that’s used to manual labor. Like he was built this way.

I straightened my shoulders. None of that made a difference. In the end, he was a client. I wasn’t afraid of him.

“I can smell you from across the club,” he said.

I froze, but only for a second. I sucked in a quiet breath. I had taken a shower that morning. I hadn’t even had a date yet.

“You get a headache from vanilla spray or something?” I asked.

He closed his eyes, then said, “Wear a floral perfume. It’ll hide your scent.”

I rolled my eyes. Sure. I had been asked to do weirder things by clients before; wearing some cheap jasmine perfume was the least of my worries.

“What’s your name?” he asked.

“Cry—” I stopped myself. If I was going to marry him, then I might as well tell him my real name. “Maisie. And you?”

“You didn’t ask my father for my name.”

I huffed through my nose. “I’m trying to make conversation.”

“About what?”

I narrowed my eyes. “So what? You only want to screw? Is that what you want out of an arranged marriage?”

He forced a chuckle. “You think I’m your ticket out.”

Or maybe I wanted the million dollars. “So?”

“Marry me, and everything will be set.” He shook his head, then went back to leaning on the wall. “You ran away from home because life was so damn rough. Is that it? You thought your mother and father would start caring about you if you sold your body. But then you found out no one gives a shit.”

My cheeks burned, my throat tight.

“Hate to break it to you. Marrying me won’t be the easy life you’re used to,” he said.

My fingernails dug into my palms. “My life hasneverbeen easy.” I opened my mouth to call him an ass, but he cut me off.

“You have a choice, Maisie.” He gestured at the corner of the building, toward the parking lot. “You can still say no.”

I gritted my teeth. “You would like that, wouldn’t you?”

“Like you wouldn’t believe.”

My heart sank to my feet. “Your father made it clear I don’t have a choice.”

“Then run away.”

He faced me, our eyes locking. The blue and gray in his eyes were like a swirling storm. I was transfixed by the hurricane. Rooted to the spot. Why was he like this?

“Why did you agree to an arranged marriage if you want nothing to do with me?” I asked.

He picked me apart, layer by layer. Then he removed his wallet and found several more bills. A thousand dollars. How was his family so loaded?

He handed them to me. “You must owe your boss,” he said.

I scowled. “I don’t need your pity.”

“Take the money and go,” he said. He waited for a few more seconds, but I stood still, staring at him evenly.

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