Page 10 of Never Fake Date the Financier
“However, the offer is contingent on one condition.”
I laugh, releasing some of the tension building inside me. “I don’t think you’re in the position to make demands.”
His lips form a devastating smile that sucks the air right out of my lungs. The tension comes back tighter than ever, pooling in my lower belly as I watch the muscles in his jaw tighten. It’s not fair that someone can be so effortlessly handsome that a single smile could turn the tables on any encounter.
“Tell me what you want,” he says, rolling the coin over his knuckles again. I can’t stop looking at it. Back and forth. Over and over. Why is he?—
“Is that one of your Horcruxes?” I blurt without thinking. It’s the only explanation I can think of for how a man like this could exist—so sinfully sexy and ridiculously wealthy. He’s sold his soul, bit by bit.
He stares at me, a mix of confusion and amusement on his face.
“Never mind,” I say, shaking my head. “What do you mean by ‘What do I want?’”
“I’m offering you whatever you want,” he says. “It’s simple.”
“But I’m not willing to bargain if I don’t know the condition.”
He stops rolling the coin across his knuckles, a half-smile on his lips that makes my stomach flutter. “Don’t worry about it. It’s only a few days, maybe a week, of your time. You won’t find a better return on investment, I guarantee you. Just name your price.”
I’m more confused now than I was ten minutes ago, but I’ll play along for now. If he’s offering me anything I want carte blanche, then I seem to be the one who holds the winning hand.
“Anything?” I ask, testing the waters. I lick my lips absently as I hold his gaze.
“Anything,” he says, flames licking behind his eyes as his gaze drops to my lips.
God, why am I indulging him? Why can’t I say no?
He stands up abruptly, removing his jacket and laying it neatly on the back of his chair. It’s hard not to stare at the hard muscles rippling underneath his white-collared shirt. And it’s hard not to admit that I’m more than a little interested in hearing him out because I’m more than a little interested inhim.
“I’ll let you think about it,” he says, walking over to the wall of windows to my right.
“How generous,” I mutter, eyes trained on him.
He presses his forearm against the glass, resting his head as he looks out on the city below. I don’t know what to think as I study his outline, every ruthless edge contrasting with the soft curve of his muscles pressing against his shirt.
There’s something weird about this entire situation. Why is he offering me not only the job but anything else I want? He’s holding the condition close to his chest, so it must be a big ask. So I don’t see why mine shouldn’t be just as large.
“Okay,” I say after a few minutes. “I know what I want.”
He turns around and walks toward me, taking a seat in the chair next to me. If I thought his presence was imposing before, it’s downright suffocating right now. I can hardly take a breath as every muscle in my body clenches.
“And?” he asks, his voice raspy, rattling in my chest.
I swallow as I spot the smattering of hairs peeking from under his collar. The way his chest presses against the buttons of his shirt. The bob of his Adam’s apple as he swallows.
My eyes flit to his lips and then to his eyes as every nerve ending inside me fires. “My entire year’s salary as a bonus. Upfront. Meetings with all of your directors. Casting agents. Everything. Auditions, too.”
I’m going for broke, but I have a feeling it’s hardly a drop in the bucket. A superficial glance around his office speaks to the surfeit of wealth this man and company possess. I’d bet his outfit costs more than my asking price.
He laughs—a deep rumbling noise that ignites a mixture of annoyance and need inside me. I love the sound of him, but hate that it’s directed at me. When he finally stops and that cool demeanor returns, he says, “Consider it done.”
Apparently, my demands, like his appraisal of me, are unambitious.
I cross my arms. “Not until you tell me the condition.”
“My plus one to my brother’s wedding. My fake girlfriend.”
The tension snaps, and I feel weightless. It’s my turn to laugh. It rumbles out of me so hard and fast that it’s difficult to breathe. And the expression on his face? I wish I could frame it and hang it above my nonexistent mantel.
