Page 16 of Handsome Devil
“I beg your pardon?”
I misheard him. I must’ve.
“If I’m going to break the law and likely a few fucking families standing in line for this bullshit experimental trial, I wantyourlife in exchange for saving your mother’s. It’s symbolic, symmetrical, and one of the very few things money can’t buy me.”
“Me, as in…?” Ice wrapped around my bones. My stomach roiled.
Do. Not. Vomit.
“You, as in you become my wife. You wear my ring. You live under my roof. You take my name. You suck my cock.” He paused, examining his fingers in sheer boredom. “You bear my children. I’m thinking four, minimum. We’re bound to make mistakes on the first few before we create someone worthy to inherit the company. Oh.” He snapped his fingers. “Maintaining my friendships. Socializing is my least favorite pastime. Rhyland’s and Row’s wives seem to like you. Keep up our appearances.”
He was mental.
More alarming than that—he was dead serious.
I could tell by the contemplative look on his face. He was looking for more responsibilities to dump on me.
“W-where is this coming from?” I forced out a weak laugh. “You hate me.”
“Yes, and?” Tate’s dark brows slammed together in confusion. “That is not germane to the fact that you are the perfect candidate for childbearing. You’d do nicely.”
“Why would you like to have children with someone you dislike?”
“Because you are intelligent, analytical, of excellent health, and athletic. Plus, most people are too stupid to shine my shoes, let alone raise my successors. You’ve proven competence during our time together. I can dislike you and still acknowledge you possess all the things I’d want in a wife.”
“Respectfully,” I cleared my throat, “you’re a psychopath.”
“I prefer inventive.”
“I’m too young for you.”
He gave me a pitiful smirk. “Men in my tax bracket don’t adhere to age-gap norms.”
“I can’t marry you.”
“Yes, you can. You don’t want to. There’s a difference.”
“What’s the difference?” I blinked.
“People do shit they don’t want to do all the time. Work, exercise, pay taxes. The ability is there.”
I shook my head. “We’d be miserable together.”
“We’realreadymiserable together.” He tucked another cigarette into his mouth, cupping his Zippo to light it. “The only thing that’ll change is that you’ll get your Centurion back.” He gave me a slow once-over, exhaling a plume of smoke sideways. “And a few good fucks a week, which will do a world of good to your rigidness.”
I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. Of all the things he could want…of all the ways he could torture me…
“That’s the most deranged thing I’ve ever heard you say, and trust me, the competition is tough.”
He shrugged, unbothered. “Money is a great opiate. You agree, or you wouldn’t be here.”
“I’m not going to have sex with you,” I said plainly.
Tate looked at me like I was a puppy who tried—and failed—to pee on its designated pad. “Sweetheart, the only reason your cunt is not the shape of my dick is because up until now, you were too sufficient for your own good as a PA.”
“And now?” I choked out.
How did he know I fancied him? Even I wasn’t sure of it half the time.
