Page 53 of Mafia Kings & Wedding Rings
“Nah, what I need is you.”
Pausing, she raked her fierce, russet-brown eyes over me, and her plush lips curved into a snarl. Tapping her number two pencil in front of her, she seemed nervous. The last couple of days had done her face some good. I figured Sol hooked her up with the makeup to hide her bruises. Even turning black and blue, I had never met a woman as confident and sexy as her. My dick betrayed me every time I was around this girl, which only further pissed me off.
“Go to hell.”
“See. My viewers love that shit.”
“What the hell is wrong with you?”
“I have a proposition for you,” I said, clasping my hands together.
“Do you think I’m a whore?” Her brows formed a bridge above her eyes.
Obviously I’d said something that offended her from the harsh glare dancing in her eyes now. I hadn’t meant to, but she wasn’t about to make this easy for me.
“What I think is you might need me just as much as I need you.”
“And why would you think that?” Six sneered, resting her arms on the table.
“Did you find a job, a place to stay?”
“I’m still working on it.” She flipped the course catalog closed and glared at me.
“I can solve a lot of your problems if you help me with one of mine.”
“I’m listening.” She shifted in her seat and leaned forward attentively.
“I need you to be my girl,” I requested, still in disbelief that I’d actually said those words.
I never had to ask a woman to be shit. Bitches were usually on what I was on. This was different, and I didn’t like it. She choked on a laugh, covering her mouth and everything while skimming my serious expression.
“Oh, you’re serious.”
“I’m sitting here asking with a straight face, ain’t I? The fuck?”
“I don’t get it.” Six dropped her hand and studied me. “You’re rich, you’re good looking… why would you need me to pretend to be your girl? Why don’t you just go get a girl? Or do you like boys?” she hinted with a squint.
“The fuck out of here.” I sucked my teeth, ready to snatch her ass up for even insinuating that. “I only swing in pussy, mama. Ain’t none of that over here. I just don’t have time to be dealing with these hoes out here like that. My audience likes you, and mypublicist thinks it’s a good look. That nigga usually know what he talking about, so I’m here.” I threw my hands up reluctantly.
“And what do I get out of being your girl?”
“Other than claiming me?” I teased, reclining in my chair and draping my arms across my stomach.
Taking my bottom lip between my teeth, my dick stretched when she rolled her eyes. She turned away briefly, like she was trying to talk herself out of something before swinging back toward me.
“How much?”
“You’ll get a monthly stipend of twenty racks. You’ll also have to sign a contract and NDA. I’ll provide clothes, somewhere to stay, and a car to get you around.”
“Twenty-thousand dollars a month for how long?” she asked, clearly enticed by the offer.
“That’s the thing… we start with dating, some pictures, an interview or two. You pretend to like me. If things work out, I need you to marry me.”
“How we go from dating to marriage?”
I sighed before breaking this shit down for her. It was never easy when I tried to explain the dynamics and intricacies that came with being a Marek. We were your typical family in a lot of ways, but there were aspects where we damn sure weren’t.
“My pops just died. In his will, he makes it clear that me and my brothers need to preserve our family legacy. His stipulations for me were to get married and produce an heir. I have twenty-four months to do so, or my inheritance isn’t released to me.”
