Page 47 of Dirty Husband
"Fucking with you for the sport of it?"
"Something like that."
He shakes his head. "Distasteful." The water steams. He pours it over his leaves.
It makes me think of Jasmine, but then what doesn't?
"I don't blame you for playing the game. Sometimes, it's fun to see if you can win." He sets the electric kettle back in its spot.
I nod as if that's my only reason.
"Sometimes though… sometimes it's better to walk away. Sometimes that's the only way to win."
"I'll keep that in mind." I don't need the game theory lecture. But I know he means well.
"Look at us. Two rich men fixing beverages for themselves. Things change every day."
"They do."
"If you need my help…" He holds up his cup. "Or another helicopter ride."
"Thank you." The words are awkward on my tongue. I don't offer anyone gratitude. Certainly not someone as cocky as Ian.
But he's right about one thing, I'm not selling this story about a whirlwind romance. I need to change that. And I know how.
And I do need his help. "Actually, there is something."
He raises a brow. "I'm listening."
It's not going to be pretty, but it's going to work.
It has to.
Chapter Fourteen
Jasmine
There it is.
My fate summed up in ten pages and one dotted line. One year of marriage. No dalliances with other men, public or private. Nothing that looks like an affair. No kisses on the mouth or dinners where I sit a little too close.
For this year, I'm at Shepard's beck and call, twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week. If he requests my presence, I attend. If he insists I sit in my room, I sit in my room. If he demands I dance for his colleagues—
Well, I'm not actually required to dance. Just to attend, act the part of loving wife, keep all terms a secret.
Any misstep and I lose the seven-figure payout.
Worse, I lose this new term, the one I insisted on adding last night.
As long as I'm with Shep, he pays for my father's care. At home. Our apartment in Queens. I wanted to move him into Shep's place—there's certainly room—but it's too risky. I might break. Confess everything.
This is it.
Three hundred and sixty-five days for a million dollars.
I sign on the dotted line. For a moment, I feel that weight lift off my chest. I taste the freedom. I hear the fucking music.
Then a knock on the door calls my attention. Shepard's assistant. Lock.
