Page 118 of The Proposal
Still, I find myself walking into a room with a giant stately desk and bookshelves lining the walls.
“Do you want to sit?” he asks, placing his drink on top of a stack of folders.
“No. You said it would only take a second.”
He moseys around the room. I think he’s trying to make me relax, but all it does is put me on edge. I feel my heart beating in my throat. I have to override the screaming inside my head telling me to leave.
No, I’m going to make a good impression. The door is open behind me. I can leave anytime I want.
“What can I help you with, Reid?” I ask.Renn—please come find me.
“Can I trust that you will keep this conversation between us?”
“That depends on what it’s about.”
He chuckles angrily. He stops walking and faces me, his jaw set. “What will it take to get you out of Renn’s life?”
My mouth falls open.
I shiver as cold chills snake down my spine.
“My son may be dim-witted, but I’m not,” Reid says. “How much will it take to make you go away?”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Brewer. I don’t understand.”
“Cut the shit, Blakely.”
What? “Don’t talk to me like that.”
He plants his hands on the desk with a loud thud. His eyes are narrowed, the pupils nearly slits.
“I’ve been at this game longer than you have,” he says. “I know what little whores want when they come around. I can see them from a mile away.”
His words catch me so off guard that I fail to respond.
“Name your price,” he says. “How much are you after? Quarter million. Half? Give me a number.”
I draw in a breath and gather my wits. “You think I want money from you?”
“Don’t play the damsel in distress card, girl. It isn’t cute.”
“What’s not cute is this arrogant, disrespectful, abhorrent language you’re using with me. I don’t know where you get off thinking you can insult me like this, but—”
“Because I’m Reid Brewer. I can get away with anything I want.”
I stand taller, meeting his gaze and refusing to blink. “I don’t give a fuck who you are.”
“So what do you think, then?” he asks, smirking. “Do you think you can get my son all liquored up, marry you, and then—what? What’s the endgame? Convince him that you’re the one? To start a family with you? To let you be a part of this empire thatIhave created?” He laughs like I’m a joke. “Think again.”
“I don’t want a damn thing from you—”
“Of course, you do. It’s mine.It’s all mine. And I’m not about to allow some little whore with a nice ass and great tits swindle my son out of his future.”
The shock is gone. Rage settles in.
“You are a disgusting excuse for a man.”
“You didn’t sign a prenup. Explain that.”
