Page 35 of Marrying the Billionaire Single Dad
"Make a wish." His voice is low and edgy and soft. How the hell can he be so many things at once? I close my eyes, then blow.
When I look up, he’s staring at me, his nostrils flared, a look of something like…desire in his eyes. I glance away, then back at him. "Damian," I swallow, "who’s taking care of your daughter, while you’re here?"
He straightens, schools his features back into that look of indifference I am coming to realize is a mask, one he’s perfected over the years, the image he likes to project to the world. Same way as I’d prefer people to think of me as happy-go-lucky, a wanderer... A nanny, always borrowing a family to call her own rather than making one for herself. Does that make me a cuckoo? The bird that lays eggs in another’s nest and has them bring up its chicks as their own. No, that’s backward. That doesn’t make sense.
"Meredith’s with her," he replies.
"Does she help out with your daughter?"
"Sometimes." He takes a step back, then folds his arms over his big chest.
"Is that her name?" I jerk toward the cursive tattoo that peeks out from around his left forearm.
"Whose?"
"Your daughter’s."
He glares at me, and a shiver runs down my spine. Jesus, when he looks at me, all angry and grumpy, it’s so fucking hot. I swallow, hold his gaze. Well, I am not going to run scared from jerk-ass, here. "Go on," I coax, "you can tell me. You won’t be struck by lightning if you do."
He doesn’t respond.
"It’s a joke." I raise my shoulders. "You were supposed to laugh."
"Hmph." He widens his stance. His features take on a strange look before he shakes it off and resumes a look of bored indifference.
Silence stretches, a beat, another. A cloud of butterflies takes wing from the flowers nearby. I follow them as they dance over to another set of flowers in the corner of the green house.
"This place." I clear my throat, "It’s beautiful."
"You’re beautiful."
I turn my head to find his gaze on my face. I redden. "Uh, thanks." I tuck a strand of hair behind my ear, "When you said greenhouse, I didn’t realize it would be so...enchanting. Did you build it by yourself?"
"I had help," he drawls. "And yes, that’s my daughter’s name."
"Riley is a beautiful name," I offer. "How old is she?"
His forehead scrunches. He draws himself up to his full height. "Have you thought about my proposal?"
I tilt my head. "One hour a day for six days, huh?"
"That’s six hundred thousand pounds in the bank at the end of it."
Whew! That’s a hell of a lot of money. Enough to pay off my debts, allow my mother to retire from her job, get a fresh start, focus on becoming a pottery artist and not worry about paying my bills. And yet, when I'd wanted to spend the night with him, it had been because... I'd desired him, had felt a connection with him when he'd kissed me. He'd taken that and turned it into something sordid. Something transactional, where he wants to buy me.
It is a lot of money he’s offering; but really, is that all I am worth? Can I place a value on myself...with such ease? Besides, I’m not seriously considering this, am I? Would I sell myself, for cold hard cash?
"Well?" His voice cuts through my thoughts, "What do you think?"
"It's not enough," I inform him.
"Excuse me?" He frowns.
"You want me for an hour a day for six days, for some unfathomable reason. Well, it's going to cost you."
"Oh?" He peruses my features, something inscrutable in his eyes. As if I am following a script he already knows, one that I am finding my way through, blindfolded.
"How much?" He drums his fingers on his chest, "Tell me quickly. I don't have all day."
