Page 19 of The Marriage Deal
“I’m fine, Emma,” I manage through the burn. “Thanks.”
“Another wine?”
I nod, because I’m sensing I’m going to seriously need it. “Please.”
Her eyes swing to Briggs, and she asks only faintly less politely, “Another beer?”
“No, thank you.”
She sniffs, unimpressed as she nabs my empty glass. “I’ll be right back with your wine, Lilah.”
Alone with Briggs, I’m no longer able to avoid looking at him. So, I shoot him a glare as I lean into the table and hiss, “Is this payback for jumping off the cliff?”
A smirk tugs at his lips. I hate how handsome it is. “No. This is a serious offer. One I am hoping that you’ll not only consider, but accept, and promptly.”
Breath rushes from my lungs. It’s more than his words, though. It’s the cool calm in which he delivers them. That cool calm that I suspect very few people can shake. Knowing I’ve shaken that calm into a quivering rumble more than once gives me just a bit of a boost.
I lean into the table, something in my core tightening at the quick drop of his eyes to my chest before they bounce back to mine. His lips part, just slightly. Then I ask the only question that matters.
10
WHAT’S IN IT FOR ME?
LILAH
“What’s in it for me?”
Briggs leans back in his chair as though taken off guard by my question, but it’s a legit question that any sane woman would ask given the man’s insane proposal. I’m still not convinced he’s not playing out his own version of cliff jumping in the presence of an ill prepared stranger—a.k.a me.
I’m most certainly ill prepared.
No woman agrees to sit for a job proposition over dinner only to have that job bemarriage.
Still, I’m curious to see what he’ll say. How far he’ll take it.
Again, his green eyes drift slowly down from my own to take in the V of flesh the elegantly risqué cut of my red blouse allows. I don’t take my eyes off his as they drift back up to my own. “It would be easilybelievable, that I would be interested in you. You are an incredibly beautiful woman,” he pauses, and something unpleasant stirs inside me at his factual tone. It’s explained when he adds, “even if you’re not my type.”
I hide the sting of his words with a slight cock of my head. “You’re asking me to marry you while offending me?”
He leans into the table again. “Does it offend you?”
My eyes narrow. “What part?”
“That you’re not my type?”
“Why would you want to marry someone you’re not attracted to?”
“I never said I wasn’t attracted to you.”Damn, there’s that clench.“I said you aren’t my type.”
I feel my brow cock high. He doesn’t miss it.
I deflect the ouch of all that with a, “Let me guess, you like the ice queen. Cool and calm and composed. The kind of woman with a routine. Predictable. Boring.”
“Reliability is an attractive asset.”
“Of course, it is.” I huff a laugh, but we both know it’s too dry to be amused. “I’m none of those things. I’m a hot mess, and that’s putting it kindly. So,” I swipe my wine and take a hefty swig. “I think you’re barking up the wrong tree, buddy.”
“The town adores you.”
