Page 1 of A Nine-Month Deal With Her Husband

PROLOGUE

Twelve years ago

‘I’MSORRYTOdisturb you, but Millie Magnúsdottir is here.’

Benedikt Jónsson looked up to see his late business partner’s daughter charging into his office, every muscle in her body taut with tension.

Millie’s dyed coal-black hair hung over her shoulders in two fat braids and her light green eyes were heavily rimmed with kohl. ‘He’s going to charge me with theft and if I get convicted I might end up with a permanent criminal record.’

He’d heard the news this morning from his irate in-house lawyer, who’d spent more time on Millie’s escapades than any corporate lawyer should. According to Lars, the night before last, Millie had appropriated her father’s Ferrari for a midnight joy ride with her friends.

He wished the teenager would stop looking for trouble. This month alone, she’d been photographed leaving three clubs three nights in a row in the early hours of the morning, carrying her two-inch heels. She’d ‘forgotten’ to pay for a gold lamé top at an exclusive boutique and was, supposedly, having an affair with a famous Danish drummer twenty years her senior.

Every press article mentioned she was the wayward, uncontrollable daughter of Magnús Gunnarsson, widower of Jacqui Piper, the founder of PR Reliance, the company half owned by Ben. Every time she hit the headlines, for all the wrong reasons, Millie generated bad press for the company and their competitors laughed, delighted. She was an unmanageable PR nightmare.

Ben told Millie to sit, but she ignored him, choosing to pace the area in front of his desk.

‘Taking his Ferrari for a joyride was stupid, Millie.’

Why had she taken Magnús’s brand-new car? Was she trying to push his buttons simply because that’s what eighteen-year-old rebels did? And why was she here, talking to him about it? They’d little to do with each other. He was just her mum’s business partner, a guy whom she’d met only a handful of times over the years. Before her death, Jacqui had kept her business and personal life separate.

‘Sit down,’ Benedikt told her, linking his hands across his stomach and leaning back in his chair. She heard the command in his voice, released an audible sigh and perched on the edge of a chair, a scared bird ready to take flight. Or peck.

‘What do you want fromme?’ he asked. He could try to persuade Magnús from pressing charges, but didn’t think it would help. Magnús loved to thwart him: he’d always resented his and Jacqui’s close relationship. If Benedikt said something was white, Magnús would insist it was black. Dealing with him since Jacqui’s death had been three years of hell. Worse than that, PR Reliance was simply ticking along.

And he was stuck with Millie’s father for another seven years because Millie would only take control of her trust fund, and the half-share of PR Reliance she’d inherited, when she turned twenty-five. The thought of dealing with Magnús for another seven weeks, never mind seven years, made him feel ill.

Millie’s eyes slammed into his and he saw the determination in hers, and desperation. He’d mourned Jacqui, but his grief was nothing compared to Millie losing her mum at fifteen. Her numerous scandals, each one worse than the last, were surely desperate cries for attention. He didn’t know much about teenagers, but he suspected Millie was trying, first by acting out and then by rebelling, to get a reaction, good or bad, from her father.

Benedikt wished she wouldn’t. It made his job ten times harder than it needed to be...

‘I have a proposition for you,’ Millie quietly stated.

This should be good. But whatever it was, he’d have to say no. He didn’t make deals with teenagers who were barely adults. No matter how much maturity, determination and sense of purpose he saw in their eyes.

‘I want to get married.’

Benedikt blinked, then frowned. She was eighteen, far too young for marriage.

Millie pushed her heavy fringe from her face with a black-tipped finger. ‘You’re wondering why I’m telling you this. Can I explain?’

Benedikt nodded, disconcerted by the direction of their conversation.

‘Magnús is not my real dad,’ Millie stated, looking down. Benedikt’s attention sharpened even further. What was she talking about?

‘Why do you think that?’ he asked, keeping his tone even.

‘Magnús let it slip during an explosive argument recently. He told me he’s glad I don’t carry his DNA because I’m a complete embarrassment.’

Beneath her pale foundation, he saw stripes under her eyes and a tension in her mouth no one her age should have.

‘He wasn’t supposed to tell me, he’d promised my mum he wouldn’t, but I think he’s relieved I know.’

Ben rubbed his jaw, not sure what to say or do, or how this related to her wish to get married.

‘It explains why Magnús and I never got along,’ Millie added.

He glanced at his monitor and wished he could get back to work. He didn’t understand why she was talking to him about this. He ran the company, he wasn’t her confessor.

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