My billionaire client hired me to be his fake fiancée for one week — then the contract ended.
Part 2
I found Craig exactly where this entire ridiculous arrangement had begun.
He was standing in his sprawling office, staring out the window at the darkening estate.
I walked quietly across the heavy rug and set the vintage sapphire ring down on the center of his mahogany desk.
The small clink of metal against wood echoed loudly in the silent room.
“The week is finished, Craig,” I said evenly.
“I have come to settle our account.”
“You owe me a written reference and fifty thousand dollars.”
“I will not hold you to the laughter.”
“That was Helen’s specific term, and I think she was paid in full.”
Craig slowly turned away from the window.
He looked at the ring sitting on the desk between us, but he didn’t reach for it.
“I find,” he said, his voice strangely hoarse, “that I do not want it back.”
“It is your mother’s ring,” I reminded him.
“I know exactly what I said.”
He stepped around the heavy desk and stopped right in front of me.
This brilliant, imposing billionaire suddenly didn’t look powerful at all.
He looked absolutely terrified.
He looked afraid in the specific way that only a deeply guarded man can be, having finally found the one thing he cannot bear to lose.
“I hired you to pretend, Megan,” he said softly.
“It was a cold, contemptible thing to do.”
“I knew it was wrong, and I did it anyway because I couldn’t think of any other way to put off a life I dreaded.”
“But somewhere in this wretched, beautiful week, the pretending simply stopped.”
“I didn’t even notice it happening.”
“Now I stand here owing you a check and a written lie, and I find I cannot pay it.”
“I cannot write a letter saying you are fit to be received anywhere else.”
“The only place I wish you to be received is right here.”
“Not for a week, and not for a watching audience.”
“I want you here for the entire rest of my life.”
The breath completely left my lungs.
“You promised your great-aunt,” I managed to say, my voice trembling.
“You are only keeping a hasty promise to a dying woman.”
“No,” Craig said, stepping closer.
He reached out and took my bare hand, holding it like it was the only steady thing in a spinning world.
“I made that promise lying straight through my teeth.”
“I was entirely certain I would break it.”
“I was certain that when you left, I would feel nothing but the old, familiar relief of a quiet house.”
“But then you walked out of this room five minutes ago.”
“The quiet came, and it wasn’t relief, Megan.”
“It was the worst, most hollow thing I have ever felt in my life.”
He drew a slow, shuddering breath.
“Helen saw it before I did.”
“She always told me I was slow.”
“She knew I was falling for you before I even realized what the feeling meant.”
“So I will name my price this time,” he whispered.
“You can refuse me plainly if you must.”
“My price is the rest of your life.”
“Marry me, not the ridiculous bargain we struck.”
“Just marry me.”
He didn’t let go of my hand.
I stared up at the man who had spent thirty-eight years locked inside his own emotional fortress.
His dark eyes were completely open, entirely vulnerable, and waiting for my answer.
Would a man who built walls his entire life really tear them down for someone he’d hired just seven days ago?
