Love Contract (Bride of the Billionaire)
Page 4
In more ways than one…
“Just let me go, okay?” she asks. “I have work to do.”
“Yeah, you do. You have to marry me.”
“What are you talking about?” she sighs, exasperated. “Is this some kind of game you play with the girls—?”
“No game.” I shake my head. “And I’m dead serious. My father, the good for nothing drunk he is, just informed me that if I don’t introduce him to my fiancée and marry her within the next 24 hours, he’s going to kick me out of the company and everything I’ve built.”
I figure I might as well just be up front with her about it and not waste any time. I already called the girls I thought would be down, and I’m not about to ask some gold-digger or fame-seeking model either; my dad would see right through that.
No. I need her.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” she replies. She tries to pull away again, but I hold her firm. Just touching her wrist has me aching to be inside her. “Let go! Go ask one of the girls you post on your Instagram or something.”
“No, my dad would see right through that.” I shake my head. “No, it has to be someone he would believe I would marry. Someone like you.”
Someone I would gladly wake up to every morning. Christ, being able to turn over and grab that perfect ass and bury my cock inside her would be like waking up in heaven.
“Someone like me?” she laughs. “Someone like me would never marry you, Winter Wellington.”
“Why’s that?”
“Please,” she scoffs. “A yachting billionaire who thinks he’s Dan Bilzerian and has probably banged every girl on Instagram with over five hundred thousand followers?”
“Please,” I scoff back, imitating her. “I only go for one million.”
“See?” she replies. “You’re an asshole! And on top of that, you
r company is evil!”
“Evil?” I ask. “How so?”
“Ever heard of Caring Tree nursery?”
“No.” I shrug. “Should I have?”
She shakes her head and bites a lip. For a second, I wonder if she’s about to slap me. All I know is I’d love to slap that ass of hers.
“Oh, it’s just the nursery where I used to work,” she finally tells me. “The one you put out of business when you opened your stupid store.”
“Ahhhh.” I nod. “Hey, that’s how the market works. Competition. Or didn’t you take basic econ?”
I’m being a dick. I know that. But it’s only because I know she can take it. Which is good, because if she’s going to pretend to be my wife, she better be able to.
“Like I said,” she sneers. “You’re a prick and I would never marry you. I don’t care how good-looking you are—”
“Oh, you think I’m good-looking?” Her face falls when she realizes what she just said.
“I mean—how good-looking you think you are!” she stammers.
“That’s not what you said.” I grin. She’s playing hard to get. I want her even more now.
“But it’s what I meant,” she counters. “Now let go of me. I don’t care what happens to you with your dad. I’m never going to pretend to be your fake-wife—”
“One million dollars.”
That shuts her up. In fact, it stops her moving too. She just stands there and stares at me with the most gorgeous eyes I’ve ever seen, curtained by streams of brilliant brunette hair that frame her model-esque face.