I try not to think what might’ve happened if she’d been less hurt and I’d been less of a hulking prick.
She takes the pen and touches it to the paper but doesn’t sign.
“So, hold up. What do we tell people when they ask about us? Everyone at the office, I mean?”
Her beautiful face grabs me, innocent eyes lit by the soft glow of the gas fireplace.
“I’ll handle it. I’ll tell them I wasn’t planning on it, but when I met you...you captured my heart. I had no choice.”
She raises a skeptical eyebrow and her cheeks glow red.
“Like it’s that easy? They’d just believe it?”
“Office romances happen all the time. I’ll tell them...that I knew you were mine the first day you walked into the office. I’ll say you’re brilliant, graced with Cinderella good looks, and we both have so much in common with our interest in art. Besides, how could I possibly resist falling for the woman who saved Grandma’s life?” I never break eye contact.
Shit. This is coming out heavier than I intended, but it’s convincing.
I think.
Her eyes widen like jade discs as I’m talking, bright and lively and dangerously mesmerizing—and then her gaze drops to my lips.
My dick stirs in my trousers, and I hate the ragged breath I take.
Knock it the hell off, Ward. You’re not relationship material and this situation is already awkward enough, a voice warns me.
She blinks and shakes her head for a moment. “But my parents? What am I supposed to tell them? We’ve had so much drama in our family, what with Milah and Liv and their misadventures. If Mom thinks we’re really engaged, she’ll be heartbroken when it’s over. She’s been after me to get married since the day I graduated college.”
I smile. “That old-fashioned, huh?”
“Nah. She just loves reminding me she won’t live forever and she wants to know there’s someone to keep me company. But in a country with a fifty percent divorce rate, that’s delusional. Nothing keeps the guy from dropping me for his secretary seven years later. Mom just needs to chill on the wedding fever.”
My blood heats and I look at her too intently.
“No man with a brain would drop you for anyone, Paige Holly. Never.”
She looks away.
Fuck.
I can tell she’s fighting the blush braising her cheeks, and losing.
“Whatever. The point is, I can’t tell my mom we’re engaged and with all of your planned appearances...she’s going to find out sooner or later. And then she’s gonna be pissed I not only didn’t tell her, but moved in with you and left her to hear about it from the Chicago press.”
Her lips twist sourly.
Dammit, she’s getting cold feet.
I have to gag her voice of reason, and fast.
“There’s an addendum, a solution to this very issue. You can tell the truth to anyone willing to sign an NDA and not talk about it for an entire year. That should take care of your parents, plus any nosy friends.”
“And the media? They’re going to be hounding me nonstop. You’re always so composed, but...I’m not used to the attention. I don’t hide my emotions well.”
“Just keep your distance from shit-hounds like The Chicago Tea.” I clench my jaw. “Look, I’ll try to keep you out of the limelight, unless you’re with me. Even then, I’ll toss them the red meat they want. But if I didn’t have faith you could handle it, you wouldn’t be here, Paige.”
She smiles, small and fragile and luscious.
“If you can think of something nice to say about me that’s also true, say that,” I continue. “Maybe don’t tell them I’m a Wardhole. Refuse to answer questions about how we met. I’ll take care of that part. Here.” I slide the contract toward her again. “Sign this and you’ll have your deposit tonight.”
Shoulders square, I sit up so straight my spine aches.
I should probably give her one last chance to change her mind. If she’s in over her head and can’t handle the situation, that would be the opposite of helpful.
I cast her a heavy look, folding my hands, drilling my eyes into her.
“I’ll be brutally honest. This will be difficult. Reporters will want to draw contrasts between this—our relationship—and my parents’ joke of a marriage. Being a Brandt comes with a certain history, and not all of it pleasant. There are scandals in my past that may—no, that will come up. Frankly, this might be ninety days of hell for you.”
Her eyes widen. She shifts uncomfortably in her seat, a blond lock spilling over her ear.
“Scandals? Like?”
“The less you know about it, the better,” I bite off. “And the more honest you’ll be when answering their questions. Let me do the talking if—when—they become relevant.”
She gnaws on her lip again, a gesture that’s very nearly my undoing.
“Ninety days,” she says softly.
“Ninety damn days. That’s the duration, with negotiable extensions. It’ll probably take at least that long to close the Winthrope deal. But there’s an addendum to push this beyond the ninety-day period. Of course, in that event, you’ll receive additional compensation.”