Fiancée For Sale Page 3

  And…I reach out to touch the fabric on the shirt in my closet. Silky shirt, it is. Because I might think Michael Parsons is crazy, but he’s sexy crazy and I want him to think I’m hot.

  Right before I tell him I refuse to be his wife.

  CHAPTER SIX

  ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

  Michael

  S he said simple. If she were going to be proposed to, she said simple and sincere, so that’s what I’m going to do. A picnic is as simple and sincere as it gets.

  I’m ready for her when she arrives, but she stops just outside the awning I’ve set up and stares at the table and chairs. Her hair curls over her shoulders and her shorts show off her long legs. Her blouse hugs her figure just right, making it hard for me to see anything else but her.

  “This isn’t a picnic,” she says.

  “Then what is it?”

  “An overt display of excessive wealth. Or maybe you have a little too much time on your hands.”

  I laugh. “I definitely don’t have too much time on my hands.”

  In fact, I had to rearrange my schedule to make this work. And that’s also one of the main reasons I don’t have a girlfriend. I never had time for it in the past. No, I never made time. My colleagues could understand that part of it, but never my family. My mom and dad have been married for twenty-five years and my sister for five. They’re all still happy and wondering why I choose not to be.

  It’s hard for them to understand that work does make me happy. But I’ve never tried it another way, and I do envy them having someone to come home to each night.

  “Have a seat,” I say, gesturing to the table.

  She looks self-conscious as she sits at the round table. “People are staring at us.”

  I glance around. “I guess. I don’t really notice anymore.”

  “I wish I could be more like you. I care way too much what everyone else thinks.”

  I grin at her, already having trouble keeping my hands to myself. “They’re just jealous we get champagne.”

  “Champagne?” Her eyes come back to the table. “And flowers?”

  I pour her a glass while she runs her finger along a petal of one of the roses. “This is a nice date.”

  “Nice enough you’d consider talking to me about the rest?”

  She narrows her gaze on mine. “I thought this was just a date.”

  “Not for me. I’m still committed to this idea.”

  She sips her champagne, then closes her eyes briefly. “Damn. This is really good.”

  “Be my wife and you can have champagne every day.”

  She chokes, and then laughs. “Tempting. I imagine you’re pretty used to getting your way.”

  I am. “I’m not above negotiation.”

  “A marriage…” She swallows, and I see she’s still having trouble with the concept. “It shouldn’t have to be a negotiation.”

  “Maybe it would have worked out better for you last time if it was.”

  Her lips part, hurt flashing in her eyes. Shit. I hadn’t meant that to come out the way it had.

  “Brianna,” I say cautiously, “I wasn’t trying to be mean.”

  “You’re right.” She downs the rest of her champagne and holds her flute out for more. “Maybe if had been thinking less with my heart and more with my head, I wouldn’t have chosen Chet.”

  I wrap my fingers around her wrist to hold her hand steady as I pour. Her gaze links with mine. “Sometimes I think too much with my head. I need a little heart. I think we might make the perfect couple.”

  And I find I mean it. I want this business arrangement but there’s something more there. Something drawing me to her. My gaze drops to her mouth. Hell. This is the first time I’ve been interested in a woman for more than a one-night stand.

  Her lips curve, and I swear she’s checking me out just as much as I’m checking her out. She likes what she sees—I can tell. This might be the best idea I’ve had all year. And worst-case scenario, we divorce in a year and everything will go back to normal. I can say I tried, she can get her money back on her investment, and no one will be worse for the wear.

  Before she can say anything else, I take her hand. Her fingers are warm, slender, and they fit perfectly in mine. “Say yes. This will work for both of us.”

  “I always thought…” Her eyes stray to the flowers. “I thought if—when—I got married, it would be because of love.”

  I’d never thought that—which is ridiculous, because my parents still love each other. And my sister loves her husband. I’ve had good examples. But I’ve also had bad ones. Most of the men I work with married out of convenience. Or they’re cheating on their wives. Or their wives are cheating on them.

  I figured if I ever got married, it would be later in life and it would be if it suited me and my place in life at the time.

  A business deal.

  “It’s not forever,” I say. “It’s long enough for both of us to get what we want.”

  “How long?”

  “A year.”

  She freezes. “A year can be a long time.”

  “It can also go by in the blink of an eye. One year, one million dollars.”

  Her hand flexes in mine, but I don’t let it go.

  “One million…”

  “Dollars,” I say. “Yes. Unless you’d like to negotiate.”

  Her mouth hangs open. “I can’t believe you’re going to pay me to marry you.”

  “It’s not like you won’t be doing anything. You’ll have duties.”

  She snatches her hand away. “Ew.”

  I laugh, and though I hadn’t been thinking sex before, I am now. I’m thinking of her long limbs wrapped around me, her voice husky, her eyes going unfocused as I pump myself into her over and over again. I’m thinking how good she’d look in my bed. Naked. Wrapped in my sheets, legs open, calling my name.

  “That’s not what I meant,” I say. “I meant you’ll be required to attend functions with me. Be the dutiful wife—at least out in public. At home, you’re under no obligation to spend time with me.”

  Though I find myself wishing she would. If I hadn’t been in this place, I’d be wishing for more. That she’d want to spend nights or weekends with me. But I’m smart enough and old enough to know I can’t get everything I want—though I’m pretty damn sure I could coax her into have dinner with me here and there.

  “What do you think?” I ask.

  She shakes her head slowly, like she doesn’t know what to think. I’m extremely good at convincing people, but I get the feeling Brianna doesn’t need much convincing. In fact, I get the feeling she’s already made up her mind.

  “I think…I don’t know if I can do a marriage,” she says. “An engagement, though.”

  I consider this. It might be better. A marriage means we have to get a divorce. But an engagement. It’s close enough without the rest of the mess.

  “We can negotiate that, too, though I think you might be onto something. I think an engagement might be better.” I sip my champagne and then lift my eyebrows at her. “What do you think?”

  “I…”

  “I think the only thing holding you back is that this seems too good to be true,” I say.

  “It is. That, and secretly you could be a psycho.”

  “I’m not.” I grin. “Which, I know, that’s exactly what a psycho would say. But I’ll do a background check, and even better—I’ll let you talk to my mom.”

  She straightens. “Your mom?”

  “Yes, she’ll probably want to know if I’m engaged. She’ll want to meet you. I’m really good with parents, too. I’ll impress the pants off yours.”

  She frowns. “There’s no parents. No family.” I open my mouth to question her, but she quickly holds out a hand. “Mr. Parsons, you have a deal.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

  Brianna

  I ’m in his penthouse. I’m fake engaged. I’m a millionaire.

  I can’t d
ecide which of these is more insane. Of course, I’m not a millionaire yet. But as long as I uphold my end of the bargain, I’ll be one million dollars richer in a year. In the meantime, I have to live with Michael Parsons and pretend he’s my fiancé.

  And today, we’re telling his parents.

  A knock sounds on my bedroom door and I jump away from the mirror. Michael is waiting for me, but I’m so nervous I’m not sure I can do this.

  “Are you ready?” he asks.

  “Uh…” I take another peek in the mirror. I don’t look like myself. I don’t feel like myself either.

  But that’s the point, right? I’d made a decision—this one just for myself. To get my career on its feet, to stop playing it safe. To do something other than wait for my life to happen.

  I open the door and give him a smile. “I’m ready.”

  He presses a hand to his chest. “Damn.”

  My cheeks heat. It’s just a dress—a dress he asked me to wear. But I feel wonderful in it. I do a spin to distract myself. “You like?”

  “I love.”

  He reaches out and pulls me into his arms before I can blink.

  “Michael,” I say, surprised. “I…”

  “We’re supposed to be in love. We have to make it look real.” When I don’t seem to look convinced, he angles his head at me. “You signed the papers.”

  I did. And I know this is part of it. But that’s supposed to be in front of people, not in his home.

  “Clearly we need practice,” he murmurs, leaning in to brush his lips on my jaw. I shiver. “Pretend with me.”

  I lift my chin. I stare into his eyes. They’re hypnotic. I’d probably agree to anything right now.

  Then he lowers his head and brushes his mouth against mine. Once, twice, and just as my lips part, the elevator doors ding.

  I straighten. He curses.

  Then he grins. “Saved by the bell.”

  He eased back but keeps my hand in his. “Damn, you’re not too bad at pretending.”

  My legs are shaking. “Neither are you.”

  We meet his parents at the elevator, and it’s like a whirlwind whooshes into the room. Michael’s mom envelopes me in a hug and her high-pitched squeal could have reached dogs’ ears a mile away. I like her immediately.

  “You know,” she says conspiratorially, “Michael has never introduced us to a girlfriend before. Not even when he was living at home.”

  I glance at Michael and grin when he rolls his eyes. Part of me feels awkward lying to his parents, but the other part figures I’m doing him—and them—a favor. If him having a girlfriend—and fiancée—makes them that happy, then I don’t mind helping.

  She links her arm through mine, and we walk out to the terrace, the skirt of my short dress swishing around my legs.

  “You are just divine,” she says.

  I glance over my shoulder to make sure Michael is following me. He can’t leave me alone with her. What if I say something wrong? What if our stories don’t match? We came up with a plan, but still…he’s got the confidence to pull it off. I don’t.

  He looks amused, but he follows us outside, where there’s already someone prepped to make drinks.

  Is this what my life is going to be like now? And for the next year? Having someone at my beck and call?

  I can’t tell whether it’s going to be wonderful or irritating, but I know it’ll be an adventure.

  “So,” Mr. Parsons says, “tell us how you met.”

  My throat dries. I glance at Michael. He leans against the back of an outdoor couch where his dad is sitting. “We met in a bar.”

  I gape at him. He’s not going to tell the truth, is he?

  “A terrible, dumpy bar that I know for a fact is one of Brianna’s favorites.”

  It is. And how does he know that?

  Mrs. Parsons’s nose scrunches up. “A bar? Michael—were you seriously trying to find a girlfriend in a bar?” She looks at me with a roll of her eyes. “No offense to you at all. You’re lovely. Michael just has a strange way of spending his downtime.”

  “I wasn’t looking for a girlfriend in a bar.” Michael walks to me and sets his hands on my shoulders, giving them a squeeze. “But that’s where I found her. Kind of like it was meant to be.”

  I fight another shiver. His words hit me right in my core, right in that place that needs to belong—that needs to be needed. Chet never said things to me like that. But Chet wasn’t the most romantic man in the world.

  He’d tell me he loved me, but then he’d follow it up with something like, “Of course I love you. You know that right?” Almost like he was trying to convince me. Or maybe…maybe he was trying to convince himself.

  I try to get back on my game. I’m playing a part here, just like Michael.

  “I don’t typically pick up men in bars either,” I tell Mr. and Mrs. Parsons with a grin. “Just in case you’re wondering.”

  Mrs. Parsons sets her hand on mine. “Dear, you look way too classy for that. And too sweet. Tell me about yourself.”

  I tell her about my inspiration to become a graphic designer, and how I love art and all things creative. I tell her about my job at the coffee shop, which seems to surprise her but not offend her, and how it keeps me grounded.

  “I like that,” she says. “Nothing wrong with a little hard labor here and there—and it’s good to keep in touch with the people.”

  “Also,” Michael says with a grin, “it’s a good indicator that you’re not after my money.”

  I reach out and smack his arm, finding it much easier to play the part of the dutiful fiancée than I thought. Michael makes it easy, and so do his parents. I take my hand back and chide myself internally. I can’t get too caught up in this game. It’s not real. And it’s only for a year. If I let myself believe this is really my life, then it’ll be a huge letdown next year when I have to go back to the real world. Alone.

  But, I remind myself, I’ll be one million dollars richer. That should placate me, but one million dollars won’t take away the loneliness.

  Michael holds out his hand. “Would you like to help me with the drinks?”

  I set my hand in his and stand. He pulls me to the table where champagne flutes are already being set out.

  He leans in so his breath touches my ear. “You didn’t tell me you work at the coffee shop.”

  “Because I barely work there,” I say as chills race up my arms. “I had planned on quitting after the wedding but then I needed the money.”

  “You don’t have to stay.”

  I turn my head to lock eyes with him. Our mouths are only inches away from each other’s. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, you live with me now. You can take this time to follow your dream. You don’t have to work at the coffee shop.”

  “But then people really will think I’m after your money.” And isn’t that the truth anyway? I’m with him because of money. But he doesn’t look at me like that. He’s looking at me like we’re on a date. Like we’re a couple. Like we’re happy.

  “I don’t care what people think,” Michael says. “Except, we should probably spend more time together. Learn more about each other.”

  “I’d like that.”

  He leans in and kisses me softly on the mouth. And when I don’t pull away, he skims his tongue just briefly on my bottom lip, sending a jolt of electricity through me. Making need bloom inside.

  Space. I have to keep some space. This could be dangerous, getting too close. Letting myself believe this is real.

  I step back, fully aware his parents are watching us. And they seem to approve.

  It’s part of the ruse. Keep it up.

  So I take Michael’s hand and give it a little tug. “Are you ready for this?”

  He pats his pocket. “I even got the ring.”

  My heart clutches. The ring. That’s right. I’m supposed to be wearing a ring.

  “Don’t worry,” he says, “I’m sure you’ll love it.”

  I
release a breath. I’m not worried about loving the ring. I’m worried about not hating it. Or not being indifferent.

  Danger! Danger!

  My heart keeps screaming at me, but my head overrules it. It’s business. This is a job. That’s all.

  I walk with Michael back to his parents and put on a smile. Time to tell them we’re engaged.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

  Michael

  “I t’s official,” Derek says from the chair on the other side of my desk.

  Behind me in my office, there’s a bank of windows that gives me a view of the entire city. It’s spectacular up here, and makes me forget all too often that I’m actually at work. But then, lately work doesn’t seem so much like work either. I’ve been thinking too much about Brianna and it’s distracting me.

  “What’s official?” I ask.

  Derek tosses a newspaper on the surface of the desk. I peek at it, but don’t bother to read the headlines.

  “You mean the engagement?”

  Derek nods. “Trust your mom to get the word out ASAP.”

  “That was the point of telling my parents, right? Aside from the obvious.” After all, I couldn’t keep it from them. They deserve to know I’m engaged.

  But my gut twinges with guilt. My mom was so happy. I’m pretty sure she wants to marry Brianna herself. It’s not going to be easy when the fake engagement is broken off after a year. I don’t like the idea of that, but I keep the thought to myself.

  I still barely know Brianna and this is just a business deal. She seems to be content keeping herself from me. I think she’s making it more business than I am, and I’m starting to really hate that. I actually want to know her.

  I keep telling myself she’s just guarded because of her ex-fiancé, but part of me is impatient to move things along.

  “How are things working out with her so far?” Derek asks, lifting his eyebrows.

  “Seriously? I saw how you looked at her when she signed the contract. She’s not available.”

  Derek rolls his eyes. “Well, sure, not now. She’s engaged to you. But that’s not real. And it’ll be over before you know it.”

  Jealousy and possessiveness hit me. Brianna is mine. What the hell is Derek thinking? And then I realize, he’s probably thinking the same thing I’d be thinking if I were in his position.