He's sure I'm going to beg him to bend me over the table and fuck me.
My cheeks warm. Then my chest. Stomach. Thighs.
My body is more than willing.
The image is already in my head.
The red fabric against my cheek, my dress at my waist, Ty's hand on my thigh.
I already want him so badly.
Would it be so bad to beg?
What good is pride compared to satisfaction?
"I'll do it." I force the words from my lips. They're heavy with the weight of that promise.
He offers his hand.
I shake.
"What now?" I pick up my fork. Savor the chewy pasta, fresh tomatoes, spicy sauce. As if this is a normal dinner. As if I didn't just agree to trade ten years of my life for ten million dollars.
"I already have the paperwork. I need to change a few details," he says. "Come to my office tomorrow. We'll sign. My assistant will arrange the rest."
"The rest?"
"A wedding planner. A personal shopper. An image consultant if you'd like one." His eyes flit to my chest. "I'd rather you wear this every fucking day, but the people we need to impress—"
"Tyler Hunt wouldn't marry a woman who shops at ASOS?"
"There are high end dresses on ASOS."
"This isn't—"
"It feels like you're setting me up." His voice drops an octave. "To say I hate the dress and need to do away with it immediately."
My cheeks flush.
"Are you?"
"No."
"You look gorgeous. You know that."
"Do I?" I ask.
His voice is stern. "Don't play dumb with me. It doesn’t suit you.”
Is that a compliment or an insult?
“You look gorgeous in that dress. I don't give a fuck what it costs."
My sex clenches. My body threatens to take over. I'm losing control. And losing interest in holding onto it. "But your friends do?"
There. I push the words out. Anything to keep me here, in reality.
To keep me from falling to my knees and begging.
I want him, yes. Badly.
I'm not too proud to beg him. But only if I make him work for it. Only if he's as desperate as I am.
His voice softens. "You know this world as well as I do."
"Only as the help."
His shoulders tense. His eyes fill with something I can't place. "I'm sorry if I ever made you feel like that. I didn't grow up in this world. I'll never fit into it. But I do know it from this side. And I know what you'll expect."
Scrutiny. Over my hair, my makeup, my clothes, my education, my family.
At least I have that. One American hero for a father. One grieving widow mother, now with her late husband forever.
One Cinderella story and here's Prince Charming.
"I want you. And I want you to feel like yourself," he says. "Just—"
"The rich version?"
"Yes."
"I suppose it wouldn't look great if your fiancée showed up in a fifty-dollar dress."
"If you mention the dress again, I'm ordering you to take it off."
My thighs press together.
"I know this is going to be difficult. I know I'm asking a lot. But… I want to make it easy for you when I can. If you'd prefer, I'll have someone from my team handle everything. The wedding. Your wardrobe. Your move."
"I want the summer with Sienna. It's my last summer before she goes to school."
His nod is understanding. "There are a lot of details. We don't have to decide all of them today."
"Okay." I finish my last sip of wine. Savor the fruity flavor. The perfect balance of light and dark. Strong enough for the tomato sauce, but not so strong it overpowers the spice.
It's just right.
He always knows what I need.
And I want to be there. In that world. With my thoughts gone and my entire body tuned to him.
Which means I need to go. Before my body takes over. "I… uh, I should get back to her. It's getting late."
It's not getting late, but he doesn't call me on it.
"Your office? Tomorrow?" I ask. "Anytime?"
"Lunch. We'll start working on our story."
Right. Our story.
"And we'll practice."
"Practice?"
"Looking like we're madly in love."
I shake goodbye, even though I want to hug him. Even though I want to kiss him and touch him and collapse in his arms.
I expect the long subway ride to dull the ache between my legs, but it doesn't.
I'm still buzzing. From his touch, his stare, his promise.
And the thrill of my problems dissolving.
Ten million dollars.
It's unthinkable and it's mine.
Not for a while, but a hundred grand will keep me comfortable for a long time.
And the mortgage paid, Sienna's school covered—
It's everything.
"In-di-go." Sienna pulls the door open. She throws her arms around me. Pulls me inside. (We're both tall, but she's an athlete. She's much stronger than I am.) "You have a lot to explain, young lady."
"Do I?"
She nods absolutely. Motions to the kitchen table with a stern we need to talk expression.
"It's serious?"
"Very serious." She fills two glasses with water. Brings both to the table. Waits for me to sit.
Okay. Sure. I'll play along. "What is it I need to explain?"
"Look at the time."
I make a show of looking at the microwave clock.
"Indigo Simms! Are you even listening?"
"It's eight thirty."
"Yes."
"Am I home too late, Mom?"
She shakes her head. "Too late? Too early! I Google Mapped the restaurant. Twenty minutes on the subway."
"Okay."
She stands. Slams both hands on the table. The ultimate show of toughness. "How much time does that leave for dinner?"
"Do you have a point?"
"It's not even nine! Unless you spent the last two hours in a limo, canoodling with Mr. London, I demand an explanation."
A laugh escapes my lips. Then another. Another.
"Is this funny?"
Yes. I double over. Press my hand into my stomach. Oh my god. This is perfect… "Sienna…"
"You're supposed to be getting laid."
"I…"
"You… have an explanation, I hope."
"Oh my god."
"No, no, no, don't bring your god into this." She shakes her head with mock outrage. "This is between you and…"
"My god?"
She folds her arms. "Why aren't you enjoying carnal delights right now?"
"Because…"
"Because…"
Oh my god. She's ridiculous. I stand and pull my sister into a hug.
"This is not an explanation."
"You're not getting an explanation." I release her. "My sex life is not your business."
She frowns.
"When did you become so obsessed with sex?"
"Uh… always?"