Page 29

“She must make a lot of money. Are you sure this wouldn’t be another scandal in the making?” I force myself not to look toward the exit, where I more sense than see Saar arguing with that Vito guy.

Betsy straightens up, her cleavage practically covering the whole table, and looks at me like… well, like my English teacher again. Fuck this woman with her haughty attitude. “She wants to retire.” She perks up.

“That’s fine, but what happened? Did she spend all she earned?” I snort. “Well, I’ll need a really good prenup,” I say, unreasonably excited about the prospect of marrying Saar van den Linden.

But being the bastard that I am, I utter the words because I assume Betsy’s brightening relates to Saar and Vito’s return, which is immediately confirmed.

“An iron-clad prenup is one of my conditions as well.” Saar sits down across from me, her features arranged in a stone-cold manner, a mixture of animosity and resignation.

And why does she look at me like her being here is my fault?

Those fucking blues. That’s what always captivated my attention, her haunted gaze. I never allowed myself to investigate further what it is I see in her eyes.

Now, when she holds my gaze like it’s a contest, something stirs in me. A weird, misplaced need to bring a spark to those eyes. To find out who or what made her so guarded. To protect her from it.

That is just a plain fucked-up sentiment on my part. Over the years, at every brief encounter, she made it abundantly clear she wants nothing to do with me.

And yet, she came back to this table.

“One of your conditions? There is more?” I smirk, leaning back in my chair.

“Before we move ahead,” Betsy fucking dares to interrupt. “Corm, this is Vito Conti. We have collaborated before. He’s Saar’s manager.”

“Nice to meet you.” Vito smiles at me like he is in any way relevant.

But he’s relevant to Saar, because she smiles at him and he pats her hand. He returns her smile and nods. Reassuring her?

And why does a part of me want her to look at me with so much affection? Or why do I want to punch his face for touching her? Maybe pretending to marry a woman I have been mildly obsessed with isn’t the best idea.

Betsy fidgets and clears her throat. “The two of you”—she points between me and Saar—“clearly don’t need an introduction, but I hope your prior relationship won’t be a problem here.”

“There is no relationship.” Saar looks offended by the mere suggestion.

Betsy gives her a professional, condescending smile. Why does she work with people if she doesn’t like them? “What I meant is that from my client’s perspective, your future relationship would require publicity. I would need you to not only pretend that you can stand each other, but actually pretend you are in love.”

Saar snorts. “I have been photographed most of my life. I’m paid to look a certain way. I can look madly in love with him.”

“Him” falls from her lips, flat and flavorless.

She leans forward, stretching her arm over the table. Placing her delicate hand on my chest, she looks at me through her lashes and smiles ever so lightly.

She licks her lips, and the gesture surges blood to my groin, my cock twitching. Her touch is light, but even through my shirt and my suit jacket, it burns me.

She dusts a nonexistent lint from the fabric. “You had something there, Cormy-bear,” she breathes.

She doesn’t fucking say, she breathes, and I inhale sharply like some teenager.

Leaning back, she winks and gives a blinding smile to Betsy, who is staring wide-eyed.

“Oh, was the pet name too much?” Saar blinks innocently. “Should I stick with a more traditional one and call him darling or honey?”

Fuck, she is selling the act well. Vito bows his head, hiding his smirk, pleased with himself like her performance was his achievement. Asshole.

What’s more concerning, however, is my body’s reaction to her fake display of affection.

Goose bumps, held breath, and a fucking semi in my pants. I better sign the deal between Vladislav and Donovan quickly. This is going to be a challenge.

My competitive nature kicks in fully, and damn me if I don’t see this through. She thinks she can rile me up; she’s in for a surprise.