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I step back so suddenly she drops to her chair, her eyes searching for a target, avoiding mine.

“Okay, why don’t we order lunch before we continue?” Vito suggests in his thick Italian accent.

“And copious amounts of alcohol,” I quip, my gaze on Saar.

She bristles and opens her mouth, no doubt to retort. Instead, she sits back, eyes narrowing. “I have demands.”

I don’t flinch. “By all means. I’m curious to see how creative you can get.”

“First, I want complete autonomy. My life, my schedule, my career—you don’t get to control anything. You just smile pretty for the cameras and stay out of my way.”

“Your career?” If retiring isn’t her reason to be here, then what is?

She flinches. “Yes, my career,” she snaps, and Vito reaches to touch the top of her hand. She glances at him before she straightens up, abandoning the topic. “No controlling me, no calling the shots.”

I shrug. “Done.”

She opens her mouth—and after my earlier macho move, I keep picturing those lips around my cock—but then jerks her head back and sags a bit, frowning. She didn’t expect my cooperation.

“What?” I chuckle. “You’re free to do whatever you like, as long as it doesn’t embarrass me or affect the business. Anything else?”

“I want a separate residence. I don’t care what the media thinks. I’m not living with you.”

“I’m pretty sure you’d enjoy sharing a bed with me, but your loss.” I shrug. “Deal.”

I would certainly enjoy having her in my space. Taunting her. Breaking her. Claiming her.

“No deal,” Betsy interjects.

Fuck, I almost forgot we are not alone. What the fuck is wrong with me? I’m always in control. In every fucking room. Every situation. And here I am, verbally and non-verbally sparing with this woman and forgetting about the real objective here.

“Miss van den Linden,” Betsy doesn’t sound like my English teacher anymore—more like a ruthless lawyer. Saar flinches. I rein in my irrational need to interfere.

“While I applaud your need for autonomy, this arrangement requires selling a fairy-tale love story. Mr. Quinn is under a tight schedule to improve his public image. And given the unfortunate current media attention, it won’t be an easy task. I will need you to comply with a public appearances schedule. And you need to move in together.”

I have to give it to Betsy, her tone doesn’t leave much room for argument. Saar glances at Vito, and he gives her the compassionate look again.

First, why doesn’t she search my eyes? It’s me she will live with.

Second, compassion? Give me a break. I’m not a monster.

Some communication passes between Saar and her manager before she sighs. “Separate bedrooms.”

Betsy gives us her insincere smile. “Wonderful. This arrangement will look great. You two look perfect together.” Her eyes flick to Saar. “You’re exactly the kind of woman we need to clean up Corm’s image. Beautiful, sophisticated—”

“She is not a prop,” I snap, cutting my PR handler off.

Saar’s eyes widen, and she looks at me with… Curiosity? Surprise? Wonder? Gratitude?

“I understand I’m here to be arm candy.” Saar’s gaze on me turns harder.

I hold her gaze, unflinching, fighting the urge to send everyone away and spend time with her alone.

The silence stretches between us, thick and heavy. The tension rolls off her. Something shifted when I cut Betsy off, but I don’t understand what.

Something about this woman is… She awakened the protector in me. A side I fucking didn’t know I have.

She showed me her teeth. She doesn’t need saving, and yet… It’s concerning how much I want to unravel her. To understand what is under that carefully hidden persona she shows to the public.