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“Food and vendors.”
“Where we honeymooned.”
“Pregnancy speculations.” When he glared at me, I added, “Tell me I’m wrong.”
“You wanted months of content,” he pointed out.
“And this would protect me from having to testify, taking down Ollie with you.”
“We keep their attention. If we win in the court of public opinion, we win whatever game they’re playing.”
“Who cares about finances when they can talk tulle and chiffon?”
“Lobster or veal,” he supplied, shaking his head. I tucked away his disappointment for later because my heart felt like it might bust through my ribs like theKool-Aidman.
My mind was spinning, whirling with the overwhelm of so much new information, and my mouth opened and closed repeatedly. I turned for the windows again, needing space between us. Needing air that didn’t smell like him—no doubtsome pheromone-filled aftershave mixed with sea salt, designed to entice the women too smart to drop their panties the moment they saw dollar signs.
“I swear on my mother’s grave, I’ll treat you right. The prenup will be favorable. Enough to start fresh when this is over—hell, you could live comfortably for the rest of your life if you’re smart with it.”
Whirling on him, I demanded, “Are you trying to pay me proactive hush money to marry you for a media arrangement, Greyson? I don’t think that sin is covered by spousal immunity.”
He rubbed at the space between his brows, blowing out a harsh breath. “My, I’ve made one hell of an impression.” Pursing his lips, Greyson closed the distance again, replacing his hand on my arm. “No. I wouldn’t cheapen you that way.I didn’t mean it like that. Although, the rich marry for less. People still sign away their daughters for business arrangements and status regularly. The women agree because of the privilege afforded them.” He shook his head. “Never thought I’d be one of them. WhatI meantwas that legally speaking, I would handle this like I would with any woman willing to dedicate her life to me asmy wife. A standard prenup would account for you walking away fairly. Ask Ollie.”
Oliver’s ex, Carly, was the worst kind of woman. I wouldn’t have been shocked if she poked holes in the condom to land a Hart brother, with how little she cared for Mattie or their son Beau. Like the traditionalist he was, Ollie married her while she was pregnant with Matilda, but when Beau was a few months old, she ran off. Sent a courier with divorce papers. Made out like Satan’s mistress, with more money than most people would see in a lifetime.
Ollie got the kids.
My skin crawled just knowing someone could essentially sell off their babies for a few million—walk away with no care what became of the two human beings she brought into the world.
“I’m not like her.I don’t need your money, Greyson.” I weighed my words. “Beyond what I earn serving this company.That, I’ll continue taking.”
He smiled again. It was the most I’d seen on his face in anything but a focus-induced scowl. Perhaps itwasa mental breakdown, after all.
“I know. You weren’t particularly quiet the day you told your sister toeat the rich.”
My face flushed, but at the amused curve to his lips, I couldn’t help but laugh before slapping a hand over my mouth to silence it.
“It’s okay.” The dark chuckle that emerged from him sent a flock of birds flying through my chest. “I spent three deployments saying the same thing.”
I shook my head, chuckling despite myself. “What changed?”
“My spine was reconstructed with metal pins, and after the bitterness and rehab, I realized I could help more people with the resources my name garnered than the rifle in my hands.”
“Hmm,” I murmured, studying him and finding a carefully blank canvas of sincerity.
“Three years,” he said abruptly. “I think that should be long enough to dispel any rumors that may surface.” All the air in my lungs somehow squeezed into my cheeks before I blew it out in an endless stream as he went on.
“I mean this with as much respect as our respective positions garner, but I nearly killed you in two. Probably would’ve if I could get away with it. What makes you think I could possibly survive three?”
“This is different.”
“Explain.”
“You’re not my subordinate. As my wife, you’re my partner. You’re not answering to me; if anything, it would be the opposite. As my wife, I don’t have to pretend I don’t find you maddeningly attractive. It would be expected that you would move in with me, that my drivers chauffeur you, all the normal privileges for your position would be afforded. And I would insist on an honorable prenup. It’s my ass—my niece’s legacy in this company—you’d be saving.”
My swallow was suddenly painfully hard, but I managed. Brain stuck in a permanent buffering state after his words ‘maddeningly attractive.’ His flattery wasn’t winning him any points. I refused to let it.
“I’m asking the impossible of you. A long con bestowed to an untrained civilian, essentially, but you would be given all the assets my wife deserves—to do with them whatever you want. Fund charities, go get a doctorate, or buy a Birkin bag, I don’t care, frankly. It’s the least I could do if you agree. I’m not a man prone to begging, so that’s as close as I’ll get.”