Page 9 of Bride on the Dotted Line (Blackstone Center #1)

Sienna

I’m frozen in my seat, staring back at Nick like he just sprouted a second head. Did those words really come out of his mouth?

Marry me.

The rich taste of the wine goes ashen on my tongue. This has to be a ploy to see how desperate for money my family is. A prank, maybe. But why? I know the Harwoods are out of touch with people like me, but how could Nick be this callous? I thought he was better than that.

“Marry you? Have you lost your mind?”

Nick leans closer, speaking quietly so the people sitting at the tables next to us can’t eavesdrop.

“Hear me out. You and I would make the perfect team for something like this. Together, we’d be just the people my father and his board are looking for.

We’re both smart and have a good understanding of what’s going on with the company—how serious it is. I’m sure we can play the part.”

My mouth falls open. Play the part? Like, acting? None of the thoughts in my head are making sense.

“We’d all have a win in this, Sienna. Dad can hand over the company peacefully, shareholders get the image they want and begin to reinvest, I secure the CEO role my mom wanted for me … and you secure enough money to consider your father’s past a small issue.”

Every time he talks about my father, I wince. It’s already hard enough to process this information without feeling like I’m being blackmailed. What Nick is saying doesn’t sound like blackmail, though. In fact, he’s the one that seems nervous, like he really needs me to say yes to his offer.

Who the hell is Nick Harwood? Beyond what I’ve read about him, our texts, and our three meetings, is there one real thing I know about this man?

“I don’t understand,” I tell him. I came here tonight thinking I could use our professional flirtationship to Lena, Mason, and I’s advantage. Now I’m not sure my instincts about him were right after all.

He may look like a Disney prince with his suit and his eyes and his burnished brass hair, but what if he’s not?

Nick runs a hand over his jaw. “I know you might be worried about the logistics, but I assure you, everything will be above board. We’re two adults that want different things. A marriage could be our ticket—and if we treat it like a business agreement, there will be no need to worry.”

I look at him—his loosened tie, the anxious curve of his mouth, his earnest expression—and it finally clicks.

He wants me to marry him as part of his PR stunt. To speed up the timeline; to make sure he’s prepared for the charity gala.

And he’s willing to pay me more money than I’ve ever seen in my life to do it.

“Once the company’s been handed over,” he continues, “we’ll get a divorce, and you’ll never have to see me again.”

But it can’t be that simple. None of this can.

“I’m … um …” The restaurant is closing in around me. Heat creeps up my neck, and my dress is pinching me in all the wrong places—except where the thought of Nick, of marrying Nick, makes my skin suddenly hypersensitive. I don’t know how to respond to him; I just know I need to get out of here.

Rising to my feet, I pick up my purse. Nick follows my movements. I can tell he’s struggling not to react.

“Excuse me,” I say, “but I think I’m going to leave.”

He reaches across the table, and I’m forced to scan up the built length of his arm to his dark, beautiful eyes. They’re mesmerizing. They’re trouble.

“Let me call you a driver, at least.”

I shake my head. “I’m fine on my own.”

And before he can say another word to convince me otherwise, I’ve spun on my heel and am heading for the door.

Later, my fingers find my phone next to me in bed. The room is pitch-black, dark enough to make my eyes feel closed when they’re open.

2:14 AM.

I’ve been lying here awake for four hours.

Marry me.

Those words, in Nick’s voice. I can’t decipher the emotions rolling through me.

I’m enraged—angry enough to spit fire—but I feel sorry for myself, too.

I’ve never dated a man who wanted to get married.

Sure, I’ve never dated a man I particularly liked , either, but my dream was to have the first man who said those words to me, be the last.

Groaning, I hit my forehead with the heel of my hand. Get it straight, Sienna. It wasn’t a real proposal. Why would it be? We barely know each other. Nick hasn’t taken anything away from me.

But he did offer to give me something.

My family’s debts paid. All the problems of the last year solved. The first clean, unburdened breath I’ve taken in almost a year. All in exchange for playing house with him for three months.

“Fuck,” I say out loud to no one. “ Fuck. ”

Should I be guilty there’s a part of me that feels flattered?

Pleased that he asked me to do this with him?

He must think I would make a good impression on the shareholders and the media.

It’s almost laughable, considering how risky this deal would be with my dad’s reputation out there for the world—and every tabloid in the city—to find.

He still chose me .

The billionaire heir, the notorious bad boy, the onion that is Nick Harwood … chose me.

How does Nick even want to play this? Would we keep the deal from our families? Have them believe it’s real and that we’re in love? Mason and Lena would never buy it. Even my mom, as far away and occupied as she is, would see through the pretense.

If we decided to do this—which we won’t, because I won’t say yes—we’d need a foolproof plan, one that accounts for every possible crack in the hull.

If, if, if.

I’m tired of pretending like I’m ever going to fall asleep. I roll off my bed and throw on a robe, my feet taking me into the kitchen, where I stand in front of my sink. I reach for a glass and turn on the faucet, only to have the handle wobble in my hand and freezing water splash all over me.

“Ugh.” I squeeze my soaked sleeves over the sink, then turn around and stare despondently into my basement suite.

My oven is broken—it has been for two-and-a-half months. The stains on the ceiling above my couch seem to be getting bigger, and I’m pretty sure my heating is faulty. Behind me, the faucet drips. There’s a stack of bills on the living room table, a low-balance alert in my notifications.

There have been times during the last year when my heart has felt dead. My family lost everything when my dad’s business failed. The things I used to enjoy are either indulgences, wastes of time, or don’t exist anymore. I’m stuck.

But then there’s Nick.

Masculine, intelligent, charming; Nick.

Trouble ; Nick.

He made me forget the broken faucet and the unpaid bills. He unstuck me, even if just for a few moments at a business meeting or on my phone.

A notification chimes from the pocket of my robe. I startle, surprised anyone would text me in the middle of the night. I’m even more surprised to see Nick’s name.

Nick

You don’t have to accept my offer. I’ll sign your contract either way.

Let me know how you feel, and we’ll go from there.

A short message, but it sends a wave of excitement rushing through my body. My stomach does that tug again, that nameless feeling I get whenever I think about him. I rub a hand over my face.

He’s up late, too. Thinking about tonight. Thinking about me.

Maybe my life will always be full of these contradictions. My dad didn’t deserve to lose his business, but he did. I shouldn’t need to worry about his debts, but I do. PR Managers shouldn’t have a family with a closet full of damning lies said about them, but here I am.

I shouldn’t fake marry Nick Harwood for money.

I shouldn’t.

But I …

I take one more look around my basement suite. Lift my phone. Send a reply.

Sienna

I’m open to exploring it.

Sorry I panicked.

Nick

Understandable. It’s not exactly a normal business idea.

I hope you know what you’re doing.

I do. If you do.