Page 4 of Scream (Duchess & Devils #1)

“Christ, Sabrina, he’s not a bloody vampire or a general of war.”

“Isn’t he?” She asks after a beat, stepping away from her end of the table and walking out of the conference room. “You’ve signed my life away for three million dollars. ”

“Plus ten percent interest.”

She stops halfway to the door, and I finally catch a small glimpse of her face.

She squares her shoulders and tugs the hem of her blazer down.

“Every time you open your mouth I lose more respect for you, David . I hope you enjoy the next few months because once that band is on my finger, we’re through.

You will never ask of me another favor. Not.

A. Dime. So clean up your act, Mr. Winters.

If you are to go destitute, it’ll be my husband you will ask for coin.

After all, I’ll no longer be your puppet. ”

“Sabrina… I’m sorry.”

She shakes her head, looking at the ceiling, searching for something. “And I’m embarrassed,” she says over her shoulder, closing the glass conference room door behind her.

I move to the next camera feed showing her office where she closes the door, leaning against it, inhaling sharply. Her head shoots up and she goes to her desk, pressing something and a buzzer sounds.

“Miss Winters?”

“Yes, Lily, could you please get me in contact with Maksim Giordano? Please let him know I’d like us to go over this contract face-to-face, in a public setting.”

Interesting.

“Yes ma’am.”

I wait for my other cell phone to ring while she removes her pink blazer and sits behind her desk, flipping her old money blonde waves over her shoulder. The call takes less than five minutes to reach me.

“Yes?”

“Good morning, sir,” Jonathan Moretti, or Jonny, my assistant greets me, “I have a Sabrina Winters, a lawyer who would like to meet with you to go over… a contract? She'd like to know if tomorrow at noon works for you?”

It doesn't.

“Tomorrow at noon is fine. Have her email me the details.”

I hang up, staring at my future bride through the screen when her assistant buzzes in and relays the message. She thanks Lily, faces her computer screen, and begins to type.

She chose a small French bistro two blocks down from her firm, and as soon as I step into the place and out of the late August heat wave, she’s not hard to miss.

The sun shines on her honey blonde hair and creates this luminous glow but if that wasn’t bright, the dusty pink of her fashion-forward chiffon shirt and the puffy layered sleeves give her away.

I stride over to her, and she stands abruptly, the chair making a small screeching noise behind her.

“Mr. Giordano.” She says, her voice is an almost chipper mezzo-soprano, holding out her gloved hand which I take in mine. It’s… small. And even though it’s dainty, her grip is firm in a no-nonsense kind of way which tells me she’s had to make it that way so she’s taken seriously in her field.

She’s right.

Can’t trust a person with a limp handshake.

“In the flesh, Miss Winters.” I grin then let my eyes peruse her from her hair, down to her cat-like green eyes lined with kohl, the small beauty mark above her lip, her button nose, and her plush lips.

Are they real?

Her body, yes, a little more rounded and softer than the women I make sure I’m seen with, is generous, everywhere, including a soft swell of her stomach that protrudes a bit, but it doesn’t take away the way her pencil skirt stretches perfectly over her hips and I know if she turns around, she’d have an ass women pay thousands to have.

Up close and personal, she reminds me of a thicker Kate Winslet – Titanic era – mixed with some famous 1950s starlet. While her beauty is a bit in your face… she’s reserved. Cold.

She pulls her hand away and takes a seat. I follow, and that’s when I notice a well-dressed man with dirty blonde hair, mix-matched eyes, and a scar through his eyebrow sitting behind her watching our entire interaction.

I arch a brow in his direction. “Can we help you?”

“That’s Parker, my bodyguard, which brings me to our contract, Mr. Giordano,” she explains, reaching over, turning her torso to pull out documents from her pale pink briefcase in the seat beside her, a pink glittery pen with a fuzzy ball on top and a bright pink highlighter.

Christ, the only thing on this woman that isn’t pink is her skirt. It takes everything in me to keep my composure. What a ridiculous fucking woman. I should’ve thought this over more.

Our waitress comes but instead of asking for my order, an espresso is placed in front of me.

“Oh, I hope you don’t mind, I had your assistant Jonathan send over a list of your preferences, so I took the liberty of ordering for you.

I would have ordered a meal, but this won’t take long.

I’m sure you have much to do and I’m not one to waste time.

I’m sure you can appreciate that.” I can hear a faint English accent, barely there and yet the way her words are well-rounded, there’s an eloquence and cadence in her tone that screams princess .

“A list of my preferences?”

“Yes, who better to ask than the ones who are used to our demands?” She says, without looking at me, filtering through the papers in her hand. “Now, in section three of this… agreement, you agree to have your detail on me, and I would like to veto that. I have Parker.”

“I have my own security team that will be following you.”

“Exactly. And I reiterate, that I would prefer Parker for the job.”

“Are you fucking him?”

Her eyes flash momentarily stunned but she schools her features quickly.

“No. Parker has been my bodyguard for almost four years now and I… have… issues with too many changes at once. It’s a non-negotiable, and one I won’t bow down to.

Parker stays or the contract is void. I don’t go anywhere without him; I am comfortable with him. ”

“You don’t trust my men.”

“No, I do not. I do not know them.” She says matter-of-factly with a slow blink. “If you want me to feel safe, Parker comes with me.”

“He’ll still report to me.”

“Wrong. He reports to my mother.”

I look at the brawny fucker.

“I assure you he’s properly trained, former ops, did two tours, and is paid handsomely to deal with my mother on my behalf.”

“How old is he?”

“I-“ She turns to face him and I watch as her hair falls over her shoulder and around her chest. I flick my gaze back to Parker. “How old are you? Thirty-four?”

“Thirty-five.” He replies in a gruff voice, with a slight southern drawl.Oh great, she gave a redneck a gun.

“He’s thirty-five,” she repeats almost fascinated and that tells me that no, they aren’t fucking. He’s just staff and she sees him as staff and nothing else. Typical.

“Fine,” I agree. “Parker can stay.”

“Thank you, next order of business,” she says, flipping to the next highlighted section.

“You want to marry too quickly. I’m a socialite and given your…

status ,” cat eyes flick to mine then back down to the document as I take a sip of my espresso.

Fuck it’s good. “I believe it would benefit us if we’re seen together a few times.

While you and I know the reasons this marriage is happening, as a socialite, I should be seen with you more than just on the day of our wedding. ”

“What do you mean?”

“You’ll be courting me, Mr. Giordano.”

Christ, did I wake up in the Regency era?

“No, you did not.”

Shit, I must’ve said that out loud. “How would we even say we met?”

“Look over your right shoulder and to your left, Mr. Giordano.”

I do, tilting my head to the side and taking a peek over my shoulder and see a man with a baseball cap that has his phone set up against the silver napkin dispenser on his table. It’s flipped sideways like he’s watching a video on his phone, but the camera is in fact, placed in our direction.

“ That … is a paparazzo. He’s snapped at least four pictures of us since you sat down. They get sneakier and sneakier every year, it seems. This” she motions between us with a glove-laced finger “ is how we met.”

“How do you know that’s paparazzi?” He has one white earbud in place, and he looks interested in whatever is going on on his phone screen, not us. I turn back to face my future bride.

“How do you not?” She asks, her eyes fully on me now, an impeccably groomed brown brow arched.

“The story will be that we met while I worked a case, you had some answers I needed on behalf of a client, and it was love at first sight. We’ll be seen at a charity gala together one month from now, and then two weeks later we will be seen at dinner.

Your choice of restaurant, although you should know I’m not fond of loud nor cramped places.

You will propose to me New Year’s Eve,” she slides over a picture of a ring.

Rose gold, three little white stones on either side, and in the center, one large, pink oval diamond.

“A pink diamond?”

“Seeing as it will be my only marriage and it so happens it’s arranged, then I’m arranging this for it to also be for my benefit.

Seeing as it’s something I’ll not only have to wear every day but have to look at it as well, that is the ring I want.

I’ve taken away the guessing games. What do your people say? Capiche ?”

I nod once.

“Perfect. Let’s continue.” Sabrina flips a few more pages and finds another highlighted page. “It says here you’ll receive your payment in increments of one million quarterly with ten percent in interest once the first year of marriage is completed. Is this still fine with you?”

Better than waiting two fucking years for her to come into her trust fund and letting her worm of a father live. “Yes, that’s fine,” I say through gritted teeth.

“Oh, and Mr. Giordano- “

“Call me Maks, Sabrina.”

She nods mindlessly, “Mr. Giordano,” she goes to the next highlighted section which states we’ll be living in my penthouse.

“I would like to let you know now, I will be keeping my home in Brooklyn Heights and when it comes to your penthouse, I require my own bedroom, and I won’t be giving you heirs.

” She taps the fuzzy ball on her pen to the table looking at me expectantly, as if this is the part I’m supposed to refuse her and the contract.

I almost choke on my sip of espresso. “That’s fine. With the hours I keep, we’ll hardly see each other.”

“Wonderful. Now, if you’ll just sign here,” she says with a smile, but she almost looks… relieved or disappointed. I look over at Parker who’s watching me intently. Flipping to the last page, Sabrina is then handing me her sparkly pen.

After signing, I rub my fingers together to get rid of the glitter but all it does is land on my slacks, fluttering around, finding another victim. Jesus.

She signs it, and neatly shoves everything back into her briefcase, snapping it shut with a click.

Standing, Sabrina extends her little gloved hand again, Parker and I both getting to our feet.

It feels good to know I’m taller than him by at least two inches.

I take her gloved hand in mine, the lace of it warm and slightly clammy.

If she were nervous this entire time, she didn’t show it outwardly.

Of course not, she’s a professional.

Her head bows in a curt nod. “I’ll send you more details of the gala as well as a copy of this agreement to your email.”

When she leaves, I stare after her, watching her hips gracefully sway with each calculated heeled step, every man in the room looking after her.

She keeps her head down as if she already knows she’s the most beautiful woman in every room, but her shoulders are slumped, like she’s trying to make herself smaller somehow.

Impossible.

Even from our first interaction I can already see there’s so much more to her than her beauty.

She smiles radiantly at Parker when he holds the door open for her and then mix-matched eyes blink in my direction before the glass door closes completely and he turns away, staying barely a foot behind her, matching her steps.

What the fuck have I just gotten myself into?

On Saturday morning, when the contract gets back to me, I call David… and make a few ch anges to the fine print.