Page 19 of Under His Control

Finally, he speaks. “You’re an intelligent woman. Hardworking, loyal. I’ve seen it in the way you handle your job. You rarely call out sick, you’ve steadily advanced. You’ve been here for almost two years, correct?”

I nod, throat too tight to form words.

He sets his glass aside. “You’re valuable to this hotel, to me.”

Something about those last two words sends my mind into a brief spin of possibilities, all with an undercurrent of desire. I exhale shakily. “So, what do you propose?”

His pause feels like it goes on for hours, even though it’s probably only a second or two. Then, in a voice as smooth as the wine, he speaks.

“Marry me.”

CHAPTER 7

TAYLOR

Inearly spit the wine out all over his desk. A drop escapes the corner of my mouth, and I swipe at it, coughing so hard my eyes water.

Anatoly doesn’t even flinch. He just waits, the picture of lethal calm.

“Marry?you?”

“Yes,” he says nonchalantly, as if he didn’t just propose marriage. “A mutually beneficial arrangement.”

I set my glass down before I drop it.

“Mutually beneficial,” I echo. “You’ll have to walk me through that math, because I’m not fully understanding.”

His mouth curves into a wolfish grin. “It’s simple. I clear your brother’s debt in full and tell the Smirnovs he’s no longer an asset worth pursuing. I’ll have him blacklisted among the city’s crime families; they’ll never hire him again for any type of work. You’d get your brother back in one piece.”

“OK, so it’s clear whatIwould get out of this.” I cross my arms, forcing myself to breathe evenly. “But what exactly doyougain? Please don’t say companionship, because we both know you don’t need a ring for that.”

His eyes glimmer with amusement. “Sex is easy to obtain, Taylor. I’m after something real.” He leans forward, his jacket opening, revealing a hard plane of chest beneath a crisp white shirt. My eyes betray me, lingering on the faint tension at the buttons. I imagine them giving way beneath my fingers, one after another.

“Such as?” I ask.

“A wife,” he says simply. “Obtaining a legal wife satisfies a requirement in my parents’ will.”

I blink, totally taken off guard. “Wait, what?”

“My parents were traditional. Wealthy, powerful, and obsessed with legacy. When they passed, they left behind a stipulation in the will that tied control of theHospitiumand the rest of our estate to one condition—I must be married. Legally. Publicly. No loopholes.”

I stare at him. “That’s extreme.”

A low chuckle escapes him. “They were extreme people. My father built theHospitiumfrom the ground up. My mother made it iconic. Their final wish was that it remain in the family—but only if that family continues. If I fail to meet the terms, everything goes into a trust, then it will all be sold off, with the proceeds donated to charity. The hotel, the properties, the legacy. All gone.”

I swallow hard. “So, if you don’t get married?—”

“I lose theHospitium. My home. My claim to everything they built.”

My mind spins.

He continues. “There’s a deadline, and it’s soon.”

My pulse thuds in my ears. “And that deadline is?”

He leans back slowly, eyes still on mine. “Ten days from now.”

Ten days.