Chapter Four
Aiden
“ENGAGED.”
Seraphina’s tone is blank, her face devoid of emotion. An expression I value when she’s my executive assistant. But right now, when I need an answer and need it fast, it’s damned frustrating.
She’s standing a few feet away, hair slipping out of a messy bun to frame her face with golden strands. A face scrubbed free of makeup, cheeks red and green eyes wide.
Beautiful.
I give myself a mental shake. That’s not the direction my thoughts need to take right now.
“Yes.”
Finally, she blinks. Then she swears. I’ve never heard her curse before.
“Why?”
I keep my gaze on her face, refrain from looking at the maroon sports bra displaying her rounded breasts, the tightness of the matching leggings clinging to her long legs.
God, this is going to be a long few months.
“Randolph has been after me to settle down, prove my longevity by committing to one woman.”
I don’t bother to hide my bitterness. I despise my personal life being a consideration for a client. But whether or not I like it, it’s important to Randolph. And his agreement to the New Field deal is vital.
“He was concerned about the impact those photos could have on his campaign. So this solves both problems.”
Seraphina rolls her eyes again. Amusement trickles in despite the gravity of the situation. I’ve never seen this side of her—sassy, feisty.
“How does telling him we’re engaged solve anything?”
“It addresses his concerns about my ability to commit. Once we publicize our engagement, we take control of the narrative and spin it into a love story, alleviating the negative attention Randolph’s concerned about.”
She glares at me.
“You…but…” She puts a hand to her forehead, pushes a few strands of hair out of her face. “You’re my boss.”
“And I’ll continue to be your boss, during and after our supposed engagement.”
“No.”
I still. I haven’t heard no in a very long time. I don’t like it.
“I’ll double your salary.”
Her mouth drops open. “What?”
“Double plus two weeks’ additional vacation.”
She crosses her arms over her chest, the move having the unfortunate effect of revealing the swells of her breasts more prominently.
“No.”
I glance around the tiny apartment. I never pictured where Seraphina lived.
Never wondered how she decorated or what kind of home she created for herself.
It’s jarring to think of her office at Hawke Financial, done in the same dove gray as the other offices with its gleaming mahogany desk and organized bookcases filled with binders, folders and every book on finance published in the last two years.
The single family photo of her and her parents on her desk and a lone succulent plant in her window.
And I walk into this.
Oversize windows line one wall and let in streams of sunlight.
Warm, sand-colored floors catch the light and glow, while a handmade rug in a dizzying kaleidoscope of bright colors lies in front of a well-worn sofa.
Like someone took a rainbow, stuck it in a blender and tied the pieces together.
The tiny excuse for a kitchen off to the side boasts a long marble countertop and cabinets with windows that show off the eclectic mix of dishes inside.
A spiral staircase in the corner that leads up to what I guess is the lofted bed space.
I pay her over two hundred thousand dollars a year. Hers to do with as she wishes, of course, but this micro space has to be less than forty thousand a year.
“A penthouse.”
Her eyes narrow. “I like my apartment.”
Has she always been this stubborn? The woman could teach a class on how to stall negotiations.
I switch tactics. “Name your price.”
“You’re not listening to me. The answer is no.” She shakes her head. “I’m not pretending to be engaged to my boss just to cater to a client.”
Anger propels me forward. “I would never ask you to do that.”
I stop in front of her, stare down at the woman who’s been by my side for three years. A woman I thought I knew. But I don’t know her. I know the persona she slips into for work, the professional mask she wears.
But the woman staring up at me… I don’t know her.
I’ve never heard her brazen retorts or seen her with fire crackling in her eyes.
God knows I’ve never seen her body move like it did last night.
The same compulsion that drew me down the path last night in pursuit of Seraphina sparks to life again.
I want to know this side of Seraphina. Want to see how many layers she’s hiding.
Warning bells clang in my head. But I can handle this. I’ve kept my desire for her under control all this time. I can maintain it while getting to know the aspects of herself she’s been hiding away. A silver lining in this whole mess.
“I need him for New Field.”
She stares at me for a moment longer. Then her shoulders sag.
“Oh.”
I nod. “We’re close, Seraphina.”
“But…” Her sigh is heavy, despondent. “He’s the only one who can help us, isn’t he?”
Us. Despite everything that’s happening, she’s still a part of this, still invested.
“His media presence is growing. He’s stated numerous times his views on private prisons.
He has the money and the grit to conduct this takeover.
And,” I add grudgingly, “he’s got a strong sense of morality.
He won’t exploit the prison for profit. He would make the changes needed, whether it’s overhauling the prison or shutting it down entirely. ”
“You don’t trust anyone. How can you trust him?”
Her words slice at me. They’re true. Normally I wear my lack of trust like a badge of pride. But hearing it from someone else leaves me feeling strangely empty.
“I don’t. But if I look at the factors in play, examine the odds, he’s our best bet.”
“And you can’t buy it outright?”
She’s grasping for straws. But she’s wearing down. I can see it in her face, hear it in her voice.
“You know the answer to that. Hale has rejected every offer I’ve made. He has ties to politicians and the media and has threatened to spin a story where I’m trying to take over the prison for financial gain.” Her head snaps up. “That’s ridiculous!”
I can’t help but smile slightly at her loyalty. I don’t mention the threats he made against David, to smear my brother’s name and ruin the new life he’s crafted for himself. Seraphina doesn’t know I have any family besides Dominic and Cassian. God willing, I’ll be able to keep it that way.
“It is. But he’ll do it without a second thought.”
Seraphina hangs her head. “I just don’t see how we can make a fake engagement work. What about my parents?”
“The fewer people who know the better. I won’t even tell Cassian and Dominic the truth. Name your price,” I repeat softly. Everyone has one. “Anything.”
Slowly, she raises her head. Her eyes brighten.
“What about a building?”
Not the answer I was expecting. I frown. “A building? Like a penthouse or—”
“No. Grace’s Refuge on West 86th Street.
It’s a domestic violence shelter I volunteer at.
Their landlord just doubled their rent because he wants to sell the building.
So,” she continues, her words coming out in a torrent, “buy the building, sign it over to Grace’s Refuge, and I’ll be your fake fiancée. ”
A building. For a women’s shelter. Not jewelry or clothes or a penthouse for herself. Something twists inside my chest, something unfamiliar and warm. More layers, deep ones that intrigue and touch.
My mother didn’t take us to a shelter when we left Dad.
We arrived in New York City in a rattletrap car with rusted floorboards and three suitcases.
Mom found the cheapest apartment she could afford with the money she’d stolen out of the coffee can Dad kept on top of the refrigerator.
Had we gone to a shelter, been put in touch with community programs and services that could have helped us transition, maybe she would have found a better job. Maybe things would have been different.
“Done.”
Her eyes widen. “Really?”
“Yes.”
She blinks several times. “Oh.”
“Did you think I’d say no?”
“He’s asking fifteen million.”
I pull out my phone. “Landlord’s name?”
“I don’t know. It’s a huge six-story brownstone on West 86th near Central Park West—”
I dial. Ten seconds later, a cultured male voice answers.
“Good morning, Mr. Hawke.”
“Good morning, Thomas. Purchase the brownstone on West 86th that currently houses Grace’s Refuge. Whatever the owner’s asking price is. Then coordinate with my attorneys to ensure the deed is transferred to the refuge.”
“Yes, sir.”
I hang up and turn back to Seraphina. She’s watching me with a mixture of elation and shock.
“My part of the deal is complete.”
“It is.” She lets out a strangled laugh. “I shouldn’t be surprised. I’ve watched you make seven- and eight-figure deals before your second cup of coffee. I just never…” She smiles, a deep, genuine smile that has me blinking. “Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me. It’s business.”
I inwardly curse as her smile falters, then disappears altogether. Yes, I was harsh. But I need her to know that every move I make is not rooted in anything personal. I want to get to know her better, yes, but that doesn’t mean we’re going to fall in love and get married and have babies together.
“Of course.” She threads her fingers together and tilts her head slightly. “What do we do next, Mr. Hawke?”
I grit my teeth. “First, you need to start calling me Aiden.”
She wrinkles her nose, as if she’d do anything else but utter my given name out loud.
“All right.”
“Second, you’ll need to move in with me.”
Pink infuses her skin, starting at the base of her throat and slowly working its way up into her face. Fascinating to watch after she’s kept herself contained all these years.
“Absolutely not.”
“It’s nonnegotiable. We need to make every effort to sell this ruse. That includes living together as an engaged couple.”
“Engaged couples,” she replies heatedly, “live apart all the time.”