Eleven
ELEVEN
LUCAS
S he’s striking.
I don’t know what it is about her, but there’s something hidden beneath her infuriating layers—like a buried treasure waiting to be discovered, and as much as I despise it, I’m already prepared with a shovel.
I still can’t wrap my head around why she agreed to this. I get that the job is enticing, and great for experience, but to marry a stranger for it? I don’t quite believe it. There’s something she wants—money I suppose, but then again, why would that bother me? I’m the one who needs her, and we would be paying whomever agreed to this proposal anyway.
It leaves me feeling confused and unsure of what to do next. There's a part of me that wants to get closer to her, to unravel the mystery of who she is, but there's another part that warns me to be careful. I can't let my guard down; we are here to agree on conditions to make this marriage as clear as possible—that’s it.
She sips her coffee carefully, as if every sip needs to be savored and foam clings to her full lips. My eyes are glued to her, watching as she gently licks it away. An unexplained sensation sparks within me as her eyelids flutter closed, lost in the taste of it. I watch her closely, captivated by the moment.
Her brown hair is up in a tight ponytail, showcasing her beautiful face. As I observe closely, I notice a tiny, perfectly round birthmark over her right eyebrow.
Her hairstyle accentuates how long her hair is, probably long enough to wrap around my fist twice and those eyes . . . I have to stop myself before the heat in my body rushes south. Those thoughts will have to take a backseat— for now.
I take a deep breath, preparing myself for what's to come. After all, this is just a means to an end. If she agrees, we’ll keep it civil, and I’ll have to keep her at arm’s length.
"What are your conditions?"
She swallows before she speaks. "Right to the chase—I like it." A nervous smile spreads across her face. When I don’t answer, she clears her throat. "I want it written in the contract that another job, at this level, will be waiting for me back home when this whole thing is over. It doesn’t have to be in the hospitality business, but a job nonetheless. I know you have contacts."
I respect that. "I’ll do my best."
"No. I don't want you to do your best. I want you to do it without fail. If you can’t find me one, I want to keep this one, working remotely until you find me another one."
"Okay."
"I also want a recommendation letter, preferably from your uncle, but you will do, too." I scoff inwardly at that remark. A letter from me would give her a great job with benefits she could only dream of.
Her fingers tap against her mug, a sign of her nervousness and her eyes dart around the café, avoiding my gaze. I can feel her anxiety building as she waits for my response.
"Sure."
My own heart is pounding in my chest, a feeling I’m not used to, and I’m unsure of what to expect next. I’m used to discussing business conditions with stiff men in suits, not marriage conditions with beautiful women in shorts that expose their stunning, tan legs that would look perfect wrapped around my waist.
I clear my throat, straightening in my seat, trying to compose myself. Lord, I really need to focus on anything other than her legs; otherwise, this meeting will end up going in a completely different direction.
"No touching," she says in a low voice that snaps me out of my thoughts. I let her words sink in. How are we supposed to pull off looking like a married couple without touching each other? She reads my face and quickly adds, "I mean, no touching in private ."
"I hadn’t planned on touching you, Leora. Not more than I have to when we’re out and about."
Lies. Every time I see her, my brain seems to conjure up all sorts of situations where we are certainly touching.
"Is that all, Miss Davis?"
"No." She takes another sip of her coffee before continuing, her voice a little more confident now.
"No cheating."
Her request catches me off guard again.
"Cheating? How would I cheat on my fake wife?"
"I know this whole thing won't be real in our eyes, but other people will believe it," she says firmly, taking yet another sip. "I won't be embarrassed like that again, even though this is a fake relationship. If you need to scratch an itch, you do it yourself, or find a way to be very, very discreet," she adds, her hands slightly shaking as she speaks.
Again ? Did someone cheat on her? If so, it makes sense why it would be one of her conditions. Regardless, I despise cheating in all forms. There's something incredibly weak about a person who chooses to stab another in the back. It’s simple, if you want to fuck someone else, you leave the person you’re with first. Easy.
I can see her eyes studying me, trying to gauge my reaction.
"There will be no cheating, real or fake. I'm not that kind of man."
Her eyes widen slightly for a second before she nods, relief evident in her expression. Did she think I would argue in favor of cheating? Why does she look surprised? This woman clearly has the wrong impression of me, and for some damn reason, I want to rectify every wrong thing she thinks of me.
"But it goes both ways, Leora." My tone bears no argument. "You'll be married to me and only me."
I pause, studying her face for any sign of reaction. After a moment, she lets out a breath and replies softly, "Okay."
"Is that all?" I ask.
"Yes." Her response is hesitant but affirmative.
A small smile forms on my lips. "So you agree?"
Again, she nods. "Yes."
I take a deep breath, my heart racing with anticipation and uncertainty. "You'll marry me?"
"Y-Yes," her response is low, but it's a yes nonetheless.
"Perfect, we'll get married this Saturday. I need some time to get all the papers together, and you’ll also have to sign a prenup."
The sooner, the better. We need to get this over and done with so we can focus on work.
She stares at me in disbelief. "Saturday? As in, two days from now?" She exclaims.
I nod. "Yes, that's what I said."
She looks at me with a mix of surprise and apprehension, clearly not expecting things to move so fast. I notice her body tensing up.
"But don't worry," I continue, trying to put her at ease. "It's just a formality. A quick ceremony at the town hall, and we'll be done in no time," I say, my attempt to appease her falling short. Trying to calm her down is like trying to slow a wave during a storm—it's not possible. Leora swallows, her eyes still wide with surprise. I can tell she's nervous, but I need to keep her focused and moving forward with the plan.
"Oh, that reminds me," I say, trying to sound casual. "We need rings; an engagement ring for you and wedding bands for us both. " I take out my black AmEx and slide it toward her, assuming she’ll want to choose her own ring. "Please get yourself whichever diamond ring you’d like. Make sure it looks like it came from a man like me."
Her nose scrunches for a second before she relaxes, and I’m immediately struck by how cute she is .
Why do I think she looks cute while looking disgusted with me?
"You also need something more elegant to wear. As cute as your dresses are, you'll need more elegant attire for people to believe you're my wife."
Leora's expression shifts to one of bewilderment and a hint of offense as she gazes at the card in front of her. After a few seconds, her green eyes rise to meet mine. There's an unmistakable intensity in her gaze—she's angry.
"First of all, what the hell is wrong with my clothes? Second, I don't need your money," she says firmly.
Arching an eyebrow, I offer a measured response. "This is only about appearances. We have to consider the bigger picture if we want this arrangement to succeed, and right now, you don’t look the part. That responsibility falls on me, so take the card and get yourself some new outfits and rings. If you need anything else, get that too."
A retort, seemingly poised on Leora's lips, falters and evaporates. The momentary hesitation in her expression briefly raises my concern. She inhales deeply, rising from her seat, and reaches for the card.
"Will do, fiancé. " Her words drip with a frosty detachment as she begins to pivot away. Then, she abruptly halts, turning to me, saying, "I almost forgot. I want it written in the contract that when this is all over, I don’t want any money from you . The job is enough."
No money? I'm left puzzled, my mind struggling to catch up with the abrupt change . Isn't that the whole reason she’s agreeing to this? I had thought she found out about me being a billionaire. Maybe this is her way of testing my sincerity or, perhaps, a subtle way to show who she is.
But I don’t ask her. I don’t press. I only nod.
"I'll call you with the details tomorrow," I say as she turns to leave.
"Great," she snaps back as she stomps away.
Her fire is back, and I can't help but feel curious about what that fire is capable of. There aren't many who dare snap at me. My employees seek validation, while everyone else wants attention. But Leora doesn’t care, not in the slightest. This marriage might turn out to be more interesting than I initially thought. However, it hits me after she's left that we haven't discussed her moving into my apartment. She must know that's going to happen, as we're getting married, and married people live together. But I push it aside; we'll discuss it later.
I finish my coffee and before I leave, I call my uncle, letting him know the hotels’ future is safe.