CHAPTER FIVE
NASH
Clara and I stared at each other from opposite sides of the elevator as it soared up to my floor. The air between us sagged with the weight of the pending conversation. I didn’t want to utter another word about what was on my mind until we were locked in my office.
Nobody could hear the proposition I was about to make her. Nobody could know. The few words I’d said in front of Marco were bad enough. I trusted him, since he’d been with us for years, but I could have no leaks or lapses with this undertaking.
The ruse needed to be airtight from day one if we were going to have any hope of pulling it off.
“We’ll go straight to my office,” I offered when I couldn’t bear the expectant silence any longer. “We can talk freely there.”
She nodded, her gaze sliding to the numbers ticking upward on the digital screen above the door.
I allowed myself the opportunity to soak her up once more.
She wore a loose-fitting cream blouse that was both professional and feminine with a pair of tight blue jeans.
She was way curvier than she had been four years ago, and the softness I glimpsed at her hips and beneath her blouse had my fingertips digging into my palms. Her honey blonde hair was swept back into a loose bun, and she’d accentuated her sharp features with just a hint of makeup.
Though I could see exhaustion and stress tugging at her features, she looked good enough to eat. Just like the first time.
The doors slid open, revealing my spacious office foyer. Some of my employees mingled down the hall. No sooner had we stepped out of the elevator than Marina was at my elbow.
“Nash! There you are. My God, I’ve been calling you for like a half hour.”
“I haven’t looked at my phone,” I told her, guiding Clara to the hallway on our right. Marina kept pace with us as we walked toward my office.
“I can tell. Listen, there’s been some information about the Cross purchase—”
“Marina, let’s touch base after this appointment.” I gestured toward Clara.
“Oh, sorry. Is this on your schedule…?” Marina began scrolling through her phone, her brows knit together.
“No, it’s not. You didn’t miss anything. Clara, meet Marina, my assistant.”
Clara offered a hand, smiling brightly. “It’s so nice to meet you. You must keep everything running around here, huh?”
Marina chuckled, sliding her tablet under her arm so that she could shake Clara’s hands. “I like to think so, at least.”
“That’s an understatement,” I added, pulling open my office door. I gestured for Clara to enter. “We’d be lost without Marina.” Once Clara had stepped into the office, I turned to Marina.
She dipped her chin. “You moved fast.”
Marina wasn’t wrong; not much time had passed since Marina’s turning over the report about Clara. Luckily, I had a history of requesting background checks on my hookups, so we were already fooling people, and we hadn’t even formally started. “I’ll let you know when I’m done. No interruptions.”
“Yes, sir.” She winked slyly and flitted away.
I headed into my office, shutting the door behind me. Clara stood in the center of the huge space, looking around with wide eyes. “This is…absolutely incredible.”
It was a corner office with a view, which on paper sounded merely nice. Being in here was much more than nice—it was fucking magical.
Manhattan sprawled below us—a living map of steel and ambition that shifted from the concrete canyons of Wall Street to the glittering waters of the Hudson.
My desk, a slab of reclaimed walnut that could have seated eight, allowed me to enjoy the view.
Custom bookshelves lined my office walls, filled with hard-case volumes on development law and urban planning alongside a collection of architectural models from our most successful projects.
The sitting area near the windows featured Italian leather chairs arranged around a glass coffee table where I'd closed deals worth hundreds of millions.
Art from local artists dotted the little remaining empty space—not because I was particularly cultured, but because I loved supporting artists who lived in the communities that we helped.
Growing up in northern Ohio, a lower-class kid in the rust belt, I’d only seen this type of space in movies.
And now it was mine.
“It’s my favorite office yet,” I said, gazing out the window. “It’ll be hard to top.”
“Are you trying to top it?” she asked with a small laugh.
“You never know. I might decide to refresh the view someday.” Truthfully, I was happy here.
This office, this chapter in our lives, marked my brother’s and my peak.
At least, so far. Maybe there was still an even higher summit to climb.
Our company’s latest valuation marked us among the billionaires, a fact that had made my mother squeal with excitement, before she burst into tears that lasted for nearly ten minutes.
I’d been crying along with her on the inside.
Making it this far, for twins who’d grown up in poverty, without a father, on one of the lowest rungs in society?
Yeah, it was something to cry about. And something to never stop being grateful for.
Which pushed us to keep doing what we did—share the wealth, protect neighborhoods, continue living lives we could be fucking proud of.
“I’d probably die happy if I ever had an office like this,” Clara said with a little laugh, her voice sounding distant. “Or I’d combust from the sheer excitement of having so much…space to work with.”
“New York is particularly cramped, overall,” I mused.
She let out a dreamy sigh, then turned to me. “Okay, Nash. Let’s hear it. What the hell did you bring me to your office for?”
"Before we go any further, I need you to sign this.
" I pulled out the NDA I'd reached out to my lawyer about. I didn’t even ask Marina to handle it for me, since I needed this to be above any whiff of suspicion.
"It's a non-disclosure agreement. What we're about to discuss needs to stay between us. "
She looked at the document like it might bite her. "So…if it’s not drug mule or a new porn career, what on earth could require this level of secrecy?"
"Just read it over. It's standard language—basically says you can't repeat anything we talk about today to anyone else." I gestured to the overstuffed barrel chairs facing my desk. “Take a seat. Relax. Dig into the legalese.”
Clara took the papers and settled into the chair before scanning through the sheets with more attention than I'd expected. She wasn't just signing blindly, which I respected. After a few minutes of drawn brows and the occasional “hm,” she looked up at me.
"This seems pretty intense for a job interview."
"It's not exactly a job interview." I leaned against the edge of my desk, studying her reaction. "It's more of a business proposition."
She grabbed a pen from my desk, signed the last page, and slid it back across the desk. "Okay. I'm listening."
Now came the hard part. I'd been rehearsing this conversation in my head since I'd gotten Marina's report yesterday—Clara Whitehall, single mother, recently unemployed, college degree, a New York City native. What I’d learned from her, paired with the report’s findings, made this proposal seem less insane.
It still didn’t make me feel like less of a lunatic for daring to suggest it.
"What I'm about to tell you is going to sound completely crazy."
"Great. That's exactly what every woman wants to hear from a billionaire who's lured her to his office."
I couldn't help but smile at that. "Fair point.
Let me just lay it out for you, and you can decide if I've lost my mind or if this might actually work.
" I scratched at the back of my head, daring myself to meet her gaze.
"I've recently learned that I stand to inherit a very large sum of money.
More money than most people could spend in several lifetimes. "
Her brows shot up. "Congratulations?"
"There's a catch. A big one." I rubbed my hands together, mulling over my words. "I have to be married by the end of the year. And not just married—married for love. There's a committee that will be investigating to make sure the marriage is genuine."
Clara blinked at me several times. "I'm sorry, what?"
"I know how it sounds—"
"It sounds like some sort of Victorian romance novel. Is the committee going to be there to watch you consummate the marriage?” She narrowed her eyes. “What does this have to do with me?"
Here it was. The moment of truth. My palms had the audacity to begin clamming up.
I’d been in countless multi-million-dollar development deals with more sheikhs, princes, and politicians than I could shake a gold-encrusted stick at, but this was somehow the most anxiety-inducing encounter of my career.
"I need a wife. Someone who can convince a team of investigators that we're madly in love…and play the part convincingly.” I gnawed on the inside of my lip as I studied her face, watching the words settle in as her expression moved from deep confusion to slow understanding. “No Victorian display required.”
The words hung in the air between us. Clara's mouth fell open slightly. "So…you're asking me to marry you."
Marry her. It sounded so simple, yet so out-of-place. "I'm asking you to consider a business arrangement that would benefit both of us significantly."
"A fake marriage."
"No, a real marriage with very real benefits for you and your daughter. Just not one based on romance."
Clara stiffened, her gaze falling to the floor. She was quiet for a long time, and then she snapped, "Nash, this is insane. We barely know each other."
"We know each other well enough to have chemistry. When we met—"
"It was a drunk night." But even as she said it, I could see the flush creeping up her neck. "A one-night stand doesn't qualify us for marriage, real or otherwise."