11. Sutton
Chapter eleven
Sutton
I’m sitting at my desk the following week when someone knocks on my door.
“Come in,” I call, hoping it’s Sebastian.
He’s been distant since the conversation in his living room a week and a half ago.
He’s barely home. Yes, the team has traveled for a couple of days in that time, but the days they’re in town, I haven’t seen him.
He’s asleep when I get up to go to work, or at least I assume he is—his bedroom door is closed—and gone when I get back.
He doesn’t come home until I’m in bed. I only know he’s still around because of the dishes in the drainboard or the sink.
I hate that I made him uncomfortable in his own home.
I made a vow this morning that I’d try to find him at the arena today or wait up for him so we could talk.
Clear the air. And if we can’t, then I plan to find somewhere else to live.
The door opens, and one of the security guards pokes his head in. “Miss. Sutton, I have an envelope for you.”
“Oh.”
He steps into my office and sets the envelope on my desk. “It came for you via messenger. The delivery driver was adamant about you getting it today.”
I glance down at it and note the return address is a law firm in New York. My stomach bottoms out. That’s where my family lives. I sure as hell hope I’m not being served. Although I’m pretty sure I have to directly accept that sort of notice.
“Thank you,” I finally manage to say.
“Of course. You have a good day, Miss. Sutton.”
“You too,” I tell him as he closes the door.
I stare at the envelope on my desk for a few beats, unsure what to do. Leave it? Open it? Ignore it? With a resigned sigh, I carefully open it up. With shaking hands, I pull out the papers and unfold them. I skim the first page, a letter from my grandmother’s attorney.
“Holy shit.” I flip through the other pages—copies of her will.
“You alright?”
I startle, dropping the papers, and when I lunge to grab them, I bang my knee into the desk. “Fuck.”
“Shit. Shit. Shit.” Sebastian is at my side before I can blink, picking up the papers and setting them on my desk while I inspect my knee. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.” He stands up, running a hand through his dirty-blond hair.
I meet his gaze, noticing the bags under his eyes. He must be exhausted. The All-Star break can’t get here soon enough. I feel even worse that he’s avoiding his house because of me. I’ve got to fix this between us today, or I need to move out.
“It’s ok.” I rub my knee. “What’re you doing here?”
He drops into the chair on the other side of my desk. “Came to say hi.”
My eyes dart to my closed office door before settling on the man opposite me. “What’s been going on? We live together, and I haven’t seen you in over a week.”
He bows his head, linking his fingers together. “I know. I’m sorry. I needed space.”
“When you said that, I thought you meant for a day, maybe two. I didn’t want to run you out of your own home,” I whisper.
His shoulders slump. “I’m sorry if I worried you.”
My throat feels tight, but I force myself to say, “Maybe I should move out.” I twirl the ring on my thumb. I don’t want to go, but maybe it’s for the best. “It’s not fair to you that I’m there in your space.”
“I want you there.”
I swallow roughly, watching him. “Are you sure?”
“I am.”
“You’ll tell me if you change your mind?”
“Of course.” We watch each other for a few beats before he gestures to the papers on my desk. “What was going on when I came in?”
“These are copies of my grandmother’s will.
She left me a large sum of money and a small hotel chain that I had no idea she owned, nor do I know why she left them to me, of all people, when she clearly disapproved of my choices.
Or at least that’s what she told me the last time I saw her and she yelled at me, but anyway …
” Grandmother, why leave all of this to me and not your son?
This is a question I’ll never know the answer to, unfortunately.
“That’s awesome?”
I don’t miss the way his voice rises at the end, that he’s phrasing it like a question. I hold the papers out to him.
“You sure?”
“Yep, read it.” I shake the papers, and he finally takes them. His eyes get wider the more he reads.
“This is …”
I bark out a laugh. “Ludicrous?”
I lean back in my chair, staring at the ceiling, my hand absentmindedly coming to my stomach that has been getting a tiny bit bigger with each passing day.
Anastasia was right. Grandmother was out of her fucking mind at the end. Or it was her way of getting what she wanted.
“I have to be married by the time I’m thirty-eight, which is in about sixteen months. Not exactly much time to meet a man, date, fall in love, and get married. If I don’t, my father gets it all.”
“I’ll do it.”
I blink. Did I just? Did he? I straighten, unsure if I heard him correctly. “Excuse me?”
“I’ll do it,” he repeats, and since I’m watching him, I see his mouth move, so I know I didn’t imagine his words.
I stack the papers and shove them back into the envelope as I gather my thoughts. “You’re not even questioning why being married is a stipulation of my inheritance? Or the fact that I stand to inherit that much money?” I raise my eyebrows. “And a business.”
He leans forward, resting his elbows on my desk. “No, I don’t need to know. I trust you, and I trust that if there’s anything you want to tell me, you will whenever you’re ready. And if you don’t want to.” He shrugs. “That’s fine too.”
“I-I-” I stare at him for a few seconds. “What’s in it for you?”
He sighs, scrubbing a hand over his face. “Let me introduce you to my mum as my girlfriend. I may have told her I have one, which is a lie by the way, and now she keeps asking when she’s going to get to meet her.” He cringes.
I snort before clasping my hand over my mouth. Shit, that was probably insensitive.
“I know. I know. It’s crazy. I shouldn’t have lied.
” He looks up at me. “But she was always asking. Worrying about me being lonely. I got tired of hearing it. Figured since she was in England and I was here, there was no way she’d ever find out I was lying.
Except now, every time I talk to her, she brings it up. ”
“Let me get this straight. You’ll marry me so I can claim my inheritance if I let you introduce me as your girlfriend to your family?”
“Sounds about right.”
“Sebastian.” My voice is barely above a whisper. “I don’t know what to say.” My mind whirls with his proposal. This is crazy. Ridiculous.
Me, marry him?
I don’t know if that’s wise.
“Say yes.”
The money I stand to inherit is life changing.
I could easily stop working until my child went to school and not have to worry about paying my bills.
And even then, I’d have plenty left over.
I could buy a house and a new car. Provide a good life for my child.
My hand comes to rest on my stomach again, and I rub it gently.
I could help Anastasia start over. Greg too if he wanted.
Plus, I’d get a hotel chain. I know nothing about running hotels, but I could sell it to one of my father’s competitors, and I’d be even more comfortable financially, and my father would have a shit fit.
Last I knew, he was trying to expand down the Eastern Seaboard but was struggling to get into Florida, Georgia, and the Carolinas because of the competition. I could make things even worse for him.
I study Sebastian. Do I go along with his idea?
It feels crazy. But what’s the harm? It would be an arrangement, an agreement, a business transaction.
A short-term marriage for a lifetime of financial freedom.
A tiny voice in the back of my head says that I might fall for him, that feelings could get involved, but I ignore it, as one does.
“Are you sure?” I ask, meeting his gaze.
“We’d have to be married for a few months at least so it’s not suspicious, act like we were married in public, prove to my grandmother’s lawyer that it’s real.
” I tap my finger on the envelope on the desk.
“I’m sure she left detailed instructions to make sure I don’t fake it.
The lawyer will probably want to talk to us, ask us questions about each other or our relationship. ”
“I’m sure. Let me help you.”
I contemplate his offer. Can it really be that simple? Is this a crazy idea?
“Okay,” I finally whisper, deciding it’d be foolish to turn him down, give up the prospect of getting my inheritance.
My computer beeps, reminding me of the meeting I have in fifteen minutes, and I snooze the reminder. “Can we figure out the details of this arrangement tonight? I need to get to a meeting. I’m sorry.”
“Sure.” He stands. “I’ll pick us up dinner. To celebrate. Text me with what you want to eat. Then we’ll figure this out.” He knocks his knuckles against my desk before walking toward the door.
“Thank you.”
He pauses, peering at me over his shoulder. “Anything for you, love. Anything for you.” And then he’s out of my office, the door closing softly behind him.
His words play over and over in my head until my computer reminds me about my meeting again, and I force myself to focus on the rest of the day and not on what I just agreed to.