But Lance is just another guy already planning to throw me away once I’m no longer useful. Another guy who thinks I’m not good enough for him. Another guy slotting me into a convenient place. Employee.
“How much,” I whisper, my voice a choked rasp. “How much is all this pretending worth to you?”
“Fifty thousand dollars.”
I squeeze my eyes closed. That money would be life-changing for me. “No.” I force the word past the tightness in my throat. I cannot be bought.
I get out of the tub and walk into the bedroom, to the window that looks out over the side yard where Lance found me. The lawn is a little patchy in places from the fire, but I put grass seed down yesterday. By next week, it will be perfect and lush again.
Lance comes up behind me. “Smart girl. Never accept the first offer.”
I spin around, staring at him incredulously. “I won’t accept your second either. And, just so you know, girlfriend isn’t enough to take you off the market. You should find a fake fiancée somewhere.”
Lance’s amused smile grows wider. “Already asking for a promotion? Ballsy. One hundred thousand dollars to be my girlfriend for the next two months. If we need to level up, I’ll throw in a three-carat ring.”
“You’re crazy.”
Lance steps closer, still smelling like sand and sea despite the bath bomb. I draw a deep breath, trapping his scent inside my lungs.
“One hundred thousand dollars, two months, and maybe a diamond ring that you can keep once this is all over. Say yes.”
It’s impossible to think with Lance’s musky, masculine scent, infusing every breath of oxygen I gulp down. I take a step back, trying to clear my head. But I only slam my heel into the wall at my back.
The tip of Lance’s pointer finger slides up my neck, lifting my chin until I can’t help but meet his eyes. I want to blink, to look away, to avoid the temptation swirling within them. Because I want to be his girlfriend. Of course, I do.
But not this way. Not if it isn’t real.
“Say yes,” he whispers again, the throaty rumble of his voice an audible caress that travels straight down my spine.
“Under one condition.” I want to push against his chest, to put space between us. Distance. But I’m afraid if I lay a hand on him, I won’t let go. “This, we—we can’t do this.”
His brows pull together, creating a vertical slash of confusion, like an exclamation point, above his nose. “Can’t do what?”
I finally sidestep Lance’s bulk, sliding my back along the wall until I can take a deep breath without my breasts brushing his chest. “This.” I gesture at my body, wrapped in only a towel and his body wrapped in . . . nothing but tanned skin, solid muscle, and a few lingering bubbles. “I won’t accept a paycheck from you if we’re—”
Fucking.
My throat closes completely before I can get out the word Lance had practically growled in my ear our first day on the beach.
There will be no fucking. No sexy times in the pool or the tub or anywhere else. If Lance wants to make this a business relationship, so be it.
It’s the only way I’ll know I haven’t sold my soul along with my integrity.
“So, you want to be my girlfriend for free?”
A chill that has nothing to do with the air-conditioning blowing through the vents sweeps through me, along with a fresh wave of fury at Lance for putting me—us—in this situation. For ruining something that was real and raw and honest. I snicker. “Your fake girlfriend, you mean? No. I’ll take your money, and I’ll earn every penny. But sex will not be one of my services.”
He turns away from me, walking to the south-facing set of windows and roughing his hands through his hair as he stares out at the churning sea. The last rays of daylight stream into the room, kissing his broad shoulders and tattooed back, and highlighting the firm curves of his ass. “You’re giving me an ultimatum, is that right?” He looks at me over his shoulder, pinning me with a stare. “I can either have you on my arm . . . or in my bed?”
Chapter 23
Lance
Vivienne nibbles at her lower lip for a moment before responding. Every muscle in my body is tense, waiting for her to scream, Gotcha—just kidding! Except . . . her expression is not at all amused. There’s no teasing lilt to her voice, no grin she’s trying to hold back. This is not a joke.
“Yes. That’s exactly what I’m saying.”
“I’ve never paid a woman for sex, and I’m not about to start now. That’s not what we would be doing.”
“Maybe not, but that’s how it would feel to me.” She looks away for a moment before returning her unwavering gaze to mine, her grip tightening on the towel she’s clutching like a goddamn lifeline.
“This is a non-negotiable point, Lance. Take it or leave it.”
“Everything’s negotiable.”
“Not this.”
“Why?”
She shakes her head slowly, a wounded look creeping into her expression. “If you don’t understand, there’s no point explaining it to you.”
“That makes absolutely no sense.”
“Yeah? Well, your proposal makes no sense to me.”
My hand tightens into a fist, and I have to fight the urge to slam it through the window. I need her time; she needs my money. Why can’t Vivienne just accept it and enjoy the next two months? Networking with the Hamptons set isn’t exactly exciting, but it has to be a hell of a lot better than waitressing.
Seconds pass. Maybe minutes. Vivienne and I are locked in a staring contest, enemy combatants unwilling to back down.
It’s ironic that we’re just a few feet away from the bed we’ve been fucking in every night for nearly a week. If I agree to Vivienne’s condition, those nights will only be a memory.
“Have it your way,” I manage to choke out through gritted teeth, feeling like I’m destroying something great for a temporary triumph. “You’ve got a deal.”
“Fine.” Her voice sounds disappointed, but I don’t bother turning around to see if her expression matches her response. If Vivienne wanted me the way I want her, she wouldn’t have forced this decision on me.
Her footsteps land softly as she walks out of the room, but they echo inside my mind like gunshots.
“Meet me downstairs in half an hour,” I call over my shoulder. “Since you want this to feel like a job, let’s go over my expectations and your responsibilities.”
Chapter 24
Vivienne
I lock myself in the small bedroom at the end of the hall and scrub at my damp skin with the towel. But the plush terrycloth does nothing to strip away the film of filth left behind by Lance’s words.
My expectations.
Your responsibilities.
They taunt me now, the collection of consonants and vowels buzzing inside my brain like a pack of angry wasps.
If I could, I’d crawl under the covers and pretend like the last few minutes was just a nightmare
But I can’t be late for this mockery of a job interview.