I continue rambling because I’m on a roll, “It’s a unique name. She must be lovely.”
“You. Are. Her,” he states each word slowly and with purpose. “You are marrying me.”
“What?” I blurt out through a stuttered laugh. “What did you just say?”
His expression shifts, and a slight smile ghosts his lips. “I need you to marry me, Miss Shaw.”
I feel my mouth fall open, but I do nothing to change that.
“I’ve called in a favor with a judge, so we’re skipping the mandatory twenty-four-hour waiting period after we get the license.” He glances down at the Abdons watch on his wrist. “The ceremony will happen as soon as we have the license in hand.”
“Marriage license? Ceremony? A judge?” I toss out random words that have no right to be in my vocabulary at this moment in time.
“I need us to be married by tomorrow afternoon.” He tilts his head. “There isn’t an opening in my schedule tomorrow morning, so we have to move it if we’re going to get this done before the City Clerk’s office closes for the day.”
I take a step back. “No.”
“No?” he repeats it like it’s a curse word.
“I’m not marrying you.” My voice is edged with a chuckle because this is as preposterous as it gets.
Did he fall and hit his head in his rush to get out of the office earlier?
“We need to get married,” he insists with another shove of his hand through his hair.
“We’re not getting married,” I argue. “Are you all right, sir? Are you feeling okay?”
“I’m frustrated,” he admits as if it’s not obvious.
A vein in his neck is pulsing. I catch sight of it every time I glance at his Adam’s apple.
“Let’s get you back to the office,” I say in as calm a tone as I can muster. “Is there someone I can call for you?”
“Miss Shaw,” he hisses my name out. “I need you to marry me now. That is non-negotiable so tell me what I need to do to make it happen in the next…” He drops his gaze to his watch. “Thirty-eight minutes.”
Steadying my feet on the pavement, I look him in the eye. “I’m not marrying you, sir.”
“Because of Kyle?”
I don’t know if I’m more stunned that Mr. Locke remembers the name of the guy I briefly dated or that he thinks that would be the only reason barring me from marrying him.
“No. We broke up.”
He rubs his jaw. “What’s the issue then?”
Is that a trick question? I could list a million reasons why I won’t plunge into the marriage pool with him.
“Give me one good reason why you won’t marry me,” he begins as he glances at his watch again. “And make it quick.”
“I don’t like you.”
No, no, no. I didn’t let that slip out, did I?
“I’m not asking you to like me,” he spits the last two words out with a smirk. “I’m asking you to marry me.”
“I can’t do that.”
He grabs hold of my forearm to shuffle me out of the way of an approaching group of people.
My gaze searches his face. “Why do you want to marry me?”
He lets out a heavy exhale. “Mr. Abdon is coming to New York tomorrow. He’s under the impression we’re married.”
I take in every word he just said. “Why would he be under that impression?”
His answer is quick and to the point. “I told him we got married.”
My gaze follows his hand as he reaches into the front pocket of his pants. He pulls out a small white box.
When he pops it open, my breath catches because, holy mother of all things sparkly, that diamond is huge.
“If we hurry, we can have this done by the end of the day,” he says as he shoves the box into my palm.
That’s not going to win any awards for the most romantic proposal of the year.
I push the box back at him. “This is not happening. You need to tell Mr. Abdon the truth.”
He lowers his voice. “I need you to tell me what it’s going to take to get you to marry me, Miss Shaw. This is temporary and in name only. What do you want? One hundred thousand? A quarter of a million?”
“Dollars?” I screech. “Sir!”
“Five hundred thousand,” he says in a rush. “All right. I’ll go up to a million. One million dollars for three months. After that, you can file for a divorce.”
My hand flies in the air, taking the gift bag with it. I narrowly miss crashing it into the side of Mr. Locke’s head. “Slow this crazy train down.”
“One and a half million, Miss Shaw.” He scrubs the back of his neck. “You drive a hard bargain.”
I’ve said all of seven words during this negotiation. That’s not driving a hard bargain. That’s bewilderment.
Cursing under his breath, he whips his cell phone from his jacket pocket.
What the hell is happening now?
His fingers dance over the screen before he turns his back on me.
It’s a futile move since I can hear every word that comes out of his mouth.
“Judge?” he says before he takes a pause. “We’re running behind. Can you marry us in your chambers this evening?”
I tap him on the shoulder. “Tonight won’t work for me.”
He spins around. His blue eyes rake me from head to toe. I can’t tell if that’s his signature ‘What the fuck?’ look or if he wants to fuck me.
I chase that thought away because where did it come from?
“We’ll see you then,” he says to the judge.
He pockets the phone before he gives me his full attention again. “I’ll have my attorney write up an amendment to the prenuptial agreement to include the one and a half million payable on the day you file for a divorce.”
He reaches into the inner pocket of his jacket to show me the corner of a white envelope.
“You have a prenup with you?” I ask with a chuckle. “You’re kidding, right?”
He taps the face of his watch with his index finger. “We have thirty minutes to get the marriage license, Miss Shaw. At the very least, agree to that. We can work out the other details between now and when we see the judge.”
I see something in his eyes that I’ve never seen before. It may be a plea, or it could be frustration, but against all of my better judgment and the nagging voice in the back of my head telling me to turn and walk away, I nod. “Just the license. Then we’ll talk.”
Chapter Five
Trina
I stare at the marriage license in my lap that bears not only my name but my boss’s name too.
How is any of this real?
When we went into the City Clerk’s office, Mr. Locke’s lawyer was waiting for us. Apparently, he was going to be the witness to our wedding.
He introduced himself as Morty no last name.
That’s exactly what he said. “I’m Morty.” Then he paused and added with a wink, “No last name.”
He laughed like it was the funniest thing he’d ever heard.
I didn’t break a grin because his attempt at a joke only added to my trepidation.