Total pages in book: 76
Estimated words: 71679 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 358(@200wpm)___ 287(@250wpm)___ 239(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 71679 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 358(@200wpm)___ 287(@250wpm)___ 239(@300wpm)
The overhead lights, which are on a dimmer switch, catch in the rich mahogany waves of Leon’s hair as he leans forward in his seat, revealing the slightly reddish undertones I never knew were there before. He has perfect hair. Literally. It’s never out of place and so thick and healthy. I bet he uses really expensive, yummy smelling shampoo. And soap. Oh god, Leon in the shower. Oh god, his hair in the shower. Oh god, his hair all the time. I’d give my left nut just to tousle it once. Ha. That is, if I had nuts. I always did like that saying.
“Killing me here,” Leon informs me, and I flush an even brighter color. I’m sure I’m turning into the Christmas scale of reds and near purples by now. “I’ll lay it out for you. I’m at risk of being deported due to a clerical error. I need to get legally married to stay, and the marriage would have to be legit on paper. Any questions or interviews that Immigration has would have to be answered and satisfied. The marriage would be kept between us. In exchange, I’m willing to offer fifty thousand dollars as a bonus for a client that you’ll take on shortly. A very big client. That’s just the first step in your promotion. For landing said client, there will be others, and after a year, or perhaps sooner, once I have what I need, the marriage will be legally terminated.”
My mouth drops open in shock. “You can’t…you can’t talk about marriage like it’s an agreement.” Right. So that wasn’t what I wanted to say. “I mean, anyone would know it’s fake. We haven’t even dated.”
“We’ll say we kept it a secret because of the nature of our work relationship. It wouldn’t have been professional and would have caused issues in the office.”
“We wouldn’t be living together. They’d find out.”
“We’d say that you have to sell your place, and it’s taken longer than expected to put it on the market. Also, we wanted to keep things as separate as possible until we were married and then still keep our living arrangements and relationship private.”
“I live in a freaking duplex, and I rent,” I said sardonically.
“I’ll think of something.”
This is crazy. Of all the things I expected when I walked in here, marriage was not on the table. “You can’t pay me to be your wife! That’s…everyone would think that I got this huge bonus and a promotion for doing um…uh…doing inappropriate things with you!” I don’t mention how my constant defending him to people here would be a big red flag.
Leon huffs, all business. He’s thought of everything, but he’s good at that. In the office, he’s flawless. I’ve never seen him make a mistake. “That’s not true. You work closely with me. You could have done some of your own work, taken the initiative, and landed a big client that I didn’t have time to deal with. I noticed your potential as you’ve been helping me with clients for a year. You wanted to get noticed, and you did. The promotion was well earned.”
I seal my lips together. Leon’s obviously been thinking about this for a while though he literally just broke it to me a minute ago. That’s why I’m freaking out while he’s Mr. Cool As Poo Turd over there.
I focus on my notepad for a second, but I refuse to act like I’m a scared ninny, so I wrench my eyes back to his face. “No. I can’t do that.”
Leon’s face takes on that edge that I’m used to. It’s his—I don’t take shit from anyone, especially the asshole clients who think they can fuck with me—face. He’s never had to look at me like that. I’ve never messed up his coffee, accidentally roasted his suit at the cleaners, or messed up files or emails or anything I was working on. I’ve always been careful.
When he looks at me like that, it makes my stomach clench, and not in the bad way that it should. It also does a number on my panties, something along the lines of a flash flood. When he tilts his head and his jaw ticks, I notice that he has a small, jagged scar right along his jawline by his left earlobe.
I already know he has a longer, rougher one that he normally hides with the collar of his shirts. A few weeks ago, I was in a meeting taking notes, and I realized that his collar was unbuttoned. He was at the front, walking around, and the button must have come undone. I stared at him until he did it up, but not before I’d seen the scar.
He probably played rough growing up. That makes me squirm in my seat and hot from head to toe. The word rough should not be a turn-on. Nothing about my boss should be a turn-on. Holy mustard and smokies, I need to stop staring. I cling to the fact that I know his ultimate weakness—a good grilled cheese. At least there’s that in this unholy power dynamic. I’m swimming in icy, shark-infested waters, and that grilled cheese has to serve as my life raft.