Falling For Her Fake Fiancé. Sarah M. Anderson
“Would you really give your blessing to job losses for hundreds of workers, just for the sake of a name?”
“It’s my name,” she shot at him.
But he was right. If the company went down in flames, it’d burn the people she cared for. Her brothers would be safe—they’d already ensconced themselves in the Percheron Drafts brewery. But Bob and Delores and all the rest? The ones who’d whispered to her how nervous they were about the way the wind was blowing? Who were afraid for their families? The ones who knew they were too old to start over, who were scared that they’d be forced into early retirement without the generous pension benefits the Beaumont Brewery had always offered its loyal employees?
“Which brings us back to the heart of the matter. I need you.”
“No, you don’t. You need my approval.” Her lobster was no doubt getting cold, but she didn’t have much of an appetite at the moment.
Something that might have been a smile played over his lips. For some reason, she took it as a compliment, as if he was acknowledging her intelligence for real this time, instead of paying lip service to it. “Why didn’t you go into the family business? You’d have made a hell of a negotiator.”
“I find business, in general, to be beneath me.” She cast a cutting look at him. “Much like many of the people who willingly choose to engage in it.”
He laughed then, a real thing that she wished grated on her ears and her nerves but didn’t. It was a warm sound, full of humor and honesty. It made her want to smile. She didn’t. “I’m not going to take the job.”
“I wasn’t going to offer it to you again. You’re right—it is beneath you.”
Here it came—the trap he was waiting to spring. He leaned forward, his gaze intent on hers and in the space of a second, before he spoke, she realized what he was about to say. All she could think was, Oh, hell.
“I don’t want to hire you. I want to marry you.”
The weight of his statement hit Frances so hard Ethan was surprised she didn’t crumple in the chair.
But of course she didn’t. She was too refined, too schooled to let her shock show. Even so, her eyes widened and her mouth formed a perfect O, kissable in every regard.
“You want to...what?” Her voice cracked on the last word.
Turnabout is fair play, he decided as he let her comment hang in the air. She’d caught him completely off guard in the office yesterday and had clearly thought she could keep that shock and awe going. But tonight? The advantage was his.
“I want to marry you. More specifically, I want you to marry me,” he explained. Saying the words out loud made his blood hum. When he’d come up with this plan, it had seemed like a bold-yet-risky business decision. He’d quickly realized that Frances Beaumont would absolutely not take a desk job, but the unavoidable fact was he needed her approval to validate his restructuring plans.
And what better way to show that the Beaumonts were on board with the restructuring than if he were legally wed to the favored daughter?
Yes, it had all seemed cut-and-dried when he’d formulated the plan last night. A sham marriage, designed to bolster his position within the company. He’d done a little digging into her past and discovered that she had tried to launch some sort of digital art gallery recently, but it’d gone under. So she might need funding. No problem.
But he’d failed to take into account the actual woman he’d just proposed to. The fire in her eyes more than matched the fire in her hair, and all of her lit a hell of a flame in him. He had to shift in his chair to avoid discomfort as he tried not to look at her lips.
“You want to get married?” She’d recovered some, the haughty tone of her voice overcoming her surprise. “How very flattering.”
He shrugged. He’d planned for this reaction. Frankly, he’d expected nothing less, not from her.
He hadn’t planned for the way her hand—her skin—had felt against his. But a plan was a plan, and he was in for far more than a penny. “Of course, I’m not about to profess my undying love for you. Admiration, yes.” Her cheeks colored slightly. Nope, he hadn’t planned for that, either.
Suddenly, his bold plan felt like the height of foolishness.
“My,” she murmured. Her voice was soft, but he didn’t miss the way it sliced through the air. “How I love to hear sweet nothings. They warm a girl’s heart.”
He grinned again. “I’m merely proposing an...arrangement, if you will. Open to negotiation. I already know a job in management is not for you.” He sat back, trying to look casual. “I’m a man of considerable influence and power. Is there something you need that I can help you with?”
“Are you trying to buy me?” Her fingertips curled around the stem of her wineglass. He kept one hand on the napkin in his lap, just in case he found himself wearing the wine.
“As I said, this isn’t a proposal based on love. It’s based on need. You’re already fully aware of how much I need you. I’m just trying to ascertain what you need to make this arrangement worth your time. Above and beyond making sure that your Brewery family is well taken care of, that is.” He leaned forward again. He enjoyed negotiations like this—probing and prodding to find the other party’s breaking point. And a little bit of guilt never hurt anything.
“What if I don’t want to marry you? Surely you can’t think you’re the first man who’s ever proposed to me out of the blue.” The dismissal was slight, but it carried weight. She was doing her level best to toy with him.
And he’d be lying if he said he didn’t enjoy it. “I have no doubt you’ve been fending off men for years. But this proposal isn’t based on want.” However, that didn’t stop his gaze from briefly drifting down to her chest. She had such an amazing body.
Her lips tightened, and she fiddled with the button on her jacket. “Then what’s it based on?”
“I’m proposing a short-term arrangement. A marriage of convenience. Love doesn’t need to play a role.”
“Love?” she asked, batting her eyelashes. “There’s more to a marriage than that.”
“Point. Lust also is not a part of my proposal. A one-year marriage. We don’t have to live together. We don’t have to sleep together. We need to occasionally be seen in public together. That’s it.”
She blinked at him. “You’re serious, aren’t you? What kind of marriage would that be?”
Now it was Ethan’s turn to fidget with his wineglass. He didn’t want to get into the particulars of his parents’ marriage at the moment. “Suffice it to say, I’ve seen long-distance marriages work out quite well for all parties involved.”
“How delightful,” she responded, disbelief dripping off every word. “Are you gay?”
“What? No!” He jolted so hard that he almost knocked his glass over. “I mean, not that there’s anything wrong with that. But I’m not.”
“Pity. I might consider a loveless, sexless marriage to a gay man. Sadly,” she went on in a not-sad voice, “I don’t trust you to hold up your sexless end of the bargain.”
“I’m not saying we couldn’t have sex.” In fact, given the way she’d pressed her lips to his cheek earlier, the way she’d held his hand—he’d be perfectly fine with sex with her. “I’m merely saying it’s not expected. It’s not a deal breaker.”
She regarded him with open curiosity. “So let me see if I understand this proposal, such as it is. You’d like me to marry you and lend the weight of