Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 88182 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 441(@200wpm)___ 353(@250wpm)___ 294(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 88182 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 441(@200wpm)___ 353(@250wpm)___ 294(@300wpm)
“I get the picture.”
“A relationship with him would be like marrying a mannequin. It’d be like staying single.”
“What if he were offering money? And the marriage was only for show?”
“That’d be tempting…” She trailed off and let out a long sigh. “But no, I couldn’t do it. Imagine living with a guy like that? It’d be like waking up every morning to a stranger in your house. Sorry, but no, I don’t think he could pay me enough.”
He probably could, but I didn’t keep nagging.
Because the problem was… I understood what she meant.
I’d been working for Prime for years at that point, and I still didn’t think I knew him any better than his dates. I saw his schedule, knew his habits, understood some of his preferences, but past that?
He never lets anyone in.
No thoughts, feelings, dreams, emotions besides humor and horniness.
There’s always a hint of something darker around him, an aura of danger and terror… but I have no clue why.
Which is why I’m in a nasty mood this morning.
Because I feel like I’ve let him down.
“You need to focus,” I say, not letting him off the hook. “I have three potential girls, okay? That’s all, only three.”
That gets his attention. His brow knits as he puts down the screen for the first time all morning. “How many names did I give you? Dozens?”
“Hundreds,” I grumble, waving my clipboard in the air. “And of those hundreds, only three were remotely interested.”
“You offered them money, right?”
“I offered them more than you authorized.”
“I’m deeply insulted right now.”
“Get over it. Truth is, you fucked around so much, most of these women don’t want to marry you.” I scrub a hand over my scalp and close my eyes. “Alright, I’m not being totally fair. The majority of them are either in relationships already or are somehow not able to get married. More than a few live abroad.”
“I do love an accent,” he says with a nostalgic sigh.
“Gross. Focus.” I toss the clipboard down in front of him. “Three options. I’ve written up a very detailed rubric for you to score them. Beneath that, I’ve provided a short dossier on each girl, listing physical attributes, family history, work history, dating history, and just about anything else I could get them to tell me.” Which was a minor undertaking in itself, putting that much information together.
Prime barely skims the pages. “No pictures.”
I jam my thumb against my forehead. “Damn it, Prime—“
“I’m just saying!”
“They’re here, okay? You’ll get to judge their appearance in person. Stop being shallow.”
“I need a wife I can parade around town and show off. I need a trophy, not a fucking brain surgeon. Their appearance matters.”
Damn it, he’s got a point. I reluctantly wave a hand at the door. “They’re all gorgeous, okay? Can I please send in the first candidate?”
“Fine. Sure.” His eyes graze over my body. “Just so you know, I only taste attractive women.”
A shiver runs down into my toes. I’ve been thinking about that night on the pool table a lot during this process, but I do my best to push that deep down into the black pit where I stash all my most horrific memories.
“Prime, this is Brittany Cole.” I usher in the first victim—I mean, potential wife. She strides into the room like she’s the favorite in the most fucked-up and bizarre beauty pageant imaginable.
“Hey there, Prime, been a while.” She stands before him with one hand on her hip, one leg in front of the other, posing like cameras are going to catch her best side.
Prime doesn’t show a single ounce of recognition.
The rat bastard.
To her credit though, Brittany’s completely unfazed. She’s blond, around five-three, with a fantastic body and an outgoing personality. They apparently met at a club one night when she was working as a bartender and she straight up quit her job on the spot to go home with him. She’s a former cheerleader, has a CPA degree, speaks two languages, and knows more about Rolexes and high-end sports cars than just about anyone I’ve ever met.
Of the three, she was the most up front about why she wants to go through with this. “Money, obviously. The sex might be good, but you’re telling me I get to get paid to put on nice dresses and go to fancy parties? Sounds like the opportunity of a lifetime.”
Prime lets Brittany stand in strained silence as he taps a pen against his cheek and reads the dossier I prepared for him. I sit in the corner, knee bouncing, all my energy directed toward keeping my mouth shut.
“Tell me…” He looks up. Brittany’s smile gets ever wider. “What kind of birth control are you on?”
I put my face in my hands.
But Brittany doesn’t even hesitate. “The pill, but we can discuss other options if you’d rather.”