Million Dollar Devil (Million Dollar #1)(17)

“Then you shouldn’t be so quick to judge. We could be having a blast right now. Alone. In your bedroom. In that great big, massive four-poster bed.”

I swallow. How does he know that I have a great big, massive four-poster bed? I want to let the comment slide, but curiosity wins. “How do—”

“You have nightmares.”

“Me? No.”

“If you say so.” He folds his arms over his broad chest. “Go on. I’m listening.” He’s scowling now, looking impatient.

Something about this man screams that he’s not the kind to be trifled with. Never mind that his chums call him Jimmy. He’s intimidating as hell, but I won’t let him intimidate me. I’m a Banks, after all.

I quickly rummage through my head, trying to remember if I had any significant dream the night before. Coming up empty, I shoot him a scolding little look and say, “Stepping uninvited into a lady’s bedroom? I could teach you a thing or two about how a real gentleman should act.”

“Sweetheart, I need no lessons—”

“Which brings me to my business proposal. I need you to become the perfect gentleman, be the perfect man. I’ll shave you, give you a new look, show you how to act around women—men—everyone. You can keep the clothes—just give me three months to be the face and help me launch my new menswear line. If you can do that, I’ll pay you a hundred thousand dollars. Any questions?”

“Yeah. What’s in it for me?”

“Didn’t you hear a word I just said?”

“Every last one of them.” He gives me that rogue look again, the one that lets me know that he wants a perk or two to sweeten the deal.

“Cash,” I snap. “Isn’t that the language you speak?”

He narrows his eyes. “I speak English. But I can speak Dollar, too, if that’s all you know.”

I thrust my arms out. “Come on. Don’t lay this on me. You do stunts for five hundred dollars—” I stop. Is it an insult to call a poor person poor? “You’re on a limited budget, aren’t you?”

He laughs, moistens his lips, and shakes his head. “I might be poor, lady, but my pride’s rich as Midas, and I don’t beg.”

“Beg? For what?”

“Sex, money, you name it.”

“I never said you did.”

“You’re saying cash is my language when clearly it’s more yours than mine. And I can talk Dollar just fine, like I said, but I have other interests too. Right now. For example. You.”

“Excuse me?”

“What if I decide I want you?”

My eyes widen and my lips part, and for a second, I feel a little vulnerable because I don’t know how to respond to that. I’ve never been come on to by a guy who tells it like it is in the way this devil does. It’s infuriatingly sexy, and it makes me want to negotiate with my body. Great. Like I’m the prostitute now? “Not an option,” I finally force out.

“Then I’m not interested.” He stands.

Wait. He can’t be turning me down. I offered him more than he probably makes in . . . I don’t know. A lifetime? I mean, he nearly killed himself for five hundred bucks, and he won’t help me for three months for two hundred times that?

He takes a step toward the door. Then another.

I’m losing him.

My heart races as I follow him. Is he serious? He’s leaving?

“Wait! James, wait!” I rush around to stop him and realize I’m out of breath when he stares at my rapidly rising chest. “Five hundred,” I blurt. “I’ll pay you five hundred thousand. But for that much, you’re going to have to agree to a few things.”

He raises an eyebrow.

“First, I’m not part of this deal. If you accept this offer, I’m your boss. You have to stop acting like you want to get in my pants 24-7, because frankly, it’s infuriating.” And I might have a moment of weakness and give in. “That’s not how a Banks man would behave. You have to have a little bit of decorum. Tact. Got it?”

He lets out a low laugh. “So a Banks man . . . doesn’t fuck?”

I ignore him. “Second, I know you’ve got your own business, and you’re building something for yourself. You have a lot of followers and people connect with you, and I respect that. What you learn with me can help you take it over the edge and make you into an even bigger success—but you’ve got to help me first. Your business is not priority now. For the time that you work with me, you’re exclusively on my project—which includes you NOT being Jimmy the YouTube guy and instead being James Rowan, the perfect man that I will teach you to be,” I say. “So. From now on, you have to be James, suave, sophisticated, and debonair. But I can’t have you dressed like a prince and getting in bar fights and doing crazy stunts while you’re working for me, or whatever it is that you do or are.”

“Daredevil.” He studies me for a long moment before scanning the corners of the ceiling, suspicion creasing his forehead for a long moment until he seems to be struck by a realization. He’s suddenly groaning, “Fuck this. Who put you up to this? Is this like a candid camera thing?”

He whirls. Takes another step toward the door. Definitely looking frustrated and annoyed by the thought of being played.