Million Dollar Devil (Million Dollar #1)(18)

“A million!” I shout at his broad back. “Okay? One million dollars. But I won’t go any higher.”

He freezes. He doesn’t turn around. “One million?” he murmurs.

“Yes.”

It’s another full ten seconds that he just stands there, frozen, before turning back to me.

“So, let me get this straight. You want to make me into an exclusive, hoity-toity dildo for a new clothing line? Is this some sort of joke?” His eyes darken, but I can’t tell if he’s pissed because he thinks I upped the price to avoid being in his bed or if he’s intrigued because $1 million in three months is a sweet deal.

“Look around. Does it look like I’m joking?”

“Yeah.”

I arch a brow. His smile fades when he realizes I’m serious.

“So as I asked before . . . do you have any questions?”

“One.” His gaze is intent, determined, lethal. “Why me?”

“Nobody else would do it. Any other questions?”

He eyes me. “Your boyfriend wouldn’t do it?”

“I don’t have a boyfriend. I’m waiting for the perfect man. The real version of what you’re going to play. Any other concerns?”

“One more.”

“Which is . . . ?”

“Where do I sign?”





MAKINGS OF A GENTLEMAN

An hour later, I’m on the phone with Jeanine, whose law firm has helped Banks LTD on numerous occasions. “Can you draw up a contract for me, please?”

“Oh, no. No, no, no, no, no, no, no,” she says, so many times I’m afraid she’s stuck on repeat. “Do not tell me.”

“Come on,” I beg. “You’ll see. He’ll be good. He may be a diamond in the rough now, but when I get done with him, every socialite in the city will want to be on his arm.”

“Doubtful. But fine,” she huffs. “I warned you. What do you need?”

I set the phone down and call James into the room. “I’m sitting here with James Rowan, the man I told you about. You’re on speaker.”

“Technically, you didn’t tell me much about him. You just sent me a piece of his ass.”

“What’s she talking about?” James asks, a stern edge to his voice.

My face heats.

“James, meet Jeanine, my attorney, who failed to keep client privileges when she blabbed all about the picture—a snapshot of your ass, no less—that was sent to her earlier via confidential text messaging.”

He raises an eyebrow. “You took a pic of my ass?”

I give him an apologetic shrug.

“Right,” she says in a slow, sarcastic drawl. “Lizzy knows I like to see the people I’m working with. But not just their asses. Let’s go face to face?”

I snort. She only insists upon that when the guy is as hot as James.

“Hang on,” I say, pressing the button and propping up the phone in front of James while waiting to connect. “Okay, there.”

“Nice.” She focuses on James. “Can you turn around so I can get a better look at the merchandise?”

Exhibitionist that he is, he stands up, but I push him down. “Jeanine,” I warn.

“Relax. I want to see if he’s worth the mill.”

“I’m worth it, baby,” he says, leaning back in his chair. “I want half the money up front.”

“Not a chance,” she says.

“It’s fine, Jeanine.”

“I’m in charge here, Lizzy,” Jeanine says, looking out for my interests. “What experience do you have, James?”

“What kind do you need?” The brash, hard-driving alpha cocks his sexy head, and his eyes darken.

“Um . . . being photogenic? Acting?”

“I have it all, lady.”

“References?”

“Plenty.” He shoots me a crooked smile. “Check my YouTube comments.”

“YouTube? Oh boy,” she mutters. “Lizzy, give us a few minutes to work out the details.”

“Perfect.”

They discuss our contract while I pace the living room. When they’re finished, I hear him say, “Deal.”

I blink. Holy shit. Did I just get myself the face for our Banks LTD new menswear line? This bearded, crass, dirty-talking daredevil? Where the hell am I going to even start with the guy?

“We have a little under three months total, including one month to teach you the basics before we start touring and paying visits to the biggest store buyers in the country. The two biggest shows are West Coast, in five weeks, and New York, a few weeks after that. There’s also an ad photo shoot. After that, you’re off the hook.”

“I’m not doing shit until I get the money that lawyer just promised me,” he dares me as he flings open my fridge and takes out a quart of milk.

I swallow and take out my checkbook. “Do you . . .” My mouth runs dry. I’m nervous. “Do you take checks?”

“Checks, cash, sex. As long as it’s smoldering-hot grunge sex.” He’s undressing me with his molten eyes, and I squirm in my seat.

What exactly is grunge sex? It sounds positively divine. I cut my gaze up at him. With this man, any kind of sex would be earth shattering. “What did I tell you about that?”