The Last Eligible Billionaire(14)

“You ran a background check on me?”

“Begonia Florence Fairchild, nee Bidelspach, formerly Dixon, employed by Tobin High School as an art teacher, three speeding tickets in the past year, your Netflix account is suspended because your credit card payment failed, daughter of Helen Nolan and Daniel Bidelspach, who divorced when you were seven. Father passed when you were seventeen. And if you spill the details of anything inside the agreement to your twin sister, Hyacinth, all will be null and void, and you’ll owe me ten million dollars.”

I squeak.

It’s the only noise I’m capable of making.

“A more thorough background check is still ongoing, so if there’s anything I need to know before I tell my mother I’m madly in love with you, you’d best speak up right now.”

“In love? This is a set-up.”

He frowns. “If this were a set-up, I would not have certain images in my head that make me finally understand the term brain bleach.”

Oh. My. God.

He’s picturing me naked, waxing my bikini line, and telling me he finds me unattractive. “Now I see why Jonas is known as the charming Rutherford brother.”

“It’s a fake relationship, Ms. Fairchild. I have no reason to charm you, whereas you have every reason to convince my mother that we’re madly in love. You may take this very generous offer, or you may see me in court. I’ll give you fifteen minutes to decide.”

“How do I know you’re not a serial killer with enough money and family connections to cover up all your crimes and this isn’t just the way you play with your victims first?”

“I suppose you don’t. Fourteen minutes and fifty-two seconds, Ms. Fairchild. I’m tired, and I expect my mother soon. You’d best get reading.”

I eyeball the stack of papers and promptly toss them aside. “Why don’t you just tell your mother you don’t want to date anyone?”

He stares at me like I’m suggesting he go dance naked in the middle of town while blowing a kazoo to the tune of “YMCA.” Not that that specific scenario popped into my head because I did it purely to annoy Chad in that brief window of time between consulting a divorce attorney and the paperwork being ready. And now I’m wondering if that will show up in his background report.

“It’s almost adorable how little you know about the upper class, darling,” Hayes says.

I recoil. “Darling? We need to work on terms of endearment. You. You need to work on terms of endearment. Also, you need to think this through a little more. Assuming I accept your argument that you, as a grown man, are incapable of just telling your mother you don’t want to date anyone, what in the world makes you think she’ll just accept that you’re dating me?”

“If she doesn’t, I’ll promise to go to the press with all the details about how we started dating before your divorce was finalized. And lest you think I’m incapable myself of convincing my mother that I’m in love, bear in mind that I’ve been forced to watch Razzle Dazzle films from the cradle. I may not enjoy acting, and I may not understand the appeal of the god-awful films coming out of my family’s company, but that doesn’t mean I don’t know how it’s done, and if there’s one thing I do very well, Ms. Fairchild, it’s whatever I set my mind to. And I’m determined to convince the world that I’m very much in love with you. It’s the most efficient way to restore my peace.”

I gasp.

He’s fiendish on an evil cartoon overlord intent on destroying the world level. If the Rutherford family is still as dedicated to being the perfect, charming, non-controversial family that they were all through my childhood, then threatening a public scandal is probably akin to vegetarian socialites getting caught eating cheeseburgers, which shouldn’t be a thing, because who doesn’t cheat on their diet every now and then? Could we please stop judging people for being human?

Also?

It’s oddly erotic—and empowering—to think of a man wanting to claim to have fallen madly in love with me while we were having a clandestine affair when I was legally married to another man.

I think I’m turned on.

By a man.

Who’s being a complete and total asshole, and I don’t call people assholes lightly.

It’s not really in my nature.

It’s taken me a year of therapy to call Chad a douchewagon.

You wanted an adventure, Begonia.

And it’s not like I’m not going into this with my eyes wide open.

Marshmallow swings a look at me, and I can’t tell if he’s thinking I’m an idiot to consider this, or if I’d be an idiot to walk away.

I study Hayes, looking for any sign he’s having the time of his life yanking my chain here. “There aren’t any details about us dating before I was divorced, because we just met.”

“Once again, darling, you are so na?ve in the ways of the world.”

It’s probably wrong to get a little thrill every time he implies I’m ignorant in how the rich operate. It’s like I can’t wait for him to educate me. “Just how terrifying is your mother, boo-berry? She always seems so nice on talk shows and during red carpet interviews.”

I’m rewarded with a nose twitch. “My mother is a menace. She wants me married. I’m uninterested. So you’ll run interference, I’ll have peace and quiet, and I won’t tell her what happened to the statue of my grandfather.”