Trillion(36)

“You do?”

If he only knew that I’ve said those words to him a million times in my head …

“Don’t act so surprised.” He laughs, cupping my cheek and pressing his mouth against mine. His tongue passes between my lips, and he pulls me into his lap and steers my hand to his hardening cock.

“I love you too,” I whisper against his inferno-hot mouth.

“You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me. Don’t doubt that for a second.”

Despite the swell of nausea in the back of my throat and the overwhelming desire to rest my head on the fluffy pillows beside him and call it a night, I give myself to him again.

He’s always giving me things: gifts, money, his time, his attention, and now … his love.

The least I can do is give him a little bit of pleasure in return.

It’s not like I have anything else to give him …





Twenty-Five





Trey



Present



“Mr. Westcott, Ms. Bristol is here to see you,” Mona says.

I was about to take a conference call with our publishing division, but I can spare a few minutes for her. My inbox dings and Broderick’s name fills the screen. Earlier today, I’d asked for an update on Sophie’s dating history. I want to know her type. Any patterns that can be identified. Her longest running relationship. Anything.

Also, I want to know the name of the public figure who broke her heart …

“Trying. No info yet. Still digging,” he writes. “Not much to go on.”

Excuses …

“Try harder,” I type back in bold, underscored, italicized letters before telling Mona to send Sophie in.

Three seconds later, the doors swing open. Sophie enters with confident strides, a woman on a mission, hair cascading down her shoulders, lips red as maraschino cherries.

“Fine,” she says. “I’ll do it.”

This is completely unexpected.

I rise, hiding my shock and replacing it with a cocksure smirk. “I knew you’d come to your senses.”

It had to have been the text last night …

“But it has to be on my terms,” she says. “I want to keep things private. I don’t want this to be a PR stunt. And I don’t want a billion dollars—I don’t even know what I’d do with a billion dollars. And if we have a child together, it’s on my timeline. When I’m ready.”

“All right. Aside from a brief media announcement, we can keep things low-key.” Easy enough. “I’ll have Broderick draft the new contract immediately, and I’ll have my assistant locate a mover to place your apartment belongings into storage.”

“I’m keeping my apartment.”

“What’s the point in that? It’ll sit empty for years.”

“I need to have something that’s still mine and only mine,” she says. “I’ll pack a few bags, but everything else stays.”

“Okay. Anything else?” I slide a notepad from the corner of my desk, grab a silver pen, and take notes.

“Where will I sleep?”

“In the master suite. With me. Everything needs to appear authentic, and that includes what happens around my personal staff.”

She draws a quick breath, as if she’s coming to terms with that part of the arrangement.

“My mom can’t know about the contract,” she says. “This has to be real to her or it’ll break her heart.”

“That won’t be an issue. This needs to be real to everyone.” I come around my desk until I stand before her. “When can I meet your family?”

“Soon.” She wrings her hands, uncharacteristically nervous. Is she having second thoughts? “I want to prep her first. This engagement is going to blindside her.”

“Do you always walk on eggshells around her?”

“She’s … different.” Her glance swings to the side. “You’ll see what I mean when you meet her.”

Sophie’s ocean gaze searches mine.

“Everything’s going to be fine.” I take her hands, which change to steel as her body braces.

This might be the first time we’ve ever touched—aside from bumping into each other the day we met. Given the fact that we’re about to be married, I don’t think I’m overstepping my boundaries.

“Take the day. No, take the week,” I tell her. “Go home. Collect your things. Gather your thoughts. Visit your mother and sister. Tell your friends. Tend to your personal affairs. Broderick will email you the final contract.”

I’ve never shared the Westcott estate with a single soul other than the caretakers who reside in the cottage and the staff that cycle in and out throughout the day who do a top-notch job of making themselves scarce.

“This will be quite an adjustment for both of us,” I say. “But I think it could be fun—that is, if we make it fun.”

“Ever the salesman …” Her lips draw into an unexpected smile, half nervous, half flirting. “I’m pretty sure we have different definitions of fun.”

“Fine. It’ll be an adventure.” Though something tells me she’s not exactly the adventurous type. “There’ll be a learning curve, but I’m confident we’ll figure everything out together. One day at a time.”