“I’d do it for my wife.”
She looks at me as if I’ve grown a second head.
Then she laughs. A wild, hysterical gurgle that starts in her chest and bubbles up through her throat, shaking her entire body. She laughs until new tears stream down her cheeks and she’s gasping for air again.
“Oh my gosh.” She wipes her eyes with the heels of her palms, still convulsing with residual giggles. “Lila was right. You really would do anything to impress your father.”
“This isn’t just about my father.”
“Isn’t it?” She stares me down like she can see straight through my bullshit. How much did she and Lila talk last night? “You’re proposing—what? A fake marriage? To a woman you’ve known for less than a day, who you nearly killed with your motorcycle?”
“You walked into the street.”
“I stumbled off the curb, and you were racing in a twenty-five zone.”
“That’s beside the point.” I push up from my knees, ignoring the fresh bolt of pain that shoots through my leg. “I know it sounds crazy?—”
“It sounds certifiably insane.”
“—but it could work.” I pace to the window, then back, the movement helping me think. “Last year, I had a… situation on social media. A photo went viral, and I became a meme. My father was furious. The company’s stock dipped. I’ve spent the last fourteen months struggling to claw back some credibility, and nothing has worked.”
She watches me, her arms crossed over her chest.
“But last night, when he thought I’d gotten married? That I’d ‘settled down’ and ‘made a responsible choice’?” I meet her gaze head-on. “He was proud of me.”
Her expression softens, the mockery draining into sympathy, or maybe pity.
“I’m not asking you to fall in love with me,” I continue. “I’m not even asking you to like me. But if we play this right, I can get my father off my back, and you get protection for yourself and your parents.”
“You can’t stop Matt from suing me, and he’s already gotten me fired.”
“My family has resources, too. We have lawyers on retainer who eat guys like your ex for breakfast. If this VanCamp asshole wants to sue your parents, we’ll bury him in countersuits so deep he’ll need a mining permit to dig himself out.” I take a step closer. “And I’ll find you a new job. A better one than whatever you had before.”
Peyton stands from the bed, the robe swirling around her knees as she moves away from me.
“You sound unhinged,” she says.
“No more unhinged than a woman wandering the streets in her wedding gown with makeup melting down her face.”
Her jaw tightens. “So we’re both crazy. Great foundation for a marriage.”
“It’s a quid pro quo. You get protection; I get my father’s respect and the chance to run the company.”
“You’re not thinking straight. You’re probably still hazy from the painkillers.”
“I’m perfectly lucid.”
Peyton drags her fingers through her curls, but they get stuck, and she gives up, untangling them with a shake. “Even if I agreed—which I’m not—it would take years to convince your father you’ve become Mr. Family Values. You can’t flash a ring and expect him to hand over the keys to the kingdom.”
“I know.”
“Then what’s your timeline?”
“Three to five years.” I say it evenly, like it’s a business projection. “That should be enough to establish credibility.”
“Three to five years?” Her mouth falls open. “You want to stay married to me for years?”
“Better three years married to you than another thirty working under my father’s thumb.”