Page 4 of The Grump's Fake Wife

She shifts in her seat, inclining her head slightly as a deep frown settles on the ridge between her eyes.

What would it be like to trail my lips over the delicate curve of her neck, gripping it ever so slightly while I…?

“Why would you ever need a fake wife?” she asks, her voice once again breaking me out of my lustful thoughts. “And why me?”

Oh, if only she knew the plans I have for her…

“I mean, you can have anyone you want as a real wife,” she continues, her eyes searching my face as if the answers are pasted on my forehead. “Why choose me?”

“I want you,” I reply simply. “Isn’t that enough reason?”

It's a half-truth.

“No,” she says, shocking me.

“What?” I ask, genuinely dumbfounded.

“I said no,” she repeats. “I'm not interested in entering into a fake marriage with you. I'm not sure what this is about, but…”

“Name a price,” I cut in, irritated.No rejection has ever stung so deeply.“Every woman has one. I'm sure you do, too.”

Her expression instantly grows cold. “What?”

“I ask how much it'll take to put you exactly where I want you, Lily Thompson.”

Her face reddens and her grip tightens on her purse. “I don’t know what kind of person you think I am, Mr. Foster, but no amount of money in the world is going to convince me to sleep with you.”

“Ouch! That stings,” I chuckle. The way her freckles stand out against her pink cheeks is adorable. “But that wasn’t the offer. I’m just looking to put on a convincing show. Any other...perkswould be optional. Though I would certainly make it worth your while if you took me up on them.”

She stands so abruptly that her chair tips backward. “I-I don’t have to take this. You can’t just – “

She falls silent as I open my desk drawer and pull out my checkbook. I flip it open and sign the bottom line. “Here,” I say, sliding it to her along with the pen. “Write whatever figure you want, and I’ll pay it. All you have to do it stand next to me at some fancy parties for the next few months and play the doting wife. Not such an awful deal, is it?”

She creeps forward a step, her eyes glued to the checkbook. “But... Are you sure? I can ask for as much as I want?”

“Absolutely.”

She picks up the pen, and I steel myself for the number I’ll be faced with. I’m asking for a pretty big favor – one that clearly hurts her pride. I expect to spend a few million at the very least.

So I’m stunned when she slides the check back and I see, written in tidy handwriting, a mere two hundred thousand dollars. I know that’s not exactly chump change for most people, but I offered her my entire fortune at her disposal. Why would she go with such a low figure?

She clears her throat, not quite meeting my eyes. “A-and I need it upfront,” she says. Then, quietly, she adds, “Please.”

“And after?”

She shakes her head. “That’s all I want. I don’t need anything else.”

How interesting.I want to know more, but I know better than to ask. She’s already red-faced and trembling. “Alright,” I say. “I’ll have a wire transfer completed by the end of tomorrow.”

Her beautiful eyes finally find mine again. “Thank you,” she breathes. And then, just like that, she’s gone.

Hours later, I'm seated in my usual spot at a high-end private bar in the heart of Chicago, downing my third shot of whiskey.

“You're sure not going easy tonight, my friend,” says Derek Sawyer, my best buddy and owner of the bar where we’re currently at.

I snicker in response and he arches his brows at me, a curious smile forming on his lips. “What's got your panties in a twist, mate?”

“What kind of gifts do women typically love?” I ask, ignoring his question. Derek has known me long enough to know I don't discuss my emotions, but he always figures things out anyway. It's why we've remained friends for so long.

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