Page 27 of My Big, Fat, Accidental Billionaire Husband

Calm down. This is just a negotiation. Use it.

Arthur clears his throat again. “Ms. Cole, if you find the provision unacceptable—”

“Double it,” I interrupt.

Dom blinks. “Excuse me?”

“The settlement. Double it to five hundred thousand. Plus an immediate advance of one hundred thousand for incidentals.” I lift my chin. “If you want to add sexual services to this arrangement, they come at a premium. I’m not some cheap, low class escort.”

Did I seriously just put a price tag on my body? What the hell am I doing?

But the businesswoman in me recognizes leverage when I see it. And right now, with Dom’s billion-dollar deal hanging in the balance, I have it.

A flicker of surprise crosses Dom’s face, quickly replaced by something else. Interest? Respect? Maybe even a hint of desire?

“Incidentals?” he asks, voice lower than before.

“I’m told portraying the wife of a billionaire requires a certain image,” I say coolly. “Designer clothes, accessories, salon services. You wouldn’t want your fake wife looking like she shops at Target for the month, would you?”

Not that there’s anything wrong with Target. I love Target.

But he doesn’t need to know that.

The corner of Dom’s mouth twitches. “Fine. Double the settlement, plus the advance.”

Wait, what? Just like that?

I was expecting at least some pushback, not immediate capitulation. Either he’s desperate or that kind of money means nothing to him.

Probably both. Billionaires, am I right?

“Arthur, make the changes,” Dom instructs, not taking his eyes off me.

I feel a strange flush creeping up my neck under his intense gaze. The bastard is looking at me like I’m a particularly interesting puzzle he’s trying to solve. That, or some expensive masturbation toy.

“So we’re agreed?” Camilla asks, looking between us. “Thirty days, doubled settlement, advance payment, and... all clauses remain?”

The reality of what I’ve just negotiated hits me. I’ve basically agreed to be Dom’s temporary wife-with-benefits for a hefty price tag.

What would my mother think? Actually, scratch that. Mom would probably high-five me and ask if he has a brother.

“I have one more condition,” I say, surprising myself. “I want it in writing that I can veto any public appearances that conflict with my work schedule. My career at Blackwell Innovations remains my priority.”

Dom nods. “Reasonable.”

“And I want a separate bedroom at your place.”

His eyes darken slightly. “Also reasonable. Though it might raise questions if anyone from the press gets wind of it.”

“I don’t think the press will be inspecting our sleeping arrangements,” I counter. “Unless you regularly invite paparazzi into your bedroom?”

“Only on special occasions,” he deadpans.

Is he... joking with me? The Dom I’ve glimpsed at Blackwell’s office has always been serious, intense, focused. This hint of dry humor catches me off guard.

Arthur taps away on his laptop. “I’ll have the revised agreement ready within the hour. We can finalize everything before returning to New York.”

“When are we leaving?” I ask, suddenly remembering my friends, my luggage in another hotel room, my entire life that’s been derailed.

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