Page 12 of Gloves Off

I don’t want a real marriage, either. Something snags in my head, and for the first time, I actually consider this.

Incompetent, he called me. He said that to Ward. Top of my class in medical school, but because I wear lipstick and heels and get my nails done, apparently I don’t know what I’m doing.

No. I’ll find another option. Anyone but him.

“No.” I gather my things, pulling out my wallet and tossing a twenty on the bar. “It would never work. We hate each other. Everyone knows this.”

“That’s why itwouldwork.” He watches me shrug my jacket on, gaze trailing over me while his lip starts to curl in distaste. “I would never develop feelings for you.”

I laugh to myself, dropping my head. “Wow. Just when I was getting my hopes up.”

“It won’t get complicated. We’ll both get what we want.”

Again, the logical, problem-solving part of my brain pauses and turns this over. He’s not wrong. I hate this man with every fiber of my being. He’s exactly like Liam. Powerful. Controlling. His career comes first, above everything.

Maybe that’s why itwouldwork,my brain whispers. It wouldn’t be a real marriage. It would never be love. And what other choice do I have?

After Liam, the idea of marriage makes me feel claustrophobic. Like I can’t get enough air. Like the walls are closing in on me.

“No,” I say again. I can’t marry a guy like Volkov, even if it isfake. “Final answer. Go find some shy little wife to bully, because it won’t be me.”

His jaw flexes but he doesn’t say a word as I stride out of the bar, waving goodbye to Jordan.

I’ll figure something out. I have to.

CHAPTER 6

GEORGIA

Days later,Volkov darkens my doorway at the arena.

I keep my eyes on the patient file on my screen. What’s he doing here? He’s never been in my office before. This is so weird.

“What’s the matter, Volkov? Get lost on the way to the underworld?”

“No.” He closes the door behind him. “I found it just fine.”

I fight the urge to laugh. I hate him, and that wasn’t funny. He leans on the glass, crossing his arms over his broad chest, watching me with that unnerving, cold expression.

“Despite you thinking I’m not a real doctor, I actually have work to do with my tiny lady brain.” I make ashoogesture. “Go away.”

“Have you thought about what we discussed?”

I close my eyes, exhaling slowly. This again?

“No,” I lie. “I haven’t.”

It’sallI’ve thought about this week. I had another lawyer look through the will to see if there’s any wiggle room—there isn’t.

I have no other options. A sick feeling rolls through me. I hate feeling trapped like this. I hate feeling like I have no choice, like my hand is forced.

“Fine.” He starts to leave.

“How would it work?”

He pauses, turns around, and closes the door again, watching me.

“Like, how long are we talking?”

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