Page 9 of Bride on the Dotted Line

“Dad … I don’t have a girlfriend.” I have a dry spell, in fact. Some would say that’s the exact opposite of a girlfriend. “How do you expect me to meet someone in time for the gala?”

Victor scoffs. “It wouldn’t be arealmarriage, Son. Don’t be childish. Once you’ve gained control of the company and have your reputation intact, you will get quietly divorced. It’ll be easy. Your mother would approve.”

Easy.At times like these, I like to close my eyes and imagine my financial statements. All those zeroes. Enough to walk away from my father whenever I like. Yet every time I get close, he brings up Mom. My dad might be running the show now, but she started Harwood Restaurant Group. This is her legacy.

But a fake marriage?

Your mother would approve.

My old man watches me from behind his gin. Sometimes I think he can tell when I’m missing Laurie Harwood, because he gets that look on his face like he’s missing her, too. When that happens, it’s my cue to leave. If I don’t, the excruciating feeling that rises between us bends and twists me so hard I feel like I might break.

“Think about it,” Victor says, sitting back behind his desk. He rifles through papers. “Work with Ms. Hayes. Do what she tells you. And for the love of God, Son,be on time.”

“Whatever you say, Dad.”

I know better than to say goodbye or try for an affectionate handshake. I turn and walk out of the study without another word.

Back at my penthouse, I pull the pot of beef bourguignon from the oven and taste it. It’s excellent; the sauce is rich, hearty, and flavorful, with meat so tender it practically melts.

I stand at the counter and eat three bowls.

Hungry, hungry, always hungry.

Afterward, I head to the gym. Lifting weights helps me when I’m trying not to think. I do bicep curls, and I don’t think about being heir to the company my mom started. I bench press, and I don’t think about Roderick, or the fact that my ex-best friend is the reason the world thinks I’m shitty and pointless. I deadlift, and I don’t think about the numbers on my wrist, and how I’ve felt them there all evening, like some kind of pleasant burn.

In the shower, I scrub at Sienna’s handwriting. I put my face under the scalding water, and Idon’tthink about her warm, olive skin, the way her eyes narrowed at me during our meeting, or how it felt to hear her say,I’d believe you, Mr. Harwood.

She’d be the first in almost three years.

Turning the water off, I glance at my reflection in the mirror. Sienna and I have almost nothing in common—it doesn’t take a genius to acknowledge my privileged position is a rare one. Not everyone gets their life handed to them the way I have.

And yet, when I looked into her eyes today, I saw myself. There was the same frustration there. The same dedication. Ambition.

Hunger.

Maybe we’re both predators underneath, scenting the air for a way to sate our needs. Good thing I’ve been around long enough to tell when someone smells blood on me. I don’t know why, but Sienna Hayes needs my father’s money.

That’s fine. She’ll fix my problem, I’ll fix hers.

I pad out of the bathroom in my bare feet, a towel wrapped around my waist. My phone is where I left it, wedged between two cookbooks laying open on my bedside table. My penthouse overlooks the spread of the city. If I look out the window and to the left, I can see the glittering spire of 77 Blackstone Center in the distance.

My thumb slides across the screen of my phone. I only hesitate for a moment before I open my texts.

Nick

Better hope your plan works before the charity gala, Ms. Hayes.

My father’s going to kill me if it doesn’t.

I press send, praying that Sienna Hayes is just as ravenous as I am.

Chapter 5

Sienna

There’s a cat perched on the edge of my fence. It’s the first thing I see when I pull into my driveway, its green eyes glaring like a child dreading their parent’s return.

Only this is not my child. It’s orange-coated vermin, and I want nothing to do with it.

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