Page 28 of Devil's Iris
Whydidhe even agree? I was so shocked when he said yes that I didn’t even think to ask. Most men would have laughed in my face or tried to negotiate the terms. But Romero just… agreed. Like marrying a virtual stranger was as normal as ordering coffee…
Can I even do a good job pretending to be in love with him? I’ve never been in love before, and it’s not like I had a great example growing up. That last year before Dad went missing wasn’t exactly blissful between him and Mom. And let’s be real—I’m not much of an actress.
I push through the revolving doors, and the cacophony of downtown Brooklyn traffic hits me along with the suffocating afternoon humidity of June. Now… where’s my scooter? I scan the lot in front of the building, looking for my ancient, dented ride among the sleek luxury cars. I handed Romero the keys earlier, and he promised to have someone drive it here for me, but I don’t see it anywhere.
“Miss Barlowe?”
I frown as a middle-aged man in dress pants and a neatly pressed shirt walks up to me. His salt-and-pepper hair is trimmed close to his scalp, and his soft brown eyes are framed by crow’s feet.
“Yes?” I ask warily. How does he even know my name? He doesn’t look familiar at all.
He offers a warm smile and extends a hand. “I’m Dean West. Your new driver.”
My new what now?
I shake his hand absently, my frown deepening with my confusion. “I’m sorry, but I think you’ve got the wrong girl. I don’t even own a car, let alone a driver.”
“Mr. Lombardi assigned me as your driver and has asked me to transport you around in his car until you can purchase your own.” He gestures towards the sleek Maybach, and my mouth falls open.
Purchase my own car?Wait—he wants me to drive his ridiculously expensive car back home? To Brownsville?
Hysterical laughter bubbles up from my chest. There’s no way in hell that car would last the night outside my place without getting stolen—or someone attempting to rob us thinking we won the damn lottery.
“Oh, hell no.”
Dean looks concerned by my reaction, but I don’t bother explaining. Without another word, I spin on my heel and march back into the building, heat biting at my steps. The elevator ride to his floor feels like it takes forever, my anger building with each passing second. By the time I reach his office, I’m practically vibrating with indignation.
“You can’t just assign me a driver without my permission!” I snap, barging into his office.
He's sitting behind his desk studying some documents with two other men, and when three pairs of eyes lock onto me, all my earlier embarrassment comes rushing back.Shit.
Heat flares in Romero’s eyes as he watches me, leaning away from his desk. “Gentlemen, I’d like you to meet my partner,” he says calmly, waving me over.
I hesitate for a moment, then lift my chin defiantly, refusing to let embarrassment win. I did nothing wrong.Hekissed me back.
The men greet me politely, and I nod in response, carefully avoiding eye contact with the one who caught us in a compromising position earlier. Romero murmurs something to them, and they both rise from their chairs, gathering the documents.
“Did I interrupt something important?” I ask once they’re gone.
He shrugs. “You don’t like the car?”
“The car is fine.”It’s a freaking Maybach. “But driving it home would be like waving a big red flag at a charging bull. I can guarantee you, if we park it in front of my home, it will be gone by morning.”
“Hmm, you may have a point.” He rubs his thumb along his jaw, and somehow that tiny movement is stupidly hot. “I think it’d be safer to move your family out of that area. Once we’re married, they might become targets, so I had one of the paralegals reach out to a real estate agent I know. He's already emailed me a few options. Want to browse through them?”
Huh…?
The room does a slow, drugging spin around me, and as I sway, Romero is suddenly behind me, his hot hands anchoring me by the waist. “You good?” he murmurs huskily.
“When I asked to meet you, all I cared about was paying off that debt and maybe sorting out a few urgent bills. But now everything’s changing so fast.” First, he erased the entire forty grand like it was pocket change—which it probably is to him.Then he assigned me a driver and the use of his Maybach. Now he wants to buy my family a house? All in the span of a few hours? He’s not giving me a chance to find my footing and breath.
I know I signed a contract and a prenup, but this all seems too good to be true. What’s the catch?
“The catch?” Romero echoes, his voice right next to my ear now.
My eyes widen.Crap.“Did I say that out loud? Sorry, I didn’t mean to,” I murmur, barely hearing myself over the blood rushing through my body. Damn him—he’s too handsome, too close.Too overwhelming. He’s clouding my thoughts with his scent, his presence. I push away from him, needing distance, needing air. He lets me go easily, but he doesn’t step back. Doesn’t give me the breathing room I desperately need.
“The catch is that you have to be married to me for a year, pretending I’m the best thing after the air in your lungs,” he says, his eyes darkening. “The catch is you living with me, sharing my bed for that entire year.”
