Page 60 of Burn for You (Slow Burn 1)
“Correct.”
“And there’s no chance of you going to work for your family’s company.”
He shook his head emphatically. “None.”
“So what you’re basically telling me is that if I don’t agree to marry you, I’ll be responsible for you losing all your money and becoming a pauper and ruining the rest of your life.”
He blinked. “Well . . . yes.”
I snorted. “Gee, no pressure.”
He lifted his hands, palms out, in a surrendering gesture. “It wouldn’t have to be forever. Just five years and then we could get divorced.”
“Five years!” I exclaimed, freshly horrified. “I’m thirty-one years old, Jackson; that puts me close to forty by the time you’re finished with me!”
He looked pained by my choice of words. “I think your math is a little off there, Bianca.”
“What if I want kids? Have you considered that? By the time we get divorced, I’d be an old maid!”
He said, “Hardly. And you could always do IVF. I mean, you’d have enough money. Or get a surrogate. Or adopt . . . why are you looking at me like that?”
“Because I’m having an out-of-body experience. Somehow I’ve been transported to an alternate universe where a psychotic billionaire is trying to convince me to enter into a sham marriage, give up five years of my life, and forego the possibility of actually falling in love and sharing a future with someone. Someone who loves me for who I am, not what I can do for him. Do you really think any amount of money could convince me to do something so—so—wrong?”
For a moment, he looked agonized. Really, truly pained, like I’d stabbed him in the heart.
Then he said in a gravelly voice, “You’re right.” He swallowed and backed away a step. “You’re absolutely right. I’m so sorry. This was . . . stupid. Reckless. I shouldn’t have thought you’d . . . you’re not the kind of . . . fuck. Please forgive me.”
He turned around and walked away at a pace that was close to a run.
SEVENTEEN
BIANCA
Astonished, I watched Jackson go until finally he disappeared into the night, melting into the darkness like a phantom.
I went back into the restaurant in a daze, avoiding Eeny’s and Pepper’s excited questions with an order to get back to work that must have sounded appropriately sharp because they did what I asked, lickety-split.
The rest of the night was a fog. I kept seeing Jackson’s face when he told me I was beautiful. I kept going over everything he said.
I kept trying not to think about how a million dollars would change my life. And Mama’s.
I kept wondering what woman would take him up on his offer.
Because one would, I was certain of that. Somehow he’d find a woman who would be more than happy to take his money and give five years of her life in return. Lord, I could think of half a dozen off the top of my head. And then she’d be living in that icebox of a mansion and interacting with that sweet boy Cody and getting to see Jackson every day.
Maybe even getting to kiss him.
Or share his bed.
That was the part that really tripped me up. No sex. We could be married, and he wouldn’t expect sex. For heaven’s sake, what man in his right mind would offer that?
One who wasn’t in his right mind, that’s who.
Or one who was desperate.
I supposed Jackson Boudreaux was a little bit of both.
I didn’t know it then, but after another few weeks went by, I’d find myself both of those things, too.
