Page 2 of An Improper Deal (Elliot & Annabelle 1)
“My motivations—and employment—are irrelevant. Simply do as you’re told and your sister will continue to be looked after.” He slides a picture my way. “This is the man.”
I don’t look at the photo. “What’s his name?”
“It’s better you don’t know. Less chance of a slip-up.”
“You want me to just walk up and propose to him?”
Mr. Grayson’s thin lips curl. “We prefer that he proposition you first.”
Proposition? The word makes me pause
.
He continues, “Ideally, he will think it is all his own decision.”
“You’re crazy.”
“Hardly. And I hope for your—and your sister’s—sake that he does proposition you. I’ll email you the details.”
He gets up, smoothes down his suit, and leaves. I gulp the rest of my drink. Infuriated or not, I can’t afford to waste free coffee, especially when it’s this good. I gather up everything on the table—napkins and the offending photo—ready to toss them in the trash.
But I don’t. Curiosity tickles my mind.
Just what kind of messed up guy is rich, wants to marry a stripper and needs Mr. Grayson’s help to do it? And why in the world would Mr. Grayson want me to strip so that this weirdo can propose to me?
No, not propose to. Proposition.
I pick up the face shot. My mouth opens at the absolute gorgeousness of the man.
He isn’t classically handsome, but he is…arresting. That’s the word. Thick, neatly cropped dark hair is somewhere between medium brown and black. His nose is a blade, straight and sharp, and smooth, lightly tanned skin stretches over the high forehead, finely carved cheekbones and strong, square jaw. His eyebrows are almost black, slightly arched in an arrogant line. The dark chocolate of his eyes makes me think of something warm and sweet, but there’s a hint of insolence in them that says I better watch it.
Why does a man who looks like this need to marry a stripper? And why me? I mean, I was all right back home, but this is Los Angeles. The city is full of these tall gorgeous women, and I’m about as unforgettable as a candy wrapper on the street.
Shaking my head, I walk over to the trash. In go the wrinkled paper napkins and empty paper cup…
I can’t seem to throw away the picture. My hand floats over the trash receptacle, but my fingers won’t let go.
Okay, fine. I’ll just throw it away at home. I tuck Mister Rich and Arresting into my wallet and walk out.
I don’t want to do this. Not at all. But Mr. Grayson’s flat voice made it clear there will be consequences if I don’t. There is no way I can survive here without his money, and going back to a homeless shelter is out of the question. The last time Nonny and I were there…
I shudder, then shake off the ugly memory. It was close, but nothing happened. And I’ll do everything in my power to make sure nothing ever does happen.
Stripping. It’s just taking off your clothes, right? There are bouncers and stuff to keep the patrons in check. I know how it is. I worked in a casino briefly, which is how I met Mr. Grayson.
The fact is, there’s no one I can turn to for help. I’m all on my own. So I’ll go with the flow…
…for now.
* * *
Elliot
I stifle a yawn as another stripper gyrates to the music.
You’re slumming.
No shit, Einstein. I’m not in the VIP area, am I?
