Page 27 of An Improper Deal (Elliot & Annabelle 1)
It takes me a moment to process his question. When I do, I swallow first before answering. “I can’t trust that you’ll actually pay me the million, so I want you to set the entire amount aside in a separate bank account that can’t be touched.”
“You mean an escrow account.”
“Something like that.”
“Smart.” He nods appreciatively. “What else?”
“Nonny’s coming with me.”
His eyebrows pinch. “Of course. She’s a minor. She is going to be my responsibility as well while we’re married.”
“Oh.” That easy victory leaves me fumbling mentally for a moment. I expected him to complain, or at least object to having to deal with somebody’s teenage sister. It isn’t like he wants anything except my body for a year.
“Do you have any other conditions?” His voice holds a nasty bite. “Anything more insulting?”
I ignore the jab. “I need to work.”
“You want to keep cleaning the OWM building?” he asks, flabbergasted.
“No. Why would you think that?”
“If you could get some other job, you would have taken it.”
My face heats with embarrassment. “Well, I can’t spend my entire day doing nothing.”
He scowls. “I suppose I can see what’s available.”
“I don’t want a pity job. I…” I bite my lip, then say, “What I really want is to go back to school.”
“For real?”
“Of course. I’ll just go to some community college nearby.” That should give me time to explore what I want to study. My old major is out of the question.
“Fine. I’ll have an account set up for the tuition and fees.”
“You don’t have to.”
“My wife will be provided for.”
His tone is hard and leaves no room for objections. Besides, a small, selfish part of me thinks why not? He’s got the money and is offering to pay. I can always pay him back later when I finish my degree and get a job.
“Anything else?” he says.
I clear my throat. “Yeah, um…I’m not a professional prostitute. So I can’t guarantee that, you know, I can play this Gigi the way you want me to.”
His knuckles turn white around the steering wheel.
“I don’t know who she is, but I’m guessing I look like her—”
“I will not call you by your real name.” His voice is hard, unyielding.
“Fine. But I can’t pretend to be somebody else. I can’t give you the illusion that you’re with another girl.”
“Relax.” He glances at me, giving my body a once-over. “I’m sure you’ll do just fine as yourself.”
I’m skeptical. And my brain’s telling me I’m being crazy and stupid and ridiculous to even consider this. “I want the whole thing in writing, so there’s no ‘he said, she said’ over what we agreed to.”
“Done.”
