Duke of Manhattan
Page 8
I was pretty sure I had a halo of cartoon stars above my head and Daffy Duck was somewhere around holding a frying pan. I had to be concussed. There was no other explanation.
Had Ryder seriously just suggested we get married?
Before I had a chance to respond, Ryder was on his feet.
“What do you think?” he asked, staring at me.
I needed to get out of there. I had no idea what was happening. He seemed normal enough but he clearly had issues. “What do I …?” I got up from the couch, Ryder’s gaze fixed on me from across the coffee table. “I think I’m going to leave.”
“I know it’s sudden,” Ryder said, sweeping his hand through his hair. “I’ve not really thought it all through, but it could work.”
“You’re not making any sense,” I replied, studying his face to see if I could spot any visible signs of a psychotic break or a stroke or something.
Frowning, he pulled his head back.
“Maybe it’s an aneurysm,” I muttered to myself.
He sat on the couch. “Please, Scarlett, take a seat. The more I think about this, the more I believe this might be an option.”
I blew out a breath. Perhaps I’d heard him incorrectly? I perched on the edge of the couch, ready to make a quick getaway if necessary.
“What if I said I’d pay off Cecily Fragrance’s loans as you suggested.” That was what I’d come here for—I just hadn’t hoped to actually walk away with such an offer.
“And in return?”
“In return, you help me inherit my family’s estate.”
“By marrying you?” I asked.
“Yes.”
I waited for him to elaborate but he didn’t. Was this about sex? He was a rich, handsome—okay, gorgeous—guy with a body Ryan Reynolds would envy.
Was I just super good in bed? Did he just want a little more Scarlett?
“Let’s get this straight. You’re offering me money for … sex.”
“What?” His whole body recoiled.
Okay, maybe I wasn’t so good in bed.
“Of course not. Jesus, after the other night, you think I have to pay for it?”
“Quite frankly I haven’t got the slightest clue what’s going on. I think maybe …” I looked down at my skirt, embarrassed at his mention of our night together.
“I’m talking about marriage. Not sex.”
Was he listening to himself? Nothing he was saying was making sense.
My skepticism must have shown. He raised his palm. “Let me explain.”
“This better be good.”
“Please, just listen and let me give you the whole story.”
I sighed but tilted my head, ready to hear whatever it was that he had to say.
His body mirrored mine and if anyone had walked in it would have looked as though two sane people were having an innocent business meeting. There were no obvious signs of the total lunacy rippling below the surface.
“My family’s estate—it’s wealth, land and property—has been handed down through the generations via the family trust.”
Oh God, I hope this doesn’t take long.
“In each generation,” he went on, “the oldest male inherits the entire estate. Well, not exactly, which is the point,” he said, almost as if he were explaining things to himself. “The oldest married male inherits.” He shook his head. “The whole thing is ludicrous. My older sister should inherit, but the terms of the trust are outdated and old-fashioned.”
Okay. Had we just rewound to a Jane Austen novel?
“I’ve never been bothered about the money or title.”
What did he mean, “Title?” Like royalty or something? I stopped myself from asking. I wanted to get out of here.
“The Westbury Group has done well—certainly well enough that I can provide for my mother and sister.” He snorted and ran his finger around his collar as if trying to loosen it. “Unfortunately, because the initial investment into Westbury came from the family trust, my cousin Frederick could wrest control of my business when he inherits.”
God, that sounded serious. Surely, legally that could be stopped?
“So, everything I’ve worked for—my wealth, independence, my own identity—would be taken from me.”
This all seemed a bit farfetched.
“Just because he’s married, my cousin inherits.” He shook his head. “I can’t believe after all this time and effort, everything I worked for my entire life is about to be handed over to someone who hasn’t worked a single day since birth.”
He pushed his hand through his hair.
“I need a way out—”
“Surely a good lawyer—”
He shook his head. “I’ve spoken to lawyers, they all say the same thing—get married.”
Married?
He let out a long puff of breath. “Ridiculous, right?”
I gave him a small smile. I wasn’t sure if I should feel sorry for him or not. “Pretty much, but I’m sure there are plenty of women out there who would line up around the block to marry you.”
“And that’s the problem.” He leaned forward.
This was possibly the most ludicrous conversation I’d ever had in my life. It ranked right up there with my ex-husband telling me he wanted a divorce because I was too boring.
“I don’t want a wife like that,” he said.
“Someone willing?”
“I get how that sounds.” He chuckled. “And no, that’s not what I mean. I don’t want someone who wants to be married to me.”
“You’re a sadistic weirdo. You know that, right?”
“Only on Tuesdays.”
I had to try not to laugh. “Well, it’s Thursday so …”
“I don’t want a wife who has wifely expectations. I don’t want to be married. I just want my company. I want someone who wants something from me in the same way that I want something from them. I don’t want someone going into this saying they just want the money, when actually, they want more and I’m not prepared to give more. Your motivation to do this would fit perfectly. And me writing off the loan, or transferring it to my wife, is much less suspicious than just a cash payment.”
“You want a business transaction.” He wanted a fake marriage. “And a divorce afterward?”
“Yes. I want it to be exactly like a business arrangement. Which is why you are the perfect candidate.”
Wonderful. The first thing a man who’d dissolved me into a thousand pieces in bed saw in me the next time we met was a business arrangement. It was better than him not recognizing me at all.
Barely.
“But I’m sure you could find plenty of women who would be prepared to marry you for money. I mean, you’re easy on the eyes.” The corners of his mouth twitched. I shook my head. “You’re offering to pay off the loans in full—”
“Cecily Fragrance will be yours, free and clear.”
I’d married a man I thought I’d spend the rest of my life with. The divorce had been devastating. It had created an unhealable scar right through my middle that I knew I would wear my whole life.
I’d got it wrong with my ex, and I’d promised myself the next time I’d get it right. That the next time would be forever. I didn’t want some guy who saw marriage as a business deal. I wanted someone who wanted me, just me, for the rest of his life.
“I can’t,” I replied, my stomach dropping. This was probably the best chance I had at saving Cecily Fragrance, and I was saying no. “It’s just not who I am.”
“It’s not like I’d expect you to sleep with me or anything,” he said.
“That sums up everything wrong with your offer. A husband and wife should want to sleep together.”
“Well, I mean, that’s totally negotiable. I’m not going to say no, our night together was—”
Was he fucking serious? I stood up abruptly. “Jesus. I’m certainly not going to sleep with you for money; who do you think—”
“Sorry, I was trying to be funny. Wrong time, wr
ong place.” His jaw clicked. “Look, I know I’ve kind of sprung this on you. But please, at least think about it.”
I glanced around, making sure I hadn’t forgotten anything, and headed toward the door.
“Weigh up the pros and cons. Think about it like a business deal,” he said, standing and pushing his hands into his pockets. “You’d be getting what you want—a debt-free Cecily Fragrance. Surely that’s worth considering?”
He made it sound so simple. But I couldn’t sell myself just to save a company.
Could I?
Nine
Scarlett
I stared into my glass of rosé like it was a crystal ball.
“You’re quiet. It’s freaking me out,” Violet said. “Was the sex bad?”
Violet had been messaging me, wanting to know how my night with Ryder had been. I’d managed to put her off last night—I’d needed an early night. I hadn’t been so lucky today. She’d insisted we go for a drink when I’d finished work. I just wanted to go home and process everything. “It was … complicated,” I said.
“What was complicated?” A woman with a familiar voice said.
I looked up to find my sister-in-law, Harper, standing above us.
“I invited Harper,” Violet said.
“So I see.” I really wasn’t up for a big, boozy night out where the main topic of conversation was whether I’d had an orgasm. I put on my best fake smile and shuffled across the padded bench to make room for Harper.
“Can we get a bottle of champagne, please?” Harper hollered across the bar at a waiter three tables over. “We’re celebrating,” she said, lowering her head to us so she wasn’t addressing the whole bar. “I’m so excited! You popped your post-divorce cherry. And with a British guy! Tell me all about it.”
Violet tried to avoid the death stare I shot her across the table. I couldn’t believe she’d told Harper I hadn’t slept with anyone since my divorce.
“Oh, you want the details,” I said. Well, they wouldn’t be expecting to hear this particular story. “He asked me to marry him today.” I shrugged.
Violet twisted her mouth to one side as if she were trying to figure out whether or not I was joking.
“He what?” Harper asked.
“He suggested we get married.”
Harper smiled politely, glancing across my half-empty wine glass, probably wondering whether or not more alcohol was a good idea.
“Like, as a joke?” Violet asked. “Is that British slang or something?”
I chuckled. “No actually, he seriously wants to marry me.”
Harper widened her eyes. “Well, you can’t get it right every time. There are a lot of crazies out there. Maybe stick to an American next time.”
Crazy was right. Living in Manhattan, I thought I’d seen it all, but getting married in order to inherit? Ryder might be British, but we weren’t in the seventeenth century, for Christ’s sake.
“Okay, spill, how did that happen?” Violet asked as a waitress came over with our champagne on ice. “Is he crazy in love with you? Do you have a magic vagina?”
As she opened the bottle and poured three glasses, I explained how Ryder turned out to be the man behind the company trying to buy Cecily Fragrance, and how he’d offered to pay off the loans in return for my hand in marriage.
“How long would you have to stay married?” Violet asked.
I shrugged. “I have no idea. I didn’t ask him.”
“Why? You don’t think that’s important?” she asked.
Didn’t she understand that I’d said no? “Five minutes or five years—it didn’t matter. I wasn’t going to marry him. For money.”
“Not even to save your business? Then you’re crazy,” Violet said. “There’s not much I wouldn’t do for that kind of cash.”
“I’d definitely do it for five minutes,” Harper said with a shrug. “Sign the paperwork and then get it annulled.”
“She probably wouldn’t be able to get it annulled,” Violet said to Harper as if I wasn’t even there. “Wouldn’t work for his trust thingy.”
“Divorced then. Who cares?” Harper said.
“I care,” I said. “Divorce is a big deal. Marriage is a big deal. You can’t enter into a relationship as a business transaction.”
“Of course you can. People have been doing it for centuries,” Violet said before draining her champagne. “You over-romanticize things. Marriage is always a deal. He has something you want, you have something he wants. Every relationship is like that if you think about it.”
“You really do take the fun out of everything,” Harper said, shaking her head.
“I’m just practical. Years ago men took pretty wives who had a big dowry if they could offer a title and respectability. Cavemen mated with the most fertile women in the village. It’s always a transaction. This one is just more … obvious.”
“So you think my marriage was a deal?” I asked her.
“I think every marriage is. You wanted Marcus because he promised to keep you safe, got along with our parents and has a nice ass.”
“Violet, you can’t boil down the reasons I wanted to marry my ex-husband to safety and a great ass. I loved him. Marriage is supposed to be about loving each other.”
“That was just part of the deal, for you—love I mean. It isn’t for everyone.”
Harper laughed. “You’re so cynical, Violet. But Max’s ass was definitely part of the deal for me.”
“I am not,” Violet replied, shaking her head. “What I will be is a lot richer if you give me his number.”
“You’re saying you’d marry Ryder—even though you don’t know him—just for the money?” I asked, looking at my sister, trying to figure out if she was playing with me.
“For serious money? Of course. I’d be crazy not to.” She grabbed the bottle of champagne from the ice bucket and topped up our glasses.
My sister was the most practical, unromantic person on the planet. She also thought like a guy.
“And anyway, weren’t you looking for an adventure?” she asked. “Marrying some stranger, it’s all about the adventure, isn’t it? And even if it’s the most boring thing you’ve ever done, at least you’ll be left with Cecily Fragrance, which you love.”
According to my ex, I approached life with caution. I thought about all the reasons we shouldn’t do something. I didn’t like to take risks.
“I agree,” Harper said. “I think you should think about it. It’s not like he’s paying you for sex.”
“How would I explain that to mom and dad?” I asked. “They’d hardly say, ‘Go ahead sweetheart, whatever makes you happy.’ They’ve lived in the same house in Connecticut their whole lives, for Christ’s sake. They are not exactly all about the adventure.”
“Well, first off,” Violet said, “I’m not sure what living in Connecticut has got to do with anything. And second, when have they ever told you to do anything other than what makes you happy? They’ve never pressured us, never told us our decisions were terrible, or our choices wrong. They’ve only ever supported and loved us. Don’t make them the scapegoat just because you’re scared.”
I twirled the stem of the champagne glass between my fingers. Was I scared? When Ryder talked about marriage in his office earlier, I’d thought he was a lunatic, yet here I was, listening to my sister and Harper tell me how it was no big deal.
“Weigh the pros and cons,” Violet said.
That’s what Ryder had invited me to do—consider the advantages and disadvantages.
“You’d save your business,” Harper said.
“You’d be doing something crazy for the first time in your life,” Violet said. “Take a risk. Have a real adventure.”
“But I’d be on my third marriage when I find the right guy,” I said. “That’s a big fucking deal.”
“The right guy?” Harper asked. “Your ex was the ‘right guy.’ You thought you were happy with him, right?”
My insides shifted. “Very.”
“Plenty of right guys? Is that the deal you have with our brother?” Violet asked Harper.
“Maybe,” she replied, sticking out her tongue.
It made sense. There were so many good times and incredible memories between me and my husband that it was hard to coat it all in failure.
But perhaps he was just part of my story. One right guy.
“I suppose I could ask him for some more information. I mean, presumably we wouldn’t have to live together. And it’s probably only for like three months or something.”
“Exactly,” Violet said. “And if you decide to say no, tell him your sister’s interested.”
Maybe I would. But perhaps I was interested.
Ten
Ryder
There weren’t many times in my life that I’d felt nervous, but tonight was one of them. My whole life could be turned on its head this evening. Instead of sitting at the bar, I’d chosen a secluded booth in the corner where it was as private as you could get in the middle of Manhattan. I could still see the door from where I was. There was no way I was going to miss Scarlett if she turned up. I could have called her, to try to state my case again, but I wasn’t about to force a woman up the aisle.
The more I thought about it, the more marrying Scarlett made sense. I didn’t know her well, but she seemed normal—she held down a job, she was attractive, clever and we shared a similar lifestyle based around work and family. People would buy us as a couple. But most of all, I liked that she’d been so adamantly against the thought of marrying me. I’d had the same reaction when Darcy and my lawyer had urged me to find a wife.
It all seemed so ridiculous.
I’d changed my mind out of necessity. I’d pushed the lawyers as hard as I could, sought second and third opinions. They all agreed—marriage was the only way.
I hoped Scarlett showed tonight.
I swiped my phone open. She was ten minutes late—she’d left me a message earlier asking me to meet her here. I was going to give her an hour. Maybe more. I didn’t have anything else to do but wait, and hope. If she didn’t show or said no, I didn’t know what was next. Scarlett seemed like the only option.