Total pages in book: 100
Estimated words: 92734 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 464(@200wpm)___ 371(@250wpm)___ 309(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92734 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 464(@200wpm)___ 371(@250wpm)___ 309(@300wpm)
Pretty words, but she trusted this man as far as she could throw him. “So what is it you do want?”
“A part-time partner. I have no need of someone to help me run my various business ventures, but there are times when having a wife on my arm would make or break a deal. It also creates stability, because my people see me as settling down and providing heirs that will prevent a civil war. Stability, Carrigan, is key. So, yes, I will need children, though half a dozen seems excessive—no offense to your parents, of course.”
“Of course.” She took another sip of wine through numb lips. “You say a part-time partner. Should I take up knitting when you don’t need to dust me off, prop me up, and have me entertain guests?”
He shot her a look. “Hardly. I see no reason why you can’t spend a good portion of the time here in Boston—as long as you agree to the appropriate protection. I simply ask that you do nothing to bring negative attention. And that you stay faithful.”
It was so strange to have it all laid out there in bald terms. Part of her wanted to scream at him for making her feel so… What? If he’d given her romance, she would have called him a liar. All he’d done was tear away the thin curtain between her and reality. She’d known what these men expected of her. Dmitri was simply clearing the air. She sat back. “Do you conduct all your negotiations like this?”
“Only when the situation calls for it. You’re a smart woman, and I thought you’d appreciate it if I was frank with you.” He frowned, the first time his perfect mask had so much as cracked. “Was I wrong? Would you prefer flowers and romance and pretty words?”
“No, thank you.” She could almost feel the room solidifying around her as she found her feet again. He’d caught her off guard, but she found she actually preferred this to the lies people tended to tell when they first met each other.
James hasn’t lied to you.
Shut up.
James wasn’t her future. It didn’t matter how he made her feel or that she said things to him she never would have said to anyone else. She couldn’t hold him up in comparison to every man on her father’s list. They’d all end up wanting. Dmitri was nothing like him. He was dark where James was light, polished where James was rough, a shark to James’s junkyard dog.
Maybe all the differences were a good thing.
She set her wineglass down. “Two children, and I’m in Boston at least six months of the year.”
“I’ll agree to the two children. I can’t promise specific timelines as I don’t know when I’ll need you.” He paused and smiled at the waitress who now brought their food. Reuben for him, and a chicken Caesar wrap for her. Her favorite.
“This one you got right.” She snagged a fry and took a bite. Perfection.
“Research allows me to surpass a lot of the unnecessary bits.” He pushed his plate to the side. “As I was saying, initially you’ll need to be in New York more. I have to establish your place in my home for both allies and enemies. The first year, possibly more, will require the majority of your time to be spent with me.”
She didn’t like the idea of it, but it was fair—fairer than any other deal she was likely to get. That didn’t mean she had to drop everything and jump on it. “I’ll let you know.”
Dmitri smiled his shark’s smile. “I wouldn’t expect anything else.”
He had her and he knew it. Unless her date tonight went spectacularly—or the one she had yet to set up with Charles Pope—she wasn’t likely to get a better offer. Carrigan rose. “Thank you for your time, Mr. Romanov.”
“I look forward to seeing you again, Carrigan.”
She turned and walked away, feeling his gaze on the back of her neck the whole while.
* * *
An hour in the gym later, and James couldn’t get the feeling of blood off his hands. He stood beneath the scalding spray of the shower and scrubbed and scrubbed and scrubbed. It didn’t help. Rationally, he knew nothing would help. The problem was mental—not physical. He looked at his hands, red and raw from the repeated washings. “Damn it.”
He turned off the shower and dried off. In the past, whenever he got too close to the edge, he’d locked himself in the room with his mother’s photo album and anchored himself by remembering happier days. That option wasn’t available—hadn’t been since Carrigan took the album. He needed it back, the sooner the better. The thought of carrying on like this without an anchor made him sick to his stomach. This life was a slippery slope, and he was already too far gone. If he wasn’t careful, he’d wake up one day and realize he’d turned into his old man.