I wasn’t expecting her to argue like this. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. After all, I don’t know her that well. This was all supposed to be hashed out before I got here to begin with, if her father had done what he was supposed to.

“You will marry him,” Spencer barks, looking appalled that she’s even questioning it. “You will do it for your family. For everything we’ve worked toward, and I don’t want to hear another question about it.”

My jaw tightens because of the harsh tone he uses with her. It seems completely unnecessary. Did she make a mistake? Yes. But he’s persecuting her for having sex. She’s an adult. The man she slept with was an adult. It isn’t her fault he was a total dick and used her for some absurd revenge plot.

I understand her unwillingness to want to marry me. It’s the same feeling I had when my father told me what had to be done. I just always saw her as someone who does as she’s told, but in this instance, she’s doing anything she can to defy her father’s wishes.

With a deep breath, I stand up. My palms press into the top of Spencer’s desk as I lean in close to him. I’m already annoyed that there’s a good chance I’ll miss my next meeting, but this is more important. If I go to my father without finalizing the deal, he might disown me and find a new heir.

He’s frothing at the mouth to have the contracts signed. For us to finally have a part of Bishop Hotels. Something we were supposed to have a partnership in years ago before Winnie’s great-grandfather split Bishop-Moore Hotels into two and made sure to take as much as he could.

“Can Winnie and I have a moment?” I ask slowly, looking into Spencer’s eyes.

I’m sure he isn’t a bad man—or maybe he is. I know my family’s hands aren’t clean. But I don’t like the way he’s speaking to his daughter, no matter my disinterest in marrying her. She’s a victim here, and it’s really bothering me how much it angers me to hear him talk to her like this.

Spencer narrows his eyes on me. I admire the guy for trying to pretend that he’s the one in control. He isn’t. He knows it. I know it. I’m sure Winnie knows it, too. I hold all of the cards, and if I want to speak to his daughter—the woman who is supposed to be my wife come tomorrow—alone, then I will.

“Anything you need to say to her can be said to me,” Spencer argues, casting a quick look to Winnie. She doesn’t say anything. She sits there, her cheeks pink as she stares between the two of us, her face completely emotionless.

A cold laugh escapes from deep in my chest. Just because I can, I reach out and grab the expensive pen from its holder on Spencer’s desk. I twirl it between my fingers, shaking my head back and forth. When I meet his eyes again, I make sure all humor is wiped from my features. “Let me rephrase this. I’m going to talk to my future wife—alone. You can leave your office or direct us to a more private location. The choice is yours.”

He lets out a loud huff, not giving any indication that he’s going to move. Always a man of my word, I roll my eyes and turn to Winnie.

“You’re coming with me,” I demand, wrapping my fingers around her wrist and pulling her from the chair. To my shock, she doesn’t protest, at least at first. The moment I lead her into a small office and shut the door, she’s opening her mouth to speak.

“I’m not marrying you, Archer,” she states, ripping her hand from mine.

This office is only big enough to fit a small desk and an old filing cabinet. I take a moment to look around, wondering if this is actually someone’s office or not. It seems empty. There isn’t an empty office at our Manhattan headquarters. We’re constantly expanding to keep up with demand.

“Did you hear me?” Winnie interrupts my thoughts. She’s on the other side of the small room, her hips resting against the windowsill. Her hands are folded across her chest in a defensive position.

“I did,” I answer, resting my shoulder against the wall. I mimic her position, folding my arms across my chest. There’s a desk between us, but it still feels like we’re chest to chest by the way we intensely stare at one another.

I hate the dull look in her eyes as they find mine. “So you understand, then? I won’t marry you.”

She surprises me. To the outside world, she seems like the perfect little doll for her father to use to his advantage, but behind closed doors, she seems to have more of an opinion than people would expect. I like that.

I guess I should remember that Winnie has a bit of a wild side. I’ve seen it before.

“You will marry me.”

Her mouth pops open. I try not to focus on her perfect, pink lips. “No.”

“Yes.”

She lets out an aggravated sigh, twisting her fingers through the ends of her ponytail. “People don’t do arranged marriages anymore, Archer,” she comments, her hands settling on her hips.

I lift a shoulder. “Sure they do. It happens all the time in our world.”

“If I wanted to marry for advantage, I would’ve married any other man but you. Plenty have asked.”

I’m sure they have. She’s more than ten years younger than me, but the moment she graduated college and started attending more social events, all of the men began to talk about her. Everyone wanted her. She was beautiful and the only daughter of a powerful man. Men wanted to get in bed with her family. But she’s right. As far as I’m aware, she hadn’t given anyone the time of day.

At least, she wasn’t giving anyone with social status attention. Turns out, her preference was an employee who is so worthless he shouldn’t even exist in the same world as her.

“You don’t have any other options.” Lifting my wrist, I check the time on the watch my grandfather gave me at my college graduation. I’m already late for the next meeting, but I have no intention of leaving this office until she’s understood that tomorrow she’ll be meeting me at the altar whether she likes it or not.

Her eyes drop to the floor as she shuffles her feet. “I’ll think of something else.”

My head shakes. “You don’t have the time. By tomorrow night, he’ll have that video and all of the pictures out to every publication because he’s sick and twisted.” I scratch the back of my neck, wishing she’d just agree to this so I can leave this office and no longer be alone with her. “The only way to make it stop is for you and I to be married. I’ll grant the media outlets interviews and photoshoots with us. Every single one of them will know not to run anything about you unless it’s approved by me first.”

She works her bottom lip between her teeth as she thinks through my words. I try not to be offended by the apprehensive look on her face. She isn’t my first choice either—but no one would be. I didn’t have any particular wish to get married until this opportunity fell into my lap. Now, I can’t deny how much we gain by helping the Bishops, by having me marry her.

“How long?” she asks, catching me off guard.

“What?”

“How long do we have to be married? This isn’t for love. I want to marry someone I love. So how long am I expected to stay married to you? What will stop him from releasing it after we get a divorce? I wouldn’t be under your family’s protection anymore, after all.”

I roll my lips together as I attempt to hide my smile from her. Damn. She’s surprising me at every turn.

“There’s no set time limit. We can discuss years down the road possibly if you wish. Then you’ll be free of me and free to choose whomever you want to marry…for love,” I finish sarcastically.

“I don’t like that answer,” she fires back immediately.

I move off the wall, rounding the desk so I stand right in front of her. She’s cornered. There’s nowhere for her to go. She’s way too close again, her sweet scent overwhelming my senses.

Winnie tries to get away from me by fully pressing her body against the window. Her palms lie flat against the glass, her chest rising and falling with quick breaths. Against my better judgment, I crowd her space. Our chests barely press against one another.

If someone were to walk in, this position might look far less innocent than it actually is. I don’t care how it looks. I want to get my point across and maybe even get under her skin in the process.

“You’re in no place to negotiate,” I tell her, my eyes roaming her face. The daylight from the window shines against her pale skin, showing the slightest splatter of freckles along her cheek. It doesn’t look like she’s had any kind of sun recently, so I’m wondering if these are permanently etched into her skin.

“We’ll be married for one year,” she negotiates. Her eyes briefly flash to my lips before her aquamarine eyes meet my gaze. “And we’ll tell people it was an amicable split. That we support each other fully. Maybe people will even see us having lunch or something after like a couple of friends. That way, Blake doesn’t try anything even after we’re done.”

I resist the urge to tell her that it won’t be too long after we exchange vows that I’ll be paying Blake a little visit. Give me a few days, and I’ll make sure he never does anything to harm my wife or her reputation—even if she won’t always be my wife.

“I don’t see the point in negotiating with people when I already hold all of the power. Seems like a waste of breath to me.”

My fingers twitch at my sides as I ache to reach out and run them through the locks of her red hair. It seems even brighter underneath the morning sunlight. Even though she has it neatly pulled back away from her face, bringing more attention to her sharp cheekbones and almond-shaped eyes.

“You’re getting so much from my family. And I get it. You’re doing us a huge favor. But can we agree to one year? Please.” The last word is said so softly, so desperate, that it does something to my heart. I haven’t felt bad for someone in a really long time. In fact, I can’t recall the last time I felt remorse. But for the briefest of moments, I feel it with the pleading look in her eyes and the way her words get cut off with her plea.

She’s right. My father went back and forth with Spencer so much that he ended up getting a far better deal in this agreement. If she only wants to be chained to me for a year to help prevent a scandal, it still works out fine for me and my family. We’ll have a stake in the company far longer after our divorce papers are finalized.

“We’ll discuss our arrangement again in one year,” I answer, trying to ignore the way my chest feels heavy at the smile I’ve earned from her.

“Yeah?” She shifts slightly, making our bodies press against one another more for a fraction of a second.

“Don’t get your hopes up. We might find this arrangement needs to last far more than a year. But I’m open to discussing it. No matter the length of this marriage, it has to seem real, and it has to seem real immediately. Are you ready for that?”

At first, she doesn’t answer. She takes so long I wonder if she intends on answering at all. Maybe she doesn’t care about her father’s company. Maybe she doesn’t care about her reputation and I’ve read her all wrong.

Or maybe she’s just trying to pretend like she has some sense of control in a situation where everyone knows she doesn’t have any at all.

She lowers her head and speaks to the ground. “Tell me what you want.”

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