Page 112 of Handsome Devil
“Okay. You get that. All of it.” He held my gaze, steady. Undeterred. For another man, that all might’ve been a large ask. But for a billionaire… what did he care if I wanted ten-thousand-dollar shoes on a whim? “And I get you, as my adoring wife.”
“Fine. For four months. And then the agency is mine.”
“Deal.” He stood up, so I got to my feet, smoothing my dress. Then he extended his hand.
I looked at his hand, incredulous. “Really?”
“A Davenport always shakes hands,” he said.
I rolled my eyes.
“Would you prefer a hug?” He licked his lip idly. “Or a kiss?”
I shook his hand, but I told him, “I want this all in writing. Your handshake won’t cut it this time.”
“Of course.”
“Okay, then,” I said. “You will be hearing from my lawyer. Now open that door and get me my coat so I can get the hell out of here.”
Chapter Nineteen
Devi
The next time I saw my fiancé, we were in a limo, then on a private jet headed to the Caribbean to get married. Not two days after he “proposed.”
The man worked incredibly fast.
Though I supposed when you had access to the kind of bank that Dane Davenport did, “fast” was just the way things rolled.
Like he said, waiting sucked.
The day after the whole weird proposal, which was Monday, I was out of the office most of the day, taking meetings, then getting a pre-wedding manicure. No need to get married with chipped nails. Though that was the only thing I was doing to prepare, other than spending a good chunk of the day on the phone with my lawyer—my brother—and my best friend.
According to Suri, Dane was at the agency most of the day, on his phone, with his office door firmly closed. He emailed me to remind me to set my out-of-office email reply for the days I’d be away for our wedding—like maybe he was checking to be sure we were actually going—and to have Lizzie or one of the other agents cover for me. But I’d already taken care of that.
Though I did not tell anyonewhyI’d be out of the office.
I told Lizzie I had a personal emergency to take care of and was taking a few personal days. I rarely took time off, so no one seemed to mind.
They’d find out the truth soon enough.
I’d agreed to go through with this, and I was a woman of my word. As long as I didn’t think too much about how other people might react when they found out, I could handle it. It was only four months. After that, I’d be free to go back to dating and life as it was. And as owner of the agency.
Since this wedding wasn’t actually a romantic occasion, I’d suggested a quick civil service, but unfortunately Dane had vetoed that idea. In order for this to look real, he said, it needed to be a proper wedding—like the kind a billionaire would actually have—with beautiful photos that could be casually leaked to the media.
He had a point.
When he called me Monday morning to tell me we’d be leaving the country on Tuesday morning to fly to our destination wedding, I told him my only stipulation was that we bring alongonepersonal guest each. Basically for the legal/witness part. Any more than that and this thing would start to feel like an actualevent, and I wasn’t comfortable with that.
It was a business deal and nothing more.
Monday night after work, I packed my bag. And Tuesday morning, the limo arrived outside my place to pick me up. Dane and the driver met me at the door to my building. The driver took my bag and Dane nudged me back into the lobby, where he pulled a ring box from his pocket.
“You’ll need this,” he said. Then he flipped it open and presented me with an engagement ring. It was white-gold, with a large, round diamond and pavé band. And definitely looked like something the fiancée of a billionaire would wear.
When I just stared at it, my jaw dropping slightly, he took it out and slid it onto my ring finger. He’d had some woman from a jewelry store meet up with me yesterday, to check my ring size and ask me a list of questions about what I wanted.
She’d really nailed it.
