Page 15 of Bargaining

I found a tin of tuna and a handful of wilted lettuce for the sandwich. The salad was pathetic without cucumber, but Charlotte had always hated it anyway. She wrapped her arms around herself and watched me butter the bread.

“Come back with me to London. I have staff. People who can take care of you.”

Her eyes widened. “Take care of me? I don’t need that.”

I found a plate and presented her with the food. Then I made us each a cup of tea and planted a steaming mug in front of her. It wasn’t much, but it would get her through tonight.

“I can get you out of this village.”

She stared at the sandwich as though it was an unidentifiable object recovered from an alien spaceship. Maybe it was bad. I had a chef. I hadn’t made a sandwich in years.

“Did you hear me?” I repeated gently. “I can get you out of here.”

Her red-rimmed eyes darted to mine. “Who said I want to leave Ecclesdale?”

“You did. You said you had nothing to go on your Wikipedia page. I’ve got hotels everywhere. Paris. Tokyo. Dubai. A private jet. I can give you the world, if that’s what you want.”

She chewed the skin around her thumbnail. That meant she was processing. Good. I’d let her. A little space and then a well-timed nudge. That’s how I’d get this deal over the line.

“I don’t belong in London. I belong here.” She pressed her palms to her eyes. “I can’t deal with this today. This is madness.”

Her eyes met mine, and they glimmered with tears. My heart contracted. I had this strange compulsion that if I could just pull her into my arms, I could kiss her hard enough to take the pain away. It wasn’t possible. Life fucked us all in a multitude of ways, over and over. I couldn’t take away the pain in Charlotte’s eyes, but I could ease her burden.

“I’m offering you a lifeline.”

Charlotte smoothed a hand over her face. “And do you think we’d be happy in our fake marriage? Are we going to have fake sex? And fake children? Send them to fake school?”

“We can iron out the details.”

A bitter laugh escaped her. “Why can’t you find a wife the normal way? Look at you. You’re a big shot in your suit and tie. I’m sure you’re not short of offers.”

Because a real wife would tie me down. Because the business of destroying my father was a full-time job. But even I could see it was time to have a woman on my arm. I needed one on my terms, who I could pick up as and when I wanted for corporate events and put back down again without fuss. No mindless dates. No gold diggers. No drama. Charlotte needed a way out of this village and the opportunity to live a good life once she’d risen from the fog of grief. What better way forward for both of us?

I pushed the mug toward her. “Drink your tea and eat your sandwich. I can order food in if you don’t want it.”

“I’m not hungry.” She shook her head and pointed to the door. “I’ve heard enough. Please, it’s time for you to go.”

“Come back to London with me.”

“No.” She shook her head vehemently. “No way. Please. I have a splitting headache. You need to leave. I mean it. I want you out.”

I pulled out my phone. “I’m ordering pizza.”

She scrubbed both hands over her face. Her voice was a slow and lethal whisper. “You’re not listening to me. I don’t want to eat. I don’t want to talk. I don’t want to look at you for another minute. You’re not welcome here. Please just leave me alone. Why are you not getting this?”

I never walked away from a deal, but she looked ready to punch me in the face or collapse and weep. Maybe both. As much as it pained me to walk out of here, we’d have to pick this up another time. I pulled out a business card and put it on the kitchen table. “Call me when you’re ready to talk. Anytime. Day or night. You still have six months. The offer remains open until April 14th.”

Her eyes flickered with surprise and darted to mine. “You remember my birthday?”

Yes. Once, I’d known everything there was to know about Charlotte Ackroyd. I took a step closer, close enough to see thetears glistening on her cheek. She’d been my first love. My fucking obsession.

My fingers itched to swipe the stray tear from her freckled cheek, but I held myself in check. “We were friends, weren’t we?”

She opened the front door. Cold night air blasted us. Her face was pale. She probably wouldn’t eat that bloody sandwich. I’d order the pizza when I got back in the car. She didn’t have to eat it if she didn’t want to. Better to have the option.

“You must eat. Keep your energy up.” I stepped outside. “Take your time to think about the proposal. Call me whenever.”

She stared past the wrecked car on the drive at nothing. Memories of my mother flooded my brain. When she’d been in the grip of depression, she’d been like this. Far away. Wounded. Absent.