Page 32 of The Wrong Brother

Because vengeance tastes sweeter when delivered elegantly.

But most dangerously, because I cannot stop imagining Emma standing beside me while every powerful man in Colorado understands she belongs to me now instead.

I set my coffee down carefully.

Then smile.

“That,” I murmur softly, “isn’t for you to worry about.”

“You do realize,” she bites out, “that your brother will immediately think you’re doing this to screw with him?”

“Yes.”

“And you are doing this to screw with him.”

“Yes.”

“At least you’re honest.” It’s muttered with a roll of her eyes. Now that she’s feeling more comfortable in my presence, whether she realizes it or not, I’m seeing more and more of this incredible woman.

Unfortunately, stubbornness flashes through her expression a second later, and I recognize the shift immediately. She is preparing to refuse again. So I change tactics.

“There would be compensation.”

She stops pacing.

Ah. Greed? Or desperation? It’s often hard to tell the two apart, but the distinction matters.

The idea that Emma might agree to this because she wants money bothers me, like a thorn settling in under my skin. But if sheneedsit? That makes a pulse of protective instinct flood through me.

“Compensation.”

I nod. “You would attend several public events with me in Colorado. The engagement party. The wedding. A handful of campaign-adjacent appearances likely connected to Andrei’s social circle; whatever other ridiculous things he comes up with.”

She ignores that. “And in exchange?”

I study her face carefully before answering. “One hundred thousand dollars.”

First, she looks incredulous. Then offended…then conflicted. That amount of money is nothing to me, but for many people it could be life-changing. And when I had Stepan shut down her accounts, I know exactly how much—or how little—was in them.

What are you running from?My thoughts whisper, but I don’t voice them aloud. Not yet. I need Emma to agree to this, and for that to happen, she can’t feel threatened or exposed.

Her throat moves slightly as she swallows. “You can’t just throw money at people until they cooperate.”

“You would be surprised how often that works.”

“I’m serious.”

“So am I.”

She looks away immediately. She must be tempted. And she must hate herself for considering it.

Five thousand dollars in her account. Frozen cards. Missing identification.

What happened to you, Emma?

The question presses harder now, but I keep it leashed.

Not yet.