“What do you think?” he asked, staring at me.
I needed to get out of there. I had no idea what was happening. He seemed normal enough but he clearly had issues. “What do I . . .?” I got up from the couch, Ryder’s gaze fixed on me from across the coffee table. “I think I’m going to leave.”
“I know it’s sudden,” Ryder said, sweeping his hand through his hair. “I’ve not really thought it all through, but it could work.”
“You’re not making any sense,” I replied, studying his face to see if I could spot any visible signs of a psychotic break or a stroke or something.
Frowning, he pulled his head back.
“Maybe it’s an aneurysm,” I muttered to myself.
He sat on the couch. “Please, Scarlett, take a seat. The more I think about this, the more I believe this might be an option.”
I blew out a breath. Perhaps I’d heard him incorrectly? I perched on the edge of the couch, ready to make a quick getaway if necessary.
“What if I said I’d pay off Cecily Fragrance’s loans as you suggested.” That was what I’d come here for—I just hadn’t hoped to actually walk away with such an offer.
“And in return?”
“In return, you help me inherit my family’s estate.”
“By marrying you?” I asked.
“Yes.”
I waited for him to elaborate but he didn’t. Was this about sex? He was a rich, handsome—okay, gorgeous—guy with a body Ryan Reynolds would envy.
Was I just super good in bed? Did he just want a little more Scarlett?
“Let’s get this straight. You’re offering me money for . . . sex.”
“What?” His whole body recoiled.
Okay, maybe I wasn’t so good in bed.
“Of course not. Jesus, after the other night, you think I have to pay for it?”
“Quite frankly I haven’t got the slightest clue what’s going on. I think maybe . . .” I looked down at my skirt, embarrassed at his mention of our night together.
“I’m talking about marriage. Not sex.”
Was he listening to himself? Nothing he was saying was making sense.
My skepticism must have shown. He raised his palm. “Let me explain.”
“This better be good.”
“Please, just listen and let me give you the whole story.”
I sighed but tilted my head, ready to hear whatever it was that he had to say.
His body mirrored mine and if anyone had walked in it would have looked as though two sane people were having an innocent business meeting. There were no obvious signs of the total lunacy rippling below the surface.
“My family’s estate—it’s wealth, land and property—has been handed down through the generations via the family trust.”
Oh God, I hope this doesn’t take long.
“In each generation,” he went on, “the oldest male inherits the entire estate. Well, not exactly, which is the point,” he said, almost as if he were explaining things to himself. “The oldest married male inherits.” He shook his head. “The whole thing is ludicrous. My older sister should inherit, but the terms of the trust are outdated and old-fashioned.”
Okay. Had we just rewound to a Jane Austen novel?
“I’ve never been bothered about the money or title.”
What did he mean, “Title?” Like royalty or something? I stopped myself from asking. I wanted to get out of here.
“The Westbury Group has done well—certainly well enough that I can provide for my mother and sister.” He snorted and ran his finger around his collar as if trying to loosen it. “Unfortunately, because the initial investment into Westbury came from the family trust, my cousin Frederick could wrest control of my business when he inherits.”
God, that sounded serious. Surely, legally that could be stopped?
“So, everything I’ve worked for—my wealth, independence, my own identity—would be taken from me.”
This all seemed a bit farfetched.
“Just because he’s married, my cousin inherits.” He shook his head. “I can’t believe after all this time and effort, everything I worked for my entire life is about to be handed over to someone who hasn’t worked a single day since birth.”
He pushed his hand through his hair.
“I need a way out—”
“Surely a good lawyer—”
He shook his head. “I’ve spoken to lawyers, they all say the same thing—get married.”
Married?
He let out a long puff of breath. “Ridiculous, right?”
I gave him a small smile. I wasn’t sure if I should feel sorry for him or not. “Pretty much, but I’m sure there are plenty of women out there who would line up around the block to marry you.”
“And that’s the problem.” He leaned forward.
This was possibly the most ludicrous conversation I’d ever had in my life. It ranked right up there with my ex-husband telling me he wanted a divorce because I was too boring.
“I don’t want a wife like that,” he said.
“Someone willing?”
“I get how that sounds.” He chuckled. “And no, that’s not what I mean. I don’t want someone who wants to be married to me.”
“You’re a sadistic weirdo. You know that, right?”
“Only on Tuesdays.”
I had to try not to laugh. “Well, it’s Thursday so . . .”
“I don’t want a wife who has wifely expectations. I don’t want to be married. I just want my company. I want someone who wants something from me in the same way that I want something from them. I don’t want someone going into this saying they just want the money, when actually, they want more and I’m not prepared to give more. Your motivation to do this would fit perfectly. And me writing off the loan, or transferring it to my wife, is much less suspicious than just a cash payment.”
“You want a business transaction.” He wanted a fake marriage. “And a divorce afterward?”
“Yes. I want it to be exactly like a business arrangement. Which is why you are the perfect candidate.”
Wonderful. The first thing a man who’d dissolved me into a thousand pieces in bed saw in me the next time we met was a business arrangement. It was better than him not recognizing me at all.
Barely.
“But I’m sure you could find plenty of women who would be prepared to marry you for money. I mean, you’re easy on the eyes.” The corners of his mouth twitched. I shook my head. “You’re offering to pay off the loans in full—”
“Cecily Fragrance will be yours, free and clear.”
I’d married a man I thought I’d spend the rest of my life with. The divorce had been devastating. It had created an unhealable scar right through my middle that I knew I would wear my whole life.
I’d got it wrong with my ex, and I’d promised myself the next time I’d get it right. That the next time would be forever. I didn’t want some guy who saw marriage as a business deal. I wanted someone who wanted me, just me, for the rest of his life.
“I can’t,” I replied, my stomach dropping. This was probably the best chance I had at saving Cecily Fragrance, and I was saying no. “It’s just not who I am.”