Chapter 4 - An Offer She Can't Ignore
The headquarters of DeLuca Enterprises did not look like a front for organized crime. It was a monolith of glass and polished steel rising fifty stories above the financial district. When the private elevator opened directly onto the top floor, I found myself walking into a minimalist sanctuary of walnut wood and floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the entire city.
Vincent was standing behind an expansive mahogany desk, his jacket discarded, the sleeves of his white dress shirt rolled up to his forearms, revealing corded muscle and the edge of an intricate black tattoo curling over his wrist.
When he saw me, he immediately set down the pen he was holding.
"Emily," he said, walking out from behind the desk. "You look rested. Did the clothes fit?"
I was wearing a dark green wrap dress that had arrived with Marcus. It flattered my curves without squeezing, falling just below my knees in a rich, supple fabric I knew must have cost more than three months of my rent.
"They fit perfectly," I admitted, crossing my arms defensively over my chest. "Vincent, we need to talk about reality. I can’t hide in your penthouse forever. I have a job—or I did, before reporters turned the diner into a circus. I have rent due next Tuesday. Tyler is telling anyone who will listen that I orchestrated this to make him look bad, and the entire city thinks I’m your mistress."
Vincent listened without interrupting, his dark eyes never leaving mine. "Let them think it."
I blinked. "What?"
"Let them think you are mine," he reiterated calmly. "In fact, I want you to make it official."
I let out a harsh, incredulous laugh. "Official? Fake dating? Vincent, this isn't a cheesy romance novel. You are Vincent DeLuca. People cross the street when your car drives by. I am a twenty-six-year-old diner waitress whose own fiancé dumped her because he was ashamed to be seen with her at the beach! What possible reason could you have to pretend to be with me?"
Vincent took three slow, deliberate strides toward me. He didn't stop until he was standing so close I could feel the heat radiating from his chest, carrying the scent of cedarwood and expensive tobacco.
"First of all," he said, his voice dropping an octave, rich and dangerously low, "there is nothing about your body that any real man would be ashamed of. Tyler was a cowardly parasite who drained your kindness because he knew he didn't deserve it."
A sudden lump formed in my throat, hot and painful.
May you like
"Second," Vincent continued, reaching out. His fingertips brushed against the curve of my collarbone, hesitant, asking for permission before resting against my skin. "Who said anything about pretending?"
***
