Chapter 6: The Proposal From Hell

༺RAYNE༻

I blink once, my mouth parting wide open. I blink again, my eyes roaming over Mr Everhart’s face. And in that instant, I burst into a loud, hearty laugh. Heaven knows I haven’t laughed this hard in ages.

“Oh, Mr Everhart, I didn’t realize you had a sense of humour,” I say, shaking my head as my laugh fades into a low chuckle.

Mr Everhart glares at me, one of his eyebrows wrinkled. “Excuse me?”

My chuckle wears off into a half smile. “I’m sorry… It’s just… What you said is very funny.”

His lips twist into a frown and his jaw tightens. He stares me down like a man assessing some secondhand goods, wondering whether they’re worth the price on them.

The stern look on his face makes me buckle up. I clear my throat and adjust my sitting position, moving slightly away from him. He doesn’t tear his gaze from me and it’s making me really uncomfortable now.

“What do you take me for? A clown? A stand-up comedian?” he snarls.

I open my mouth to speak but nothing comes out. I don’t understand what’s happening. Why is he getting all riled up that I laughed at his joke? What a strange man!

“I didn't mean it like that. It's not my fault that you're...” I pause and take one good look at him.

This man doesn't look like he's kidding. He's not even cracking up a little smile. He's stone-faced and his grey eyes are cold and piercing.

“Hold on, are you serious?” I ask, disbelief washing over me. My blood runs cold and I stiffen. “You want to marry me?”

“Yes,” is all he says and then he goes back to being silent.

Is this man for real?

I shake my head, almost scowling at this point. What sort of madness is this? Just because he's been helping me, he thinks he can just shove a marriage proposal down my throat?

Covering all of my medical expenses? Coming to my rescue? I should've known that he had an ulterior motive. No one helps someone that much without expecting anything in return. Apparently nothing in this life is free.

But what would he gain by marrying me? I have nothing and I'm a nobody. Well, I don't even care.

“Look, Mr Everhart,” I say, sitting up straighter and glaring at him. “Just because you’ve helped me out doesn’t mean you can just decide that we’re getting married. Do you even have any idea how ridiculous that sounds? I don’t know what game you’re playing but I won't be a part of it.”

Mr Everhart sighs, clearly frustrated by my reaction. “Don't get ahead of yourself, Miss Sullivan. I'm a businessman and my proposal is no more than a business deal. In normal circumstances, I wouldn't dream of marrying you even if my life depended on it.”

Ouch! That stings.

What an asshole!

I would come up with a snarky reply but my mouth is as dry as a desert. His words prickle my heart. Hmph! Whatever! I wouldn't dream of marrying an asshole like him either. I've had enough of assholes.

He leans back in his seat, his face expressionless and then he continues, “But circumstances are not normal. I need a wife and you need a life. A healthy, stable life.”

There's a way he drawls the last words that doesn't sit well with me. He's clearly mocking me.

He holds a document out to me. “Take a look at this.” His voice is icy.

I give Mr Everhart and his document a hard gaze before I snatch it from him. As his fingers brush mine, a tingle travels through my veins. It's similar to the sparks I felt when he touched and kissed me that night. I shake off the flashbacks of that night from my head.

It was just supposed to be a one-night stand. We weren't meant to see each other again after that night. Who would've thought that the man would turn out to be my boss? And as if it's not crazy enough, he's asking me to marry him.

No, not asking, he's informing me.

Clutching the papers, I start skimming through them, my eyes dancing over the tiny words. My face scrunches up in part shock and part confusion. I can't believe what I'm reading.

“What's this?” My eyes are still glued to the papers, my brain soaking up what's written in them.

“Are you really this dense or are you just trying so hard to annoy me, Miss Sullivan?”

I turn my head sharply to face him. “Don't insult me!”

He tugs his jacket, adjusting the edges of his black suit (probably Armani) that must have cost a fortune. And then he responds, “It's a marriage contract, a legally binding agreement that outlines the terms of our arrangement.”

“I can see that, thank you. Why the heck does it imply here that I would belong to you and do whatever you ask?” I dart my gaze back to the document, re-reading a clause. “That I would practically become your property?”

Mr Everhart chuckles and it’s not a nice chuckle. It’s the kind that makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. “That’s the deal, Miss Sullivan. Marry me, and you’re mine. You become my wife, I take care of you and give you everything you need. In return, you do everything I ask. It’s simple.”

Simple? More like nuts! Is he out of his mind?

My nostrils flare when I look up at him again. “With all due respect, Mr Everhart, you are delusional if you think I'm going to accept this. I'm not a puppet and I'm definitely not a pet.“

He scoots over and leans in, his icy glare piercing through me. His face is just an inch away and his scent invades my nostrils. It's a strong, rich and earthy cologne, like a fancy liquor, with a hint of something spicy that makes me want to lean in closer.

Hello? Asshole here!—my subconscious reminds me.

And so I resist the urge.

Mr Everhart replies in a low, deep voice and in a dark and dangerous tone that reminds me of mafia bosses and drug lords. Except that they usually don't have British accents.

“Oh, but you will be, Miss Sullivan. You will be whatever I want you to be. Wife, pet, slave… whatever I choose.”

That does it! I've had enough!

“In your dreams.” I toss his contract at him and grab my purse. “Open the door. I want to leave.”

Mr Everhart's face turns sour, still he maintains his nerve-racking calm and composed demeanour. His steeze is one to be studied, that's for sure.

“Listen, you're in no position to be picky. You're in a pitiful state. Your life is in shambles. You have no money, no shelter and let's not forget your diabetes which is a burden you obviously can't manage on your own. But with me, you’ll have the best care money can buy. You’ll be taken care of. All I ask in return is for you to be mine for one year.”

The nerve of this man. He's using my health against me as though it's some kind of bargaining chip. But he's not wrong. Ever since I left Henry, it's been a daily struggle just to keep my blood sugar in check, even with insulin.

But I'm too stubborn and pissed to agree. I square my shoulders. “Thank you for your concern. But I don't need you. You can give your generous offer to someone else.”

“I can't think of anyone else who needs it as badly as you do. Are you really going to turn down an offer of $10 million?”

My ears perk up like a dog hearing a treat. $10 million? Did I hear that right? Did he just say TEN MILLION DOLLARS?