The Money

*Blake*

I choked on my wine. “Pardon?! A billion dollars?!”

“You could keep your voice down. It’s rude to discuss money in public,” Sandra said, sipping her water and setting the glass back down next to her untouched wine.

“I can’t believe... There’s no way–” I stuttered.

“Do you need to call your mother?” Sandra asked calmly.

I pressed my lips into a thin line. “You’ll find there are some things I can do without my mother.”

“All evidence points to the contrary,” Sandra muttered.

In my mind, I tried calling her a bitch, but she wasn’t. She was betrayed, and desperate, and… something else.

It was the “something else” that kept my temper in check. “If Mother promised you a billion dollars of her own money just to marry me…”

“She didn’t say where the money was coming from,” Sandra said. “Just that she would give it to the foundation.”

“The Adriana Kingsley Foundation,” I assumed.

“Yes,” Sandra replied.

I snorted. “I don’t know what Mother’s game is, but fine. I’ll play. So, I suppose a month-long engagement and then a wedding?”

“That sounds doable,” Sandra said.

“Great. Now, I know you probably have a negative opinion about Jack, but I would like you to join me for his yachting party this weekend,” I explained. “We have to be seen together at places I usually go. And places you usually go.”

“I don’t go places,” Sandra responded.

I nodded. “I kind of figured since you’ve been working on rescuing Kingsley Manufacturing and dealing with your father’s death. But surely you must have some commitments in Chicago. Friends…?”

Sandra just stared at me.

“Acquaintances?” I tried.

“I used to be on the charity circuit with my father,” Sandra said, taking another sip of water. “But that fell away when I could no longer be a donor. Everything Kingsley Manufacturing makes is going just to keeping the workers paid and the lights on.”

“Oh great,” I sighed. “All right, we can do some charity appearances in Chicago.”

“There’s no need.” Sandra’s eyes flashed. “I wouldn’t want to bore you.”

I couldn’t help myself. I laughed. “There’s nothing boring about you, Sandra Kingsley.”

Sandra seemed a bit thrown by my laughter. She played with her silverware and looked in the direction of the kitchen as though willing our food to arrive.

I reached across the table and took her hand. “Sandra, I’m not a bad man. I’m a busy man. That’s all. Just because I don’t show up doesn’t mean I begrudge spending the money.”

“Hmm.” Sandra regarded me for a moment, then seemed satisfied with my answer. “I’ll have my assistant look through my invitations and see if there’s anything appropriate for us to show up at in Chicago.”

“Thank you.” My hand tingled where I was holding hers, and I was glad she hadn’t pulled away. Even if it was just for show.

I rubbed my thumb in slow circles on the back of her hand. “So, you’ll come yachting with me?”

“Yes,” Sandra agreed begrudgingly. “I will go yachting with you.”

“You might even have fun,” I warned her.

“It’s happened on occasion,” Sandra deadpanned.

There it was. “You do have a sense of humor,” I grinned.

“I suppose today I have time.” Sandra gave a small smile back.

Her genuine smile aimed at me did things to my heartbeat I didn’t want to examine. My throat went dry, and, God help me, even my dick perked up a bit.

Sandra wasn’t blonde. Or buxom. She didn’t have the fashionable glow of a slight tan from weeks in the Hamptons, and she wasn’t tall by model standards. But the black so black it had a bluish sheen of her hair and the lavender eyes, the alabaster skin, ruby lips, and especially the grit she exuded made her deeply attractive in a way I’d never been attracted to a woman.

This was going to be problematic. What if I didn’t want to give her up after six months? Would this fae creature perhaps consent to a year?

“You’re staring,” Sandra whispered as the waiter brought our food.

“I’m thinking,” I said. I wondered what it would take to negotiate carnal rights with this woman while we were married. I was starting to think I wasn’t going to be satisfied until I was cock deep in her on more than one occasion.

“What are you thinking about?” Sandra asked. She didn’t comment on the fact that I still hadn’t let go of my hand.

“I’m thinking things I shouldn’t be thinking,” I admitted. I sighed. “I suppose this conversation was inevitable.”

“What conversation?” Sandra’s eyes narrowed.

Suspicious little thing. For good reason. “A man has needs. Six months is a long time,” I said after delicately clearing my throat.

“If you need to take a mistress, I suppose as long as the press doesn't get wind of it…” Sandra began, sounding insulted.

“What if I was with my wife?” I asked.

Sandra’s mouth formed a small O of shock. “You… what?”

“I think you’re a very attractive woman, Sandra. No matter what you may have heard me say on the phone. I’d rather forego any problems with the press and simply sleep with my wife,” I said.

“You… want to sleep… with me?” Sandra parsed out, blinking in disbelief.

“Is that so hard to believe?” I asked.

Sandra’s face went through a myriad of expressions in the span of a few moments. Apparently, it was hard to believe.

Something new and protective wanted to punch whoever made her think she was unattractive. “I… hadn’t considered it.”

“I can promise you five billion dollars in the divorce for you to live on or do with as you please if we have sex at least five times a week,” I offered, putting on my best business negotiator front.

“Five billion dollars?” Sandra wheezed.

I nodded. “Yes.”

“For five times,” Sandra reiterated.

“Let’s say five days,” I said.

“Is there a difference?” Sandra asked.

I stared at her. “Well, sometimes you go more than once in a session… You’re a virgin, aren’t you?”

Sandra swallowed and tried to look away, but I took her chin and turned her back to face me. “I’ve been busy,” she said.

“You’ve been neglected, little flower,” I murmured, kissing her hand, then holding it between both of mine. “I promise, I’ll be gentle.”

“A-After the wedding?” Sandra asked.

“Starting tonight. I’m not taking you back to that rat hole. You’re moving in with me,” I decided. I don’t know when I decided it, but the idea slid into place as though it had always been there.

Sandra took a deep, bracing breath. Her cheeks were flushed, making her look like a painted porcelain doll. “I… five billion?”

“Five billion. I always put my best offer on the table,” I said.

“I’m… I’m not pretty. I mean, I have a scar,” Sandra told me.

“Where?” I asked.

Sandra looked around, then pushed the shoulder of her dress down just enough for me to see a pink scar on her upper chest.

“That’s nothing,” I scoffed. “Certainly not enough to decrease your value or your attractiveness in my eyes.”

Sandra shrugged her dress back up. “Five billion,” she muttered to herself.

“Yes. I’ll even put it in writing,” I said.

“I… well… I can’t seem to find any other reason why not. I could put five billion dollars to good use,” Sandra finally replied.

I smiled.

“But you’re only getting tonight without a contract. I believe one should be able to know what they’re getting for their money,” Sandra told me.

“I know what I’m getting.” My dick was already hard. I was glad the restaurant had long tablecloths.

“Hmph.” Sandra was unconvinced, but that was all right.

I had plenty of time to convince her later.

***

*Sandra*

Sex? With Blake Harrison?!

I must have been out of my mind to agree, but five billion dollars could do a lot of good in cancer research when I was gone. I’d had an IUD put in for hormonal reasons, so it wasn’t as though there were any risk of problems if he didn’t wear a condom.

What could he do, anyway? I doubted he had any STDs, but even if he did, so what? It wasn’t as though I weren’t already dying.

I should have thought about sex in this situation, but it honestly never occurred to me. I didn’t consider myself particularly attractive, and most men I ran into in business dealings disliked me for my brusqueness.

And I wasn’t planning to form any romantic attachments before the end. That would hardly be fair to the other person. Six months was not a long time.

Yet, here I was, agreeing to have sex with Blake Harrison.

For five billion dollars, I reminded myself.

This had to be the shrewdest business move I’d ever made. After my negotiation with Dahlia, of course.

Blake and I kept holding hands while we ate, playing the happy couple. The whole time, I barely tasted my food. I was going to have sex. I was going to have sex before I died.

The possibility had never even been a blip on my radar, and now, I was actually going to do it.

“Don’t be so nervous, Sandra. I’m going to take good care of you,” Blake whispered when I only stared at my dessert.

Truthfully, I didn’t even remember ordering it. But there it was in front of me. Cheesecake. My favorite. And I couldn’t bring myself to eat it, because if I ate it, the evening would be over, and I’d be going to Blake’s to lose my virginity.

Which was, apparently, worth five billion dollars.

Blake finally dug his fork into my cheesecake and held a small bite up to my lips.

I obligingly opened my mouth and ate the bite.

“Good girl.” Blake got another bite for me.

And that was how, twenty minutes later, my cheesecake and Blake’s chocolate mousse confection were completely gone, Blake having eaten his mousse in little bites between feeding me.

“Let’s go,” Blake said after settling the bill.

I rose, feeling the strangest floaty sensation. I just couldn’t believe what was about to happen next or how this evening was going to end.

Blake placed a hand low on my back and gently nudged me toward the door.

I walked obediently. Five billion dollars, I rehearsed to myself. Five billion dollars.

In the car, Blake put his hand on my knee then higher until my dress was bunched up at my hips and his fingers were just shy of my underwear. I glanced, scandalized, at the bodyguards in the front, but neither of them were paying attention.

“They won’t notice a thing. But, just the same…” Blake pressed a button and a partition went up.

“Blake, am I about to lose my virginity in the back of a town car?” I gasped when one finger dallied along the elastic at the base of my panties.

“No,” Blake chuckled, kissing my neck. “But I do want to get you ready for when we get home. Relax.”

Relax? Relax for what?

Then Blake’s fingers delved under the thin strip of fabric that covered my seam. He pressed his thumb up between and…  and started rubbing…

Oh God…

Rubbing my clit.