Chapter 38

"Come on, Amaya, stop thinking too much and stop over-analysing this. Give me your answer and we’ll go from there," Chase asked.

With her heart pounding and the heat from his proximity prickling her skin, she wrenched her gaze from his chest within tantalising touching distance and slowly raised it until wavering blue locked with questioning brown. "I told you I'd marry you, but I need to see the contract."

"Of course, it's not like I'm signing you into a death sentence."

"Exactly my points, Chase. Exactly that."

"Wow, I wonder what made you so distrusting that you thought I could trick you into something drastically evil in the contract."

Her voice barely above a whisper, she nodded. "Things...Chase, bad things can make someone so distrustful. Bad decisions and regrets...that too."

"Hmmm."

Chase snuck into the side entrance of his office ten minutes later, not wanting to intrude but driven by curiosity.

Since Amaya had agreed to his proposal, she’d morphed into a businesswoman dervish, throwing herself into work at a speed that made him, a confirmed workaholic, seem like a snail.

She’d commandeered his travel team online to do what needed to be done and had turned his office into a hive of activity.

In less than a day.

He shook his head, beyond impressed by her work ethic. He’d never seen her like this: focused, determined, driven, issuing orders, and delegating to the team she’d assembled in record time.

Watching her in a power suit the colour of ripe plums, her hair twisted in a fancy topknot, and her brow creased in concentration while she tapped on a keyboard with one hand and shuffled documents with the other, he understood why she’d said yes to his proposal.

Her job meant everything to her, and while he empathised with her ambition, he couldn’t help but wish some of her agreement stemmed from the sexual tension strumming between them.

So what would happen to them? Would he, well, do something foolish and bed her? Or was it part of the contract that they would never share a bed?

That was stupid. One long kiss, and he knew he could have her.

Her eyes say it all. She wanted him too.

But their marriage was business. Just business.

A surge of heat at the memory of kissing her had him sliding a finger between his neck and suddenly too tight collar.

Their marriage might be motivated by business, but who said they couldn’t have a real honeymoon?

Her head snapped up and their gazes locked, as if he’d inadvertently telepathized his thoughts, and he grinned and sent her a half-salute, not surprised when she frowned and gestured towards the stack of paperwork in front of her. She didn’t want him here.

"I have arranged everything, from the contract to your sister’s wedding and—"

Chase frowned. "Wait—how about you and Tommy?"

"What about Tommy and I?"

"I would never allow the two of you to stay in that crappy apartment."

"That's not ne—"

"I have a reputation, Amaya. I want you in my mansion as soon as possible. No buts."

"But—"

"It's negotiable."

Amaya sighed. "Fine."

His cue to saunter across the room and drop into the vacant chair next to her.

"Good, so how’s it going?"

Frowning, she barely glanced at him. "Busy."

"So I see. Stop making my schedule for the next couple of weeks."

"Why?"

"Honeymoon obviously."

Her eyes went wide. "There is no mention about—"

"Come on, even a teen knows what happened after the wedding. We can at least pretend to go to the Caribbean or somewhere."

"Fine, I'll arrange that. But Tommy and his nanny are coming with us."

"Of course."

Leaning back, he linked his fingers and stretched. "I’m taking a break."

He smothered an outright laugh as she glared. "Is there anything I can do to help? A helicopter will be here in the afternoon. We can worry later."

"Should I pack your things?"

"No. There is no need for that; we will be here often anyway."

"Okay," she said, and she ignored him once again. Her laptop screen flickered, and she swore, making a mockery of her previous statement.

"That busy?"

"Chase, you've been gone for a month; there are so many things I need you to catch up on. Trust me, I am more than busy," she snapped, rubbing the bridge of her nose before mustering an apologetic smile.

"Why the rush?"

"Justin will kill me, and you know that."

"Of course I know," he smirked. Justin was indeed something; he never thought he would resolve this trick. The moment he told him that Amaya was his Daisy, he made sure to get his many tricks on the lane again.

"Can you stop smirking?"

"What? I am not smirking; I'm just—"

"Your brain is brewing something."

"Wow, Miss Patterson, I never thought that you could hear my very smart brain in action." His mouth twitched with a small smile.

She rolled her eyes.

With her gaze firmly fixed on her laptop screen, she said, "Deadlines. I’m sure you understand."

Placing a hand on her arm, he leaned across to murmur in her ear. "How long, Amaya?"

She stared at his hand as if it were a tiger snake before finally raising her eyes to his.

"How long is what?" she furrowed her brow at him.

"Well, how long since you've been in bed with a man—"

Her jaw went slack. "What the heck is wrong with you, Mr. Johnson? You don't have any rights to ask me that; that's so personal."

He smirked. "That long? Wow! No wonder you've been so jumpy and scary," a corner of his mouth lifted.

Chase began laughing.

If looks could kill. He would be dead in a second.

Amaya breathed in and closed her eyes. Anger thrummed through her veins like liquid fire.

Chase stopped her laughter and held his hands up as he gave her a lopsided grin. "Okay, okay! None of my business then."

But the truth was, he was supposed to ask something. He wanted to push the issue, wanted to discuss how long they’d have to make this marriage as real as it could get, but now wasn’t the time or place.

Squeezing her arm, he released her and glanced at his watch. "I do have an appointment, but we should get together later to discuss our other business."

Her eyes widened as the pen in her right hand started rapping a frenetic rhythm against the Manila folder in front of her.

Amazing how the mention of their pending marriage could change her from an uber-cool career woman to a nervous nun.

"I’m not sure how long I’ll be here in your office, but I have loads to do, then I need to head out to the—"

He grinned and said, "Perfect. We can discuss more over late lunch."

Amaya opened her mouth to refuse, and he raised an eyebrow, daring her to disagree.

"You're not having second thoughts, are you? Because if you are, I might have to ignore Justin and his very important paper and—"

"Fine, I’ll see you there."

The coolness in her tone belied the angry flush creeping up her neck as he marvelled again at how damn important this paper must be for her to go through with it.

What the hell did Justin tell her about this very important deal anyway?

Marrying for convenience occurs a fair bit in the business world, but never in his wildest dreams had he thought he’d do it, let alone to the only woman he would’ve ever contemplated walking down the aisle with once upon a time.

"Glad that’s settled. I'll see you in the dining room later."

He stood and looked down at her elaborate hairdo, his fingers itching to tug the pins out and send the whole thing tumbling around her shoulders.

As if sensing his thoughts again, she tilted back in the chair and glared at him. "Was there anything else, because you’re hovering, sir?"

With a smile designed to provoke a response, he ducked down to murmur in her ear. "I’ll cook."

"You mean, your personal chef will cook?" She raised her brow.

"No, I'll cook."

"Really? Do you even know how to boil water and cook some eggs?"

"Wow! That is below the belt, Miss Patterson. I'll ruin you for that, and I'll make sure to—"

"Yeah, yeah, go now," she rolled her eyes, "I want some pasta and some fresh juice. And some steak. Some dessert, maybe a donut or a chocolate cake or—"

"Do I look like a waiter to you, Amaya?"

She gasped. "Woah! Of course not. You’re that cook, remember?"

"Mockery doesn't suit you well."

"At least you know what mockery is; just make sure not to overdo the pasta."

As the pen picked up tempo again, he chuckled, snatched a hairpin, and laid it on the stack of paperwork in front of her before heading for the door. "Hey, Miss Patterson, should I add ketchup to your pasta?"

Her eyes widened. "I'm going to kill you."

His laughter was the only thing that echoed through the huge farmhouse as Amaya shook her head. How could he be this childish and an asshole at the same time?