Chapter 5: Mr. Stark, You Might Wanna Check Your Brain

Summer's POV

"Are you out of your mind?" I clutched the silk sheets tighter around my body, painfully aware that I was completely naked beneath. I pressed my back against the headboard, my heart racing as I watched him move with that predatory grace that seemed to come so naturally. Every gesture, every look reminded me that this man was dangerous - not in the crude way of those guys at the bar last night, but in a way that made my pulse skip. "Marriage? We don't even know each other!"

His dark eyes tracked my movement, and the corner of his mouth lifted in that infuriating half-smile that somehow managed to be both arrogant and attractive. Those eyes - they seemed to see right through every defense I tried to put up, including the sheet I was desperately clinging to. "Don't we?" The subtle sound of his footsteps made my pulse race. "You crashed into my arms last night, Summer. And I didn't find your touch... unpleasant."

I jerked away as his fingers reached for my chin, pulling the sheet higher. "Mr. Stark—"

"Brandon."

"Whatever." I wrapped the sheet tighter around myself, trying to create some kind of barrier between us. "Don't you understand? I won't marry you. I don't know you, and I definitely don't love you."

Something dangerous flickered in his eyes. "Then who do you love? Alexander?" His voice carried a razor's edge. "Well, he's going to be your brother-in-law soon."

The casual cruelty of his words hit me like a slap. "What's that got to do with you?" My voice cracked embarrassingly. "Why are you so obsessed with marrying me? Can't you find someone else?"

"You're the first woman I don't find repulsive."

I stared at him, momentarily speechless. Was that supposed to be a compliment? "Wow. Really? That's your pitch? Mr. Stark, you might want to work on your proposal skills."

He moved to the leather sofa, settling into it with the casual grace of a predator at rest. Even just sitting there, he exuded an aura of absolute control that made me painfully aware of how out of my depth I was—especially in my current undressed state. "It's simple. Let's make a deal."

A deal? With Brandon Stark? My mind flashed back to all the whispered stories I'd heard about his business dealings - about how no one ever came out ahead when making deals with him. "A deal?" I pulled my knees to my chest, keeping the sheet securely wrapped around me. "This isn't a merger or acquisition, Mr. Stark. This is marriage we're talking about."

"I need a wife." He stated it like he was discussing the weather. "And you're perfect for the position."

I laughed, "Mr. Stark, you might need to check up your brain."

"Miss Taylor." His voice softened slightly, but his eyes remained intense. "Take your time. I'm a patient man."

Before I could form a response, there was a discrete knock at the door. I flinched, instinctively pulling the sheet higher as James entered with the same efficient grace I'd noticed last night, carrying what looked like designer shopping bags.

Brandon barely moved, just lifted his chin slightly. "Your clothes, Miss Taylor."

I hesitated, eyeing the bags suspiciously. The events of last night were still fuzzy, but I was acutely aware of my current state of undress. Did he have his assistant buy me an entire wardrobe?

James set the bags down with a slight bow. "The bathroom is through that door, Miss Taylor."

I glanced anxiously between the bags and the bathroom door, painfully aware of my predicament. To reach the bathroom, I'd have to cross the room with nothing but a sheet to cover myself.

"Could you both please..." I started, my voice trailing off as Brandon made absolutely no move to leave. His dark eyes held mine with that unsettling intensity, clearly having no intention of giving me privacy.

"James, you may go," Brandon said, his gaze never leaving mine.

"You too," I said firmly, clutching the sheet tighter around me.

Brandon's lips curved into that infuriating half-smile. "This is my suite, Miss Taylor."

My face burned. "Then at least turn around!"

One perfect eyebrow arched slightly, but after a moment, he turned to face the window. I slid out of bed carefully, wrapping the sheet around me toga-style, knowing it was far from secure. Every step toward the bathroom felt like walking a tightrope, the silk sheet threatening to slip with each movement.

Just as I reached for the bags, the sheet caught under my foot. I fumbled desperately, but it was too late—the fabric slipped, exposing my bare back and side before I could catch it.

I heard Brandon shift behind me, and froze. Had he turned around? Had he seen me? My heart hammered against my ribs as I clutched the sheet back into place, grabbed the bags, and rushed into the bathroom without looking back.

I chose a Chanel outfit from the bad. What made my skin crawl wasn't the obvious expense – it was how everything fit perfectly. How did he know my exact size?

Alone in the massive marble bathroom, I finally let my mask slip. The face that stared back at me from the mirror looked foreign – pale, with shadows under the eyes that even designer concealer couldn't quite hide. One year. I'd been gone for just one year, managing Fortune Corp's European division. One year of late-night calls with Alexander, of missing him so much... I gripped the marble counter until my knuckles turned white. Come on, Summer, don't cry over them again.

When I emerged, I knew my eyes were red-rimmed despite my best efforts. Brandon was standing by the window, his tall frame silhouetted against the Manhattan skyline. He turned as I approached, something unreadable flickering across his face.

He held out a business card, the cream cardstock thick and expensive between my fingers. My breath caught as I read the embossed text: Brandon Stark, CEO, Stark Group.

"Don't reject help when it's offered." His voice was quiet but carried that same undercurrent of steel I'd noticed before.

"Help?" I couldn't help but laugh. "What about you just say what you want from me?"

His fingers brushed my forehead, tucking away a stray strand of hair. The touch sent an involuntary shiver down my spine - gentle, almost tender, but somehow still feeling like a claim being staked. I found myself holding my breath, caught between the instinct to pull away and a traitorous urge to lean into his touch. "I'll be waiting for your good news."

I stood frozen, watching his retreating back. The door closed with a soft click, leaving me alone with my thoughts and a business card that felt like it was burning a hole in my palm.

Brandon Stark. One of Wall Street's Four Kings. The financial prodigy who'd taken control of the Stark Group at an age when most people were still figuring out their careers.

And he wanted to marry me? Why? What could someone like him possibly want with someone whose reputation was in tatters, whose own family had turned against her?

I slipped the card into my bag before I left, trying to ignore how my fingers trembled slightly. Whatever game Brandon Stark was playing, I wanted no part of it. So why can't I just throw his card away?