The Ford rolled smoothly over the asphalt, passing the dark waters of the river.
Kittie stared out the window. The trees blurred together. Her stomach felt hollow, gnawed raw by the anxiety of her mother's words and the looming threat of bankruptcy.
She turned her head to look at Connor. His profile was sharp, his jawline tense as he navigated the traffic.
"So," Kittie said, her voice breaking the silence. She forced a nervous laugh. "Since you are single, do you want to take on a freelance job?"
Connor kept his eyes on the road.
"Are you hiring a hitman for the Wall Street guy?" he asked, his tone flat.
Kittie smiled, the tension in her chest easing just a fraction.
"No," she said. "I want to hire you to be my fake boyfriend for Thanksgiving. I cannot pay you in cash, but I can offer a lifetime supply of pour-over coffee and VIP status at my flower shop."
Connor did not laugh. The silence stretched out, thick and heavy.
Kittie felt a hot flush of embarrassment creep up her neck.
"I am kidding," she said quickly, waving her hands. "Obviously. We barely know each other."
Connor hit the brakes.
The car swerved smoothly to the right, pulling into an empty, quiet parking spot along the riverbank. He shifted the gear into park and turned off the engine.
He unbuckled his seatbelt and turned his entire body to face her.
His blue eyes locked onto hers. The intensity in his stare made Kittie press her back hard against the passenger door.
"I am not playing your fake boyfriend," Connor said. His voice was a low rumble that vibrated against her skin. "It is amateur. Your mother will see right through it."
Kittie swallowed hard. Her throat felt like sandpaper.
"I can throw in some pastries?" she offered weakly.
Connor did not smile.
"We go to City Hall," Connor said, his words precise and sharp. "We get a marriage license. We do this for real."
Kittie's brain stopped working. The blood rushed out of her head, leaving her dizzy.
"What?" she gasped.
"A legal marriage," Connor stated, leaning closer. "It shuts your mother up permanently. A piece of paper holds weight. It gives you an untouchable status in your family."
"You are insane," Kittie breathed out, her chest rising and falling rapidly. "We have not even been on a date."
"Dates are irrelevant," Connor said coldly. "Marriage is a contract. Emotion is a sunk cost we do not need to factor in. I need a wife to satisfy the requirements of that overseas asset trust audit I mentioned, to mitigate the legal risks my firm is facing. You need a shield."
Kittie stared at his perfectly calm face. Her mind raced. Dolores's screaming voice echoed in her ears. The stack of unpaid bills flashed behind her eyes.
If she had a husband, Dolores could never call her a leftover again.
"I cannot afford a wedding," Kittie whispered, her voice trembling.
"I will handle the fees," Connor said smoothly. "And as your legal spouse, I will cover half the rent for your shop. Call it a husband's obligation."
Rent.
The word hit Kittie like a physical blow. Half her rent meant she could keep the shop open. It meant she could breathe.
Her fingers gripped the edge of her seat. Her knuckles turned white.
"We would need a contract," Kittie said, her voice shaking. "To protect both of us."
A dark, predatory gleam flashed in Connor's eyes.
"Absolutely," he agreed. "Business is business."
Kittie closed her eyes. Her heart pounded so hard she felt it in her teeth. She opened her eyes and looked at him.
"Okay," Kittie whispered.
