I opened the door, and Gabby was sprawled on the couch watching Pokémon. She glanced at the clock before turning to me, her face breaking into a bright smile. “I thought you wouldn’t be coming back tonight.”
“I wouldn’t do that,” I said, plopping beside her on the couch.
“How was the date?”
I stretched lazily, my gaze drifting to the TV. “It was okay, I guess.”
“Only okay?”
I took a deep breath, shifting the conversation. “I have to ask you something important.”
Gabby raised an eyebrow, her interest piqued. “What’s that?”
“Did you submit any of your artwork to Artwise Art School?”
Her face paled, and she looked at me with wide eyes. “How did you know? Did Sebastian tell you? That traitor.”
So, it was true. Gabby hadn’t told me because she knew I couldn’t afford the tuition. My heart twisted, feeling the weight of what she’d kept hidden.
“Why didn’t you tell me yourself, Gabby?” I wanted her to feel like she could tell me anything essential.
“Because…I didn’t want to do it. I just wanted to see how my artwork would measure up.”
She was lying, and it stung. How had I missed that Gabby loved art so much she’d consider it as a career?
“So you don’t love it enough to pursue it?” I asked, studying her face.
Her eyes brightened momentarily, but then she looked away, and the light faded. “Nope. I’m still not sure.”
I nodded slowly. “I don’t want to pressure you. But Momma’s here if you want to attend that school.”
She sighed, shaking her head. “No, Mom. I checked the school fees online—it’s hella expensive.”
“And I’m telling you, I can afford it.”
Her gaze narrowed with skepticism. “Just how do you plan to do that?”
My mind raced through the options. I could switch to the other escort agency with higher-paying clients. Or there was Seth Baker’s proposal.
Yes, the fact that Mr. Baker didn’t want to be upfront about why he wanted to marry me so severely was creepy. Still, a girl could handle six months of torture, even if that six months of torture were going to change our lives, as long as Gabby had a chance to do what she wanted to do without fearing the costs.
But what if he was a creep? Then I’d die a thousand times before I let him touch even a finger of Gabby.
“Mom, I asked you a question,” Gabby’s voice snapped me back.
“Anything I can to make sure you pursue your dream.” I reached over, stroking her hair gently.
“I don’t want you doing that. You’re already doing so much for me.”
She had no idea how far I’d go for her. I had promised myself the day she was born that I’d give her the life I never had. I wouldn’t fail her, unlike my mother, who had walked out, or my father, who never seemed to care.
When I was Gabby’s age, I dreamed of becoming a ballerina. But Dad had shot that down, saying ballerinas were too skinny, too unhealthy. Then I switched to photography, pouring my heart into it, only to hear that photographers lacked ambition. I’d never let anyone dim Gabby’s dreams like that.
“Don’t do anything stupid, Mom.”
“You shouldn’t worry about that.”
She squinted at me, catching on. “You’re not even denying it. That means you’re about to do something stupid.” She crossed her arms, sinking further back into the couch with a huff.
“You might not like it,” I said, knowing she needed a heads-up. After all, I was about to turn everything upside down, and she might not like it.
“Oh, come on,” she whispered, curling up against me, her head resting on my chest.
I wrapped an arm around her, pulling her close. “You should be grateful, you silly silly girl. I’m willing to do anything, even kiss the devil’s ass for your sake, and this is the reaction I get?”
She didn’t respond, but I could tell she rolled her eyes without seeing her face.
For a few moments, silence settled over us, and then Gabby whispered, almost too softly to hear, “I hope you won’t regret whatever you’re about to do.”
Would I regret it? Maybe. But I looked down at her and knew one thing for sure: if it was for her, every risk, every sacrifice, would be worth it.
Seth Baker ushered me into his home, and I had to bite back a gasp. The penthouse was immaculate, as you only see in glossy magazines. Floor-to-ceiling windows offered a sprawling view of the city skyline, the buildings glittering like jewels against the blue morning light. The floors were polished marble, reflecting the sleek furnishings that filled the space—modern, minimalist, and expensive. Plush gray couches sat in the middle of the room, centered around a glass coffee table with a few art books neatly stacked. A chandelier hung overhead, not the ornate kind but a contemporary fixture, all glass and silver, casting soft light across the space.
Dark eyes locked on me, that cocky smirk of his firmly in place. He knew. He knew I’d reached out only because I had finally decided to accept his proposal. I could practically feel the smug satisfaction radiating off him.
I took a breath, steadying myself, and met his gaze.
“What can I offer you, Miss Bailey?”
“Nothing.”
Despite my answer, Melinda, his housemaid, glided in, carrying a silver tray, as she had introduced herself. She set down a pitcher of freshly squeezed orange juice, the glass already beginning to fog from the cold, and a perfectly polished crystal glass beside it.
“To what do I owe your presence, Miss Hazel?” he asked, his voice steady, his legs crossed as he leaned back in his chair. His dark eyes danced with victory, and the faint curl of a smirk on his lips told me he already knew why I was there.
“I had a conversation with my daughter, and I found out—”
“That I was saying the truth?” he interrupted smoothly.
I nodded, though it pained me to admit it.
“See, I have no intention to cause her harm or get to her through you.”
“But that’s what you’re doing,” I countered, leaning forward.
As expected, he didn’t flinch. “You were stubborn, and there was no other way to get through to you. I had no other option. But believe me, my main concern was Gabrielle. I wanted the best for her.”
He said it with such smug confidence, yet there was a flicker of something in his voice—sincerity. And that unnerved me. I’d been around so many liars that I’d developed a talent sharper than any lie detector. When someone was being honest, I knew it, and the sincerity in his tone was unmistakable.
“If we’re going to be doing this, I don’t want you snooping around about me too much,” I said.
He nodded without hesitation. “Absolutely. I wouldn’t do that.”
I didn’t believe him, not entirely. He seemed to dig as deep as he pleased if it suited him.
He bent his head, grabbed the pitcher of orange juice, and poured a glass for me and one for himself. His eyes gleamed as he raised his head as if he’d just realized the deeper meaning of my words.
“Does that mean you’re agreeing to marry me?” he asked, the question laced with anticipation.
Did I have another option? This was the opportunity I couldn’t afford to reject, not when Gabby’s future was on the line. But there was one thing I still needed to settle. “I want to accept, but there’s something I still have a problem with.”
“And what’s that?”
“Why do you want to marry me? And spare me the bullshit you’ve been spewing.”
Whether I got an answer wouldn’t change my decision—I’d already decided. But I wondered why a man like Seth Baker was so determined to marry me.
I considered the possibilities. Was it a bet with another millionaire to see if he could get me at any cost? No, that was ridiculous. We’d already hooked up, and if he wanted me in bed again, he wouldn’t have to jump through all these hoops.
Was he sick and lonely? That didn’t make sense either. A man like him could have anyone. Why me?
He handed me the glass of orange juice, leaned back in his chair, and sipped from his own before responding. “I was honest with you, Miss Hazel. I’ve never had anything real—only leeches who exploited me at every turn. If you had the kind of money I do, you’d understand what I’m talking about.”
“And now you just want someone real?” I asked, piecing together his cryptic reasoning.
“Yes.”
“How do you know I’m real?”
“I’ve already told you—I can see it. You learn to recognize and value authenticity when you’ve been exploited enough times.”
I nodded, deciding not to press further. He’d decided about me, and I wouldn’t waste time arguing about his reasoning. Instead, I asked, “You said this wouldn’t be a real marriage. What exactly does that mean?”
“It’ll last only six months.”I opened the door, and Gabby was sprawled on the couch watching Pokémon. She glanced at the clock before turning to me, her face breaking into a bright smile. “I thought you wouldn’t be coming back tonight.”
“I wouldn’t do that,” I said, plopping beside her on the couch.
“How was the date?”
I stretched lazily, my gaze drifting to the TV. “It was okay, I guess.”
“Only okay?”
I took a deep breath, shifting the conversation. “I have to ask you something important.”
Gabby raised an eyebrow, her interest piqued. “What’s that?”
“Did you submit any of your artwork to Artwise Art School?”
Her face paled, and she looked at me with wide eyes. “How did you know? Did Sebastian tell you? That traitor.”
So, it was true. Gabby hadn’t told me because she knew I couldn’t afford the tuition. My heart twisted, feeling the weight of what she’d kept hidden.
“Why didn’t you tell me yourself, Gabby?” I wanted her to feel like she could tell me anything essential.
“Because…I didn’t want to do it. I just wanted to see how my artwork would measure up.”
She was lying, and it stung. How had I missed that Gabby loved art so much she’d consider it as a career?
“So you don’t love it enough to pursue it?” I asked, studying her face.
Her eyes brightened momentarily, but then she looked away, and the light faded. “Nope. I’m still not sure.”
I nodded slowly. “I don’t want to pressure you. But Momma’s here if you want to attend that school.”
She sighed, shaking her head. “No, Mom. I checked the school fees online—it’s hella expensive.”
“And I’m telling you, I can afford it.”
Her gaze narrowed with skepticism. “Just how do you plan to do that?”
My mind raced through the options. I could switch to the other escort agency with higher-paying clients. Or there was Seth Baker’s proposal.
Yes, the fact that Mr. Baker didn’t want to be upfront about why he wanted to marry me so severely was creepy. Still, a girl could handle six months of torture, even if that six months of torture were going to change our lives, as long as Gabby had a chance to do what she wanted to do without fearing the costs.
But what if he was a creep? Then I’d die a thousand times before I let him touch even a finger of Gabby.
“Mom, I asked you a question,” Gabby’s voice snapped me back.
“Anything I can do to make sure you pursue your dream,” I reached over and stroked her hair gently.
“I don’t want you doing that. You’re already doing so much for me.”
She had no idea how far I’d go for her. I had promised myself the day she was born that I’d give her the life I never had. I wouldn’t fail her, unlike my mother, who had walked out, or my father, who never seemed to care.
When I was Gabby’s age, I dreamed of becoming a ballerina. But Dad had shot that down, saying ballerinas were too skinny, too unhealthy. Then I switched to photography, pouring my heart into it, only to hear that photographers lacked ambition. I’d never let anyone dim Gabby’s dreams like that.
“Don’t do anything stupid, Mom.”
“You shouldn’t worry about that.”
She squinted at me, catching on. “You’re not even denying it. That means you’re about to do something stupid.” She crossed her arms, sinking further back into the couch with a huff.
“You might not like it,” I said, knowing she needed a heads-up. After all, I was about to turn everything upside down, and she might not like it.
“Oh, come on,” she whispered, curling up against me, her head resting on my chest.
I wrapped an arm around her, pulling her close. “You should be grateful, you silly, silly girl. I’m willing to do anything, even kiss the devil’s ass for your sake, and this is the reaction I get?”
She didn’t respond, but I could tell she rolled her eyes without seeing her face.
For a few moments, silence settled over us, and then Gabby whispered, almost too softly to hear, “I hope you won’t regret whatever you’re about to do.”
Would I regret it? Maybe. But I looked down at her and knew one thing for sure: if it was for her, every risk, every sacrifice, would be worth it.
Seth Baker ushered me into his home, and I had to bite back a gasp. The penthouse was immaculate, the place you only see in glossy magazines. Floor-to-ceiling windows offered a sprawling view of the city skyline, the buildings glittering like jewels against the blue morning light. The floors were polished marble, reflecting the sleek furnishings that filled the space—modern, minimalist, and expensive. Plush gray couches sat in the middle of the room, centered around a glass coffee table with a few art books neatly stacked. A chandelier hung overhead, not the ornate kind but a contemporary fixture, all glass and silver, casting soft light across the space.
Dark eyes locked on me, that cocky smirk of his firmly in place. He knew. He knew I’d reached out only because I had finally decided to accept his proposal. I could practically feel the smug satisfaction radiating off him.
I took a breath, steadying myself, and met his gaze.
“What can I offer you, Miss Bailey?”
“Nothing.”
Despite my answer, Melinda, his housemaid, glided in, carrying a silver tray, as she had introduced herself. She set down a pitcher of freshly squeezed orange juice, the glass already beginning to fog from the cold, and a perfectly polished crystal glass beside it.
“To what do I owe your presence, Miss Hazel?” he asked, his voice steady, his legs crossed as he leaned back in his chair. His dark eyes danced with victory, and the faint curl of a smirk on his lips told me he already knew why I was there.
“I had a conversation with my daughter, and I found out—”
“That I was saying the truth?” he interrupted smoothly.
I nodded, though it pained me to admit it.
“See, I have no intention to cause her harm or get to her through you.”
“But that’s what you’re doing,” I countered, leaning forward.
As expected, he didn’t flinch. “You were stubborn, and there was no other way to get through to you. I had no other option. But believe me, my main concern was Gabrielle. I wanted the best for her.”
He said it with such smug confidence, yet there was a flicker of something in his voice—sincerity. And that unnerved me. I’d been around so many liars that I’d developed a talent sharper than any lie detector. When someone was being honest, I knew it, and the sincerity in his tone was unmistakable.
“If we’re going to be doing this, I don’t want you snooping around about me too much,” I said.
He nodded without hesitation. “Absolutely. I wouldn’t do that.”
I didn’t believe him, not entirely. He seemed to dig as deep as he pleased if it suited him.
He bent his head, grabbed the pitcher of orange juice, and poured a glass for me and one for himself. His eyes gleamed as he raised his head as if he’d just realized the deeper meaning of my words.
“Does that mean you’re agreeing to marry me?” he asked, the question laced with anticipation.
Did I have another option? This was the opportunity I couldn’t afford to reject, not when Gabby’s future was on the line. But there was one thing I still needed to settle. “I want to accept, but there’s something I still have a problem with.”
“And what’s that?”
“Why do you want to marry me? And spare me the bullshit you’ve been spewing.”
Whether I got an answer wouldn’t change my decision—I’d already decided. But I wondered why a man like Seth Baker was so determined to marry me.
I considered the possibilities. Was it a bet with another millionaire to see if he could get me at any cost? No, that was ridiculous. We’d already hooked up, and if he wanted me in bed again, he wouldn’t have to jump through all these hoops.
Was he sick and lonely? That didn’t make sense either. A man like him could have anyone. Why me?
He handed me the glass of orange juice, leaned back in his chair, and sipped from his own before responding. “I was honest with you, Miss Hazel. I’ve never had anything real—only leeches who exploited me at every turn. If you had the kind of money I do, you’d understand what I’m talking about.”
“And now you just want someone real?” I asked, piecing together his cryptic reasoning.
“Yes.”
“How do you know I’m real?”
“I’ve already told you—I can see it. You learn to recognize and value authenticity when you’ve been exploited enough times.”
I nodded, deciding not to press further. He’d decided about me, and I wouldn’t waste time arguing about his reasoning. Instead, I asked, “You said this wouldn’t be a real marriage. What exactly does that mean?”
“It’ll last only six months.”