Sawyer considered her. “How does two million dollars for initial financing sound?”
Tamara swallowed. She’d only fantasized about having that kind of cash on hand.
“No strings attached?” she queried.
Sawyer inclined his head in acknowledgment.
Of course, she reminded herself, they both knew that Sawyer wouldn’t expect repayment of the money. She had bargained away something else. She’d agreed to a sham marriage.
She cleared her throat. “Thank you…I think. I can promise I’ll put the money to good use.” And then because she didn’t want him to have the impression that she was completely without resources, she added, “I just met with a client this morning, actually.”
When Sawyer looked at her inquiringly, she elaborated, “It was a hedge-fund wife who recently opened her own boutique in the Hamptons. She bought a bracelet for herself and selected a few other pieces to carry in her store.”
Just then their waiter reappeared, and asked if they were ready to order.
Tamara belatedly realized she hadn’t even looked at the menu, but because she’d been to Balthazar before, she ordered the smoked salmon from memory. Sawyer, after a few idle inquiries of their waiter, ordered the grilled branzini.
Afterward, Tamara braced herself and looked at Sawyer squarely. “I suppose we should discuss the wedding itself.”
He smiled faintly. “I’ll leave the details to you. I understand many women have preconceived ideas of what their wedding should look like.”
Yes, and in her case, the idea had never been a sham marriage contracted to a very proper British earl.
On top of it all, Sawyer was also a press baron in her father’s mold. She could hardly get any closer to exactly what she didn’t want.
Sawyer studied her. “It seems only fitting, though, that the marriage of the Earl and Countess of Melton occur at Gantswood Hall, the ancestral home of the earls of Melton.”
Tamara resisted pointing out that it was hardly necessary to go to such trouble for what would be a short-lived marriage. But then again, she’d been half expecting Sawyer’s proposition of a proper British wedding. “Very well. I suppose the sooner, the better.”
Sawyer’s lips quirked. “Anxious, are you?”
“The sooner we begin, the sooner the corporate merger will occur and we can be done with this.”
“How about next week then?”
Tamara shook her head. “Pia would have a heart attack. I already asked her to help plan the wedding. Three weeks.”
“You and Pia Lumley are close.”
It wasn’t a question, but a statement. Tamara nodded anyway. “Pia is a dear friend and one of the best bridal consultants around. She also needs all the help that she can get now that—” her voice darkened “—your fiendish friend the Marquess of Easterbridge ruined Belinda’s wedding day.”
Sawyer laughed. “‘Fiendish friend’? You certainly have a way with alliteration.”
“Don’t change the subject,” Tamara snapped back. “Your friends seem to come in one stripe only—namely, villainous.”
Sawyer arched a brow.
“I suppose you’re chummy with the Duke of Hawkshire, too?”
“Yes, but not with his alias, Mr. Fielding.”
“Very funny.”
“Since we’re on the subject of our marriage,” Sawyer said drily, “what have you told your friends?”
“Pia and Belinda?” Tamara responded. “They know the truth, and they’ve already said they’ll be at any wedding to support me.”
“Splendid.”
“We’ll need a referee if, as I assume, your titled compatriots will make an appearance, too.”
Sawyer inclined his head. “I imagine Hawk and Colin will be there, schedules permitting.”
“Everyone else, including my mother and sisters,” Tamara said determinedly, “will believe that for reasons known only to me, I’ve decided that you are Mr. Right.”
“Since Hawk has already claimed the moniker Mr. Fielding, I’ll settle for Mr. Right without qualm,” Sawyer quipped.
Tamara eyed him doubtfully. “Well, I’m glad that’s all resolved—anything else?”
“Since you mention it—”
Tamara tensed. “Yes?”
“There is the small matter of where we’ll reside after the wedding.”
Tamara felt her stomach plummet. Why hadn’t she thought of such an obvious and all too important detail?
“I’ll keep my business in SoHo,” she said automatically.
“Right,” Sawyer agreed, “but we won’t convince anyone that we’re serious about this marriage unless you move into my town house after the wedding.”
Share a roof with Sawyer? They could barely share a meal without sparks flying.
“I suppose I can bear it for a short while,” she responded in a disgruntled tone. “Will I have my own wing?”
Sawyer laughed at her sudden hopefulness. “Why don’t you come see? It occurs to me you’ve never been to my home, and that’s a detail that should be rectified as early as possible. In fact, what are you doing the rest of the afternoon?”
She wanted to lie. She wanted to say she had a slew of meetings. But if Sawyer could make time in his busy CEO schedule, her demurral would hardly ring true. And besides, he had a point about her becoming familiar with the place where she’d soon be living.
“I’m free,” she disclosed reluctantly.
Sawyer smiled. “Fantastic. We’ll ride up there right after lunch. My car is outside.”
The waiter arrived with their food, and as the conversation turned to more mundane topics, Tamara had time at leisure to reflect on what she’d gotten herself into.
Was it too late to back out now?
Seven
Tamara wanted to hate everything about Sawyer’s life, but she was finding it impossible to do so. Instead, she clung tenaciously to indifference—was it too much to ask?
It was bad enough that Sawyer himself was demonstrating remarkable skill at seduction. Must his lifestyle be an added lure?
Tamara discovered that Sawyer’s town house was a four-story structure on a prime block in the East 80s. The limestone facade was set off by black wrought-iron flower boxes at the windows and a matching black front gate. Shrubbery concealed from prying eyes the garden that ran along one side of the residence.
And in an unusual setup for Manhattan, Sawyer’s town house boasted its own garage, enabled by the residence’s prime corner location.