He ignored her last statement. It was far too surreal to consider that he could allow this sort of thing to happen. But he had to find a way to save the community center. That’d never happen if he lost Hang Ten.
Kneeling in front of the fire pit, he fished some kindling out of the box sitting at its side. After a couple of minutes he had fire.
“So why would a beautiful girl such as yourself need to hire a husband?” he asked, nursing the fire. From the looks of this place, and the fact that she was offering him a quarter of a million bucks to marry her, it’s not like she needed anyone’s financial support.
“It’s a long story,” she said, and dropped it at that.
“And one I think I deserve to know if I’m gonna marry you over it.” He put the poker back in the box and returned to his chair. “You need a green card for work or something?”
“Why would you think that?” Her face remained stoic. Nick couldn’t tell if she was put out by that notion, or if she had no idea what a green card was.
“Well it’s pretty obvious that you’re not from around here.” He let out a nervous chuckle. Nick didn’t need to piss this girl off. Now that he’d accepted his fate—that she was his only hope—he needed to stay in her favor. “Love the accent, by the way. Where is it…France?” It was the obvious choice, but truth be told, Nick wouldn’t know a French accent from a Belgium one.
“Yes,” she said. “Marseilles. Although I spent a lot of time at school in England.”
“I thought French people hated the Brits.” He winked at her. “Or is that Americans?” He chuckled. “Seriously…why are you doing this? What’s got you so spooked that you think you need to get married?”
“My father wants me to come home.”
This girl was legal, wasn’t she? “How old are you, Lecie?” He’d just better go ahead and find that out right now. She looked like she was in her early twenties, but looks could be deceiving. Nick didn’t need that kind of headache on top of everything else that was going on.
“Twenty-three,” she said.
That’s a relief. Nick sucked in a breath to calm his nerves. “So what’s he gonna do…?” Nick asked of her father. “Cut you off?” But that didn’t make sense. How was cutting her off going to change if she got married?
“He wishes he could cut me off.” Lecie laughed, and that only confused Nick more. She must’ve seen it because she got serious and started talking again. “I am financially independent from my parents. So…” She shrugged. “Papa has to resort to drastic measures—having me deported—to get me to come home. And as my mother says…” She glanced at Nick and gave him a playful grin. “I am my father’s daughter.”
“And you’re willing to give away a quarter of a million dollars just so you can defy your father?” Nick still wasn’t buying it. Her offer, plainly put, sounded too good to be true.
She didn’t say anything for a few seconds, but held the most serious look on her face. When she finally did speak, her eyes drifted up to Nick’s as she talked. “Well…I suppose that is it, in a nutshell, as my American sisters-in-law would say.”
Damn. She must have a lot of money if she could easily give away a quarter of a mil without batting an eye.
Nick didn’t know what had caused it, but suddenly he was overcome with intoxication for her scheme. Maybe it was the allure of the money, the thought of clearing his debts away so he could concentrate on the community center, or maybe it had something to do with the way the fire pit cast this faint glow over Lecie, making her beauty divinely enticing.
Whether it was one or all those things combined, Nick looked at her and said, “Okay. I’m in.” He nodded. “If you’ll have me.” He was agreeing, yet his skepticism was still firmly rooted in his head. “But I’m gonna need a little more than your word that once we’re married, I won’t end up with a check that’ll bounce like a rubber ball.” He chuckled to ease the sting of his words, but he was completely serious. He wanted to be able to call the bank and his suppliers tomorrow and tell them they’d have their money, paid in full, next week.
Lecie couldn’t help feeling empathy for Nick. He was a man with a bruised ego. “My attorney is drawing up a prenup that basically states you are entitled to two hundred and fifty thousand dollars upon our marriage, and when we divorce you will not be entitled to any more than the initial payment,” she said. “But if it makes you feel better, we can visit my bank tomorrow where I’ll have a cashier’s check drawn up and made out to you…which you’ll get as soon as we say, I do.”
He nodded. “That’s agreeable.”
“I still have a few reservations, though,” she said with a slight tinge of doubt.
“Okay,” he said calmly. “What can I do to put you at ease?”
“You do understand that you’ll have to live here at my house for the duration of the marriage, right?”
“Yes.” He nodded. “I get that this marriage must appear real to immigration.” He paused, his brown eyes probing her with this intense gaze that turned her inside out. “Trust me… everyone we meet will wholeheartedly believe that I tripped over you at the restaurant and got swept off my feet.”
Damn, he’s good. Lecie felt herself swooning. Well, if he could do this to her, maybe he’d be able to accomplish the same thing if Papa managed to get immigration to come snooping around. Hopefully though, it wouldn’t come to that.
Nick said, as if he were thinking out loud, “Maybe everybody’ll start thinking you’re the reason Ginny and I didn’t get married.”
“What happened?” Lecie couldn’t stop herself from asking. “Why didn’t you two get married?”
Nick let out a bit of a groan, then said, “I’d really rather not talk about it.”
“Well…” She’d been waiting for the opportunity to toss his own philosophy back at him. “If I’m going to give you two hundred and fifty thousand dollars…” She paused and looked him square in the eye. “I think I have a right to know if there’s somebody out there who can foil my plans.”
“Fair enough.” Nick gave her a conceding nod. Even when he was annoyed, he was still strikingly handsome. Golden highlights in his chestnut-brown hair glistened under the fire’s glow. His matching brown eyes sparkled with a tawny hue. He was unbelievably handsome, looking like he belonged on the cover of GQ, rather than sitting here in her backyard discussing an arranged, and temporary, marriage. “What do you want to know?”