Page 22 of From Grumpy to Forever
He tipped his head, looking so cocky and sure of himself that of course I would say yes to his…proposal. If that’s what it really was.
“I told you.” Reid shrugged. “I need the money.”
“Badly enough that you’ll marry me for it?”
He looked me straight in the eyes and nodded.
Damn. He must really need that money.
But I needed him.
Well, I needed his skills.
His handyman skills. I couldn’t afford to think about what other skills Reid might have. My entire body tingled with the suggestion.
“What does this even look like?” The question surprised even me, because what I really should have said was no. Absolutely not. Who gets fake married to the grumpy handyman who barely even likes them just to keep an inn?
Me, apparently.
Dammit, Carrie was right. I was living a Hallmark movie.
Chapter Twelve
Reid
I’m going to hell.
There was no way around it.
By the time I got Avery to sit down and work out the details of our marriage, I had already convinced myself that this was the perfect solution to get exactly what I wanted. Sure, she’d get what she wanted, too. But if I was being perfectly honest with myself, that didn’t really factor into why I suggested the union.
I needed that shop.
I needed this job.
Therefore, I needed Avery.
A fact that my dick was in one hundred percent in agreement with.
But he’d have to calm the fuck down because that’s not what this marriage was about.
“It’ll have to look real.” Over the last ten minutes, Avery had slowly come around to my idea and was now focused on some of the finer details. “If it doesn’t, I have a cousin who will jump at the chance to blow this up.” She shook her head, concern wrinkling on her brow. “I can’t go through all of this just to lose it in the end.”
“Agreed. It’ll look real.” How hard could it be? Pretending to be married to Avery didn’t seem like it would be a hardship. “I’m sure you have an extra room in that inn that I can move into.”
“Oh.”
“I will have to move in, Avery.”
“Right.” She nodded. “Obviously.”
“It’ll be easier to get the work done that way, too. I can work longer hours and?—”
“Will that be part of the deal?” Avery ran her hands through her hair, pulling it up into a ponytail before letting it fall again around her shoulders.
Such an innocent move, but damn if it didn’t make me want to pull my bride-to-be into my arms and show her exactly what some of the advantages to being married to me—fake or not—could be.
I forced myself to pay attention to what she was saying.
