Borrowed Throne

Chapter Three: The Billionaire

Damien Ashford was taller than I'd expected from the photograph, and the camera hadn't captured the way he occupied space—like gravity worked differently around him.

He wore dark slacks and a white shirt with the sleeves rolled up, and he was holding a glass of what looked like whiskey. Even in his own home, he looked like he was posing for a magazine spread.

"You're early," he said.

His voice was deeper than I'd imagined. Rich, controlled, with an edge of something I couldn't quite identify.

"I'm actually exactly on time," I said.

"Eight o'clock was a suggestion. Most people arrive fashionably late."

"I'm not most people."

"No." He studied me with dark eyes that gave away nothing. "You're not. Would you like a drink?"

"No. Thank you."

"You're sure? You look like you could use one."

"I look nervous?"

"You look like you're deciding whether to run."

He was right, which was annoying. "I'm not running. I'm here."

"So you are." He moved to the bar, poured himself another drink. "Montgomery said you had conditions. Two million upfront and an exit clause."

"Yes."

"The money is acceptable. As for the exit clause—if I were the type of man who hurt women, a contract wouldn't stop me." He turned to face me. "But I'm not that man, Miss Voss. I'm not interested in forcing anyone to do anything they don't want to do."

"Then why this arrangement at all? Why not just find someone who actually wants to marry you?"

"Because I don't want a wife. I want a solution to a problem." He gestured to the sofa. "Please, sit. We should discuss the terms properly."

I sat, mostly because standing felt too much like confrontation. He took the chair across from me, close enough that I could smell his cologne—something expensive and understated.

"My grandfather died three months ago," Damien said. "He was eighty-two, stubborn until the end, and convinced that the only way to run a successful company was to have a family to protect. He wrote his will accordingly."

"Requiring you to be married before you inherit."

"Engaged or married. He gave me until my thirty-fifth birthday. After that, control of Ashford Industries passes to a board of directors who will sell it piece by piece to the highest bidders."

"Why would they do that?"

"Because they're vultures who see a company as something to strip for parts, not something to build." His jaw tightened. "My grandfather spent fifty years building this empire. I'm not going to let them destroy it in five."

"So you need a fiancée to satisfy a clause."

"I need a fiancée who understands that this is business. Who won't develop feelings or expectations. Who can play a role convincingly for a year and then walk away." He leaned forward. "Montgomery tells me you're in significant debt."

"He would know. He seems to know everything about me."

"I instructed him to be thorough. I needed to know who I was bringing into my life."

"You mean you needed to know if I was desperate enough to say yes."

"Partly. But I also needed to know if you were trustworthy. If you had the intelligence and composure to pull this off." He sipped his whiskey. "You do. I've been watching you work, Miss Voss. You're excellent at what you do."

The way he said "watching" sent a chill down my spine. "How long have you been watching me?"

"Does it matter?"

"Yes."

"Long enough to know you're the right choice." He set down his glass. "Here's what I'm offering: five million dollars, paid in installments. One million upon signing, four million at the end of the year. You'll live here, attend social functions with me, and maintain the appearance of a genuine relationship. Separate bedrooms, complete privacy when we're not in public. At the end of the year, we part ways amicably."

"And if I want to leave before the year is up?"

"If I violate the terms—if I'm dangerous, abusive, or coercive—you keep everything you've been paid and the arrangement ends immediately. If you simply change your mind, you return everything except one hundred thousand dollars."

It was fairer than I'd expected. "What else?"

"You'll need to move in here. People need to believe we're actually together."

"When?"

"Tomorrow. I'll have my driver collect your things."

"That's fast."

"We have six weeks until my birthday. We need to establish the relationship before then, which means public appearances, social media, the works." He stood, walked to the window overlooking Central Park. "I know this isn't conventional. I know it probably feels wrong. But I'm not asking you to love me, Miss Voss. I'm asking you to help me protect something that matters."

I looked at him standing there, silhouetted against the lights of the city, and for a moment he looked almost vulnerable. Almost human.

"Why not just find someone actually interested in marrying you?" I asked. "You're wealthy, successful, not unattractive. Surely there are women who would—"

"Women who would want the money. The status. The name." He turned to face me. "I tried that once. It ended badly. I don't want someone who sees me as a prize to be won. I want someone who sees this for what it is: a transaction. Clean, simple, honest."

"There's nothing honest about faking a relationship."

"Isn't there? We're both going into this with our eyes open. You need money, I need a fiancée. No lies about love, no pretending this is something it's not. That's more honest than most marriages I've seen."

He had a point, even if I didn't want to admit it.

"What happens if someone finds out?" I asked.

"They won't. You'll sign an NDA tomorrow morning. The penalty for breaking it is significant."

"How significant?"

"Ten million dollars."

I nearly choked. "Ten million?"

"The protection needs to be mutual, Miss Voss. I'm trusting you with my reputation, my company, my entire future. If you betray that trust, there need to be consequences."

"So if I tell anyone—my best friend, my family—"

"You owe me ten million dollars and lose everything you've been paid." His expression didn't change. "I told you, Miss Voss. I'm thorough."

The room suddenly felt very small, very cold.

"I need to think about this," I said.

"You said you'd do it. On the phone with Montgomery."

"I said I'd meet you. I didn't sign anything yet."

"Fair enough." He moved back to the bar. "Take the night. Think about it. But understand—if you walk away now, the offer doesn't come again. I'll find someone else."

"Someone more desperate?"

"Someone more decisive." He poured another drink. "I don't have time for hesitation, Miss Voss. Either you're in or you're out. But decide tonight."

I stood. "I should go."

"My driver will take you home."

"I can take the subway."

"Not from my penthouse, you can't. People will talk." He pulled out his phone. "James will meet you downstairs."

I walked to the elevator, feeling his eyes on me the entire way. Just before the doors closed, I looked back.

"Damien?"

He turned.

"If I do this—if I sign your contract and move into your penthouse and pretend to love you for a year—what happens if it actually works? What if people believe us too well?"

Something flickered across his face. Not quite emotion, but close.

"Then we'll have done our job correctly," he said. "And at the end of the year, we'll both be excellent actors."

The elevator doors closed.