THE BILLIONAIRE'S S UNWANTED WIFE

The bank gave Valerie Sinclair seventy-two hours to save her family's home. Gabriel Westwood gave her twelve months to become his wife. She hated him for making the second offer before she'd even figured out how to survive the first. "Absolutely not." Valerie pushed the contract across the polished desk. Gabriel didn't look at it. "You're refusing fifteen million dollars?" "I'm refusing you." For the first time since she'd entered his office, his eyes lifted fully to hers. They were a disturbing shade of grey, cold enough to make his expression difficult to read. He wore a perfectly tailored black suit, a silver watch, and the sort of expression that suggested the world had disappointed him by failing to operate according to his instructions. He looked nothing like a man accustomed to hearing no. "Those are two different things, Miss Sinclair." "Not to me." "Then perhaps you should consider the distinction." "Perhaps you should find someone else to marry." Gabriel leaned back in his chair. "Believe me, I would if I could." Valerie stared at him. He stared back. Somewhere behind her, the office clock ticked. She almost laughed. Almost. "You're a remarkably unpleasant man." "I've been told." "And you say that like it's a compliment." "I don't remember asking for one." Valerie snatched her handbag from the chair beside her. "Then we're finished." She turned toward the door. "Your father's company owes the bank three million, eight hundred thousand dollars." Her hand stopped on the handle. Gabriel continued in the same infuriatingly calm voice. "The outstanding loan is secured against your family home. The bank has already initiated the next stage of recovery proceedings. Unless your father finds a way to settle the debt, you could lose the house." Valerie slowly turned around. "How do you know that?" "Because I had the situation investigated." The answer was so casual that she almost missed its ugliness. "You investigated my family?" "Yes." "Without my permission?" "I wasn't aware I needed it." "You do if you expect me to sit here and pretend this is a normal conversation." "I don't expect you to pretend anything." He gestured toward the chair she'd abandoned. "Sit down, Valerie." "No." Something flickered across his face. Not anger, exactly. Perhaps surprise. She liked that possibility. "Then stand," he said. "But listen." Valerie remained beside the door, her fingers tightening around the handle of her handbag. She had promised herself she wouldn't cry in front of this man. She wouldn't plead, wouldn't beg, and wouldn't let him see how frightened she'd become. Her father's business had been struggling for months. Suppliers had withdrawn credit. Two major clients had cancelled contracts. The bank had refused another extension. Yesterday, her mother had quietly sold the gold bracelet her father had given her on their twentieth wedding anniversary. Valerie had discovered the empty jewellery box while looking for a document. Her mother had smiled when confronted. She'd said the bracelet was only a thing. Valerie had gone to the bathroom and cried for ten minutes. Then she'd returned to the kitchen and helped her father review his accounts. There was nothing left to review. They were drowning. And now Gabriel Westwood knew it. "What exactly do you want?" she asked. "One year of marriage." She blinked. "You're insane." "That remains to be established." "Do you approach every woman this way?" "No." "How fortunate for the rest of them." "Miss Sinclair." "Don't Miss Sinclair me." "Would you prefer Mrs. Westwood?" She actually laughed then, a short, disbelieving sound. Gabriel didn't smile. That somehow made it worse. "You're serious." "Entirely." "Why?" "Because my grandfather left a succession agreement that requires me to be legally married before a specified deadline if I intend to retain control of a particular block of company shares." "Then marry someone who wants to marry you." "I have no intention of marrying for love." "How romantic." "Romance isn't part of the agreement." "And apparently neither is basic human decency." He ignored that. "My grandfather's estate contains provisions that will transfer the shares into a trust if I fail to satisfy the condition. That would give several people I don't trust considerable influence over Westwood Holdings." "So you need a wife to keep your money." "Among other things, yes." "How tragic." "Your sympathy is overwhelming." "Don't worry. I'll recover." For the first time, she thought she saw the corner of his mouth move. It disappeared before she could decide whether she'd imagined it. Gabriel opened a folder and removed a single sheet. "The arrangement lasts twelve months. You'll receive fifteen million dollars under a written agreement. Your family's outstanding debts can be settled immediately, and the home can be protected from the bank's recovery action, subject to the necessary legal arrangements." Valerie looked at the paper. Fifteen million. The number seemed absurdly large on the page. It was enough to save the house, settle the business debt, pay the employees who hadn't received their full wages, and give her father the opportunity to rebuild what he'd spent years creating. It was also enough to make her suspicious. "Why me?" "Your circumstances make the arrangement mutually beneficial." "That's not an answer." "It's the answer you're getting today." She looked at him sharply. "Today?" Gabriel closed the folder. "Your father knows why I chose you." The room seemed to grow quieter. "What does that mean?" "It means you should speak to him." "Is this about his business?" Gabriel didn't respond. "Did my father do something to you?" "No." "Did he do something to your family?" His expression changed so slightly that another person might have missed it. Valerie didn't. "Why would you ask that?" "Because you investigated my family, selected me for a marriage I never asked for, and apparently know something about my father that you refuse to explain." She stepped away from the door. "Either tell me what this is really about or stop wasting my time." Gabriel regarded her for several seconds. "You're right about one thing." "Only one?" "You ask too many questions." "And you answer too few." "That may become a problem." "It already is." He stood. Valerie hadn't appreciated how tall he was while he sat behind the desk. Now the difference was impossible to ignore. He walked around the desk and stopped a few feet away. "Take the contract. Have an independent lawyer examine it. Ask whatever questions you need to ask. If you decide to proceed, we'll negotiate the details." "And if I don't?" "Then you leave, and we never discuss this arrangement again." "Just like that?" "Just like that." She studied him, searching for the catch. There had to be one. Men like Gabriel Westwood didn't offer fifteen million dollars to strangers because they were feeling charitable. "What's the deadline?" she asked. "Four days." She almost choked. "You expect me to agree to marry you in four days?" "I expect you to make a decision." "And if I need more time?" "Then you should have considered that before your family reached this position." The words landed harder than she expected. For one terrible second, she couldn't speak. Gabriel seemed to recognize that he'd crossed a line, but he didn't apologize. Valerie lifted her chin. "You're right. My family is in trouble. But don't mistake that for permission to speak to me however you please." "I haven't." "You just did." "Then I'll try to survive your disapproval." She took the contract from the desk. "Don't flatter yourself. You won't have to." She left before he could answer. --- By the time Valerie reached the street, the afternoon rain had turned Manhattan's pavements into sheets of reflected light. She stood beneath the building's entrance canopy and opened the folder. The first page contained the proposed terms. The second listed the payment schedule. The third outlined the marriage's duration and the public obligations attached to it. Everything was precise. Almost disturbingly so. She found a clause concerning confidentiality, another concerning shared residence, and a section dealing with the procedure for ending the arrangement after twelve months. There was even a provision allowing either party to consult independent legal counsel before signing. Gabriel had anticipated her objections. That irritated her more than it should have. Her phone rang. MUM. Valerie answered immediately. "Hi. What's wrong?" "Nothing, darling." Her mother's voice was too cheerful. Valerie closed her eyes. "Mum." A sigh. "Your father received another letter from the bank." "How bad?" "They want to meet tomorrow morning." "About what?" "Your father thinks they may be preparing to take possession of the house." Valerie gripped the folder. "That's not going to happen." Silence. "Valerie, sweetheart—" "I said it's not going to happen." She heard the exhaustion in her mother's breathing. For months, Valerie had been the person who said everything would work out. She said it when her father couldn't sleep. She said it when her mother pretended not to worry. She said it to herself whenever she sat at her desk trying to find a solution that didn't exist. She was beginning to hate the sound of her own reassurance. "I'll come home," she said. "We'll figure something out." "Your father doesn't want you to abandon your career because of us." "I'm not abandoning anything." "You've been applying for jobs, working late, and helping with the business. You can barely afford your own expenses." "I can manage." "Valerie." "Mum, please." Her mother fell quiet. Then she asked, "Have you eaten?" Valerie stared at the rain. Of all the questions her mother could have asked, that was the one that nearly broke her. "No," she admitted. "There's soup in the refrigerator." "I know." "And bread. Don't order anything expensive." Despite everything, Valerie smiled. "Yes, Mum." "You're laughing at me." "A little." "Good. At least one of us still has a sense of humor." They ended the call a minute later. Valerie remained beneath the canopy, watching people hurry past with umbrellas. She could return to her small apartment, search for another architectural position, and continue applying for loans her family would never qualify for. Or she could take the contract to a lawyer and discover whether Gabriel's offer was as straightforward as it appeared. She hated the second option. She hated it because it made sense. --- Her father's office smelled of old paper and burnt coffee. Daniel Sinclair sat behind his desk with his sleeves rolled up, staring at a spreadsheet on his computer. The sight of him there, surrounded by folders bearing the name of the company he'd built, made Valerie's chest tighten. He looked older than he had six months ago. Not dramatically. Just enough for her to notice. "You're late," he said without looking up. "I was meeting a billionaire." His fingers stopped moving. Then he looked at her. "I'm sorry, what?" Valerie dropped her handbag onto the visitor's chair. "Gabriel Westwood." Her father's face lost its color. She noticed. Of course she noticed. "How do you know that name?" he asked. "He offered me fifteen million dollars to marry him." For several seconds, Daniel didn't move. Then he stood so abruptly that his chair rolled backward and struck a filing cabinet. "You're not marrying him." Valerie stared at him. "Interesting. That's almost exactly what I said." "Valerie, I'm serious." "So am I." "Did he tell you why he chose you?" "He said you knew." Her father looked away. That was worse than any answer. Valerie slowly set the contract on his desk. "Dad, what happened?" "Nothing you need to worry about." "Please don't insult me." He rubbed his forehead. "The Westwoods have been involved in this company's history for a very long time." "What does that mean?" "It means there are things you don't understand." "Then explain them." "I can't." "Can't or won't?" His silence answered her. Valerie felt anger rising beneath the exhaustion. "You've spent the last six months telling Mum and me that the business failed because of the economy, the bank, and clients who broke their contracts. Now Gabriel Westwood appears out of nowhere, offers me fifteen million dollars, and suddenly you can't talk?" "Stay away from him." "Why?" "Because I said so." She stared at him. Then she laughed once, without humor. "I'm twenty-four, Dad. You can't ground me." "This isn't a joke." "Neither is losing our home." Daniel looked at the contract. For a moment, she thought he might pick it up. Instead, he asked, "Did he give you a deadline?" "Four days." Her father closed his eyes. When he opened them, something in his expression had changed. Not fear of losing the business. Something older. Something that had been waiting for this moment. "Don't sign anything until you've spoken to a lawyer," he said. "I wasn't planning to." "And don't believe everything he tells you." Valerie pulled the contract back toward herself. "Then tell me what I should believe." Daniel's jaw tightened. "I can't." She shook her head. "You're making this very difficult." "I'm trying to protect you." "From what?" He looked at her, and for a moment she saw the father who had taught her to ride a bicycle, who had stayed up all night helping her build a model for her first architecture competition, who had once driven across the city because she'd called him crying after a university presentation went badly. He looked frightened. "From a mistake you won't be able to undo." Valerie swallowed. "Then help me understand it." He didn't answer. She took the contract and left his office. --- That night, Valerie sat at her kitchen table with three things in front of her: the bank's letter, her father's latest financial statements, and Gabriel Westwood's marriage proposal. She had called two lawyers. The first couldn't see her until the following week. The second agreed to review the contract the next morning. She had also searched Gabriel's name online. His face appeared in business magazines, financial newspapers, and photographs taken at events she would never have attended in her ordinary life. At thirty, he controlled a company with international holdings, thousands of employees, and enough money to make her family's entire financial crisis look like an accounting error. He had never married. He had no public romantic partner. The articles described him as disciplined, private, and ruthless in negotiations. One headline called him The Man Who Never Loses. Valerie had immediately disliked the headline. Nobody won all the time. And if Gabriel Westwood had never lost anything important, perhaps he'd never had to learn how to live with the consequences of being wrong. Her phone buzzed. An unknown number. I trust you've reached home safely. She stared at the message. Then another appeared. The contract includes my direct number. Save it if you decide to proceed. Valerie typed a reply. I haven't decided anything. His response arrived almost immediately. I assumed as much. She frowned. Do you always text women you've just insulted? Only the ones considering marrying me. Valerie pressed her lips together. She wasn't going to laugh. She absolutely wasn't. Another message appeared. Have the agreement reviewed independently. I won't object. She looked at the contract again. For all his arrogance, he was making it difficult to dismiss him as a simple predator. That didn't mean she trusted him. It meant she needed to be more careful. She set the phone down and returned to the bank's letter. Three million, eight hundred thousand dollars. Her family's home. Her father's business. Her mother's bracelet. And now a man who apparently knew the reason her father had gone pale at the mention of his name. Valerie picked up the phone again. One question. Why did my father look frightened when I told him who you were? She waited. A minute passed. Then two. Finally, the screen lit up. Because your father remembers what mine did. Valerie read the message twice. Before she could respond, another arrived. And because the debt that ruined your family was never settled. She sat perfectly still. Outside, a car horn sounded, followed by the distant wail of a siren. Valerie looked toward the contract, fifteen million dollars seemed like the least important thing Gabriel Westwood had offered her.